His Favorite Sin

7.2: WANTS AND DESIRES

Present

The day ended well with a satisfactory outcome, or at least for Lance it did. Cora signed her name on every dotted line that Isabel pointed to without question, but he noticed her hesitancy and felt her reluctant stare from across the room.

He could barely keep the smile from his lips, and to everyone else, it seemed like a harmless smile, one that fitted the occasion, but only she saw the glint of evil in them.

What did he want? He knew that question was all that raced through her mind as he had left her with no answer. And he kept her like that, pondering and perplexed, throughout the day as Isabel introduced her to other employees of the company she would work with – editors, designers, marketers and the rest.

The event finally ended, and he listened to every click of her heels as she strolled out the building with her agent, leaving him with only her lingering scent. He basked in it, latching onto what remained while his ears followed her heartbeat until she got into her car and escaped far away for even his sharp senses to catch.

It didn’t matter. He would see her soon.

A week passed, and a large sum was deposited into Cora’s account, with an email from Isabel informing her beforehand, but otherwise, there was silence from Starling House.

Lance waited for her patience to thin and wane before she started probing and reached out to Isabel, wanting to know the next course of action – when would an editor reach out?

And he already knew Isabel’s elusive response wouldn't be enough for Dahlia. As expected, it didn’t take long before she started demanding to speak with Lance, knowing he was her only other option.

‘She’s incessant, didn’t like it when I told her we would do all the revision and at least let her have a look at the final draft before publishing, and then she threatened to take us to court to contest the validity of the contract. The nerve! How ungrateful.’ Isabel grumbled as she handed Lance a steaming cup of coffee while he sat in her executive chair behind her desk.

She had invited him over to discuss some complications they were having with their newest author.

She leaned against the desk close to him, crossing her arms over her chest while he sipped his coffee.

‘She wants to be a part of the process even though she had every opportunity to carefully read the contract and decline, but instead, she still went ahead and signed. The money must have looked too good to pass up, but now, she’s having regrets. She should be grateful we even gave her manuscript a glance.’ Isabel scoffed, picking up Cora’s manuscript on her desk and flipping through it in annoyance.

‘What a mess. Seriously, Lance, what did you see in this?’ She muttered before closing the pages shut and slamming them back on the desk. ‘My editors would have to perform an exorcism to perfect this. All of this trouble for this garbage.’

Lance ignored her harsh words about Cora’s work and instead, blew on his coffee before taking a sip.

‘I will call her,’ he said, and her eyebrows shot up.

‘What?’

He didn’t repeat himself.

‘You aren’t really thinking of making her a part of the process, are you? We agreed to pay her a ridiculous sum just so she would be fine with us refining her... mess without her input or approval. Wasn’t this what you wanted? Full control? Now you’re giving in to her whining?’

He suppressed a laugh and dropped his cup.

Isabel was a smart woman, intelligent, really, top of the class, graduated from Yale, went to business school. In fact, the only reason Lance thought Starling House was a company to invest in was because of her skills. She was remarkable in her field, especially in how she managed the Publishing House.

They were one of the top publishing houses worldwide, not based on the number of authors they managed, but rather on the caliber of their authors. Their authors always ended up with millions of copies sold worldwide, and they were renowned for turning even the most mediocre works into exceptional masterpieces.

‘If only my wants and desires were so simple.’

He could feel Isabel’s puzzling gaze but ignored her. She was already annoying him with her ramblings and how she described Dahlia’s manuscript, a draft Lance had had translated into braille, every original word carefully kept as it was written, for him to devour. He had instantly felt the connection.

How could he not, when the whole work of literature revolved around him? He could see himself in the villains and predators Cora had conjured, and he had felt a sickening delight knowing she had made him the center.

And just like he had told her, he wanted more. But he had to be patient, carefully construct his maze and wait for her to step onto the paths, so that she could remain trapped in his design.

She had already taken one step in by requesting to speak with him. He knew she wouldn’t just give up her work freely like that. He had felt every frustration, every depth, every emotion she had poured into her work and knew that no matter how much she told herself she was fine with it, she wouldn’t let go that easily.

It was smart of her to bring up court. She hadn’t mindlessly signed the papers without a plan. She was clever. He had to hide his smile of satisfaction while Isabel was still complaining.

By nighttime, he dialed her number, listened to the phone ring and waited for the click.

‘Hello?’ Cora’s voice came out hesitant, and when Lance focused his hearing, he caught her heart rate pick up in anticipation at his silence.

‘Dahlia.’ His tone was smooth and velvet, like a whisper, and her heart seized.

‘Lance.’ Her voice came out breathy, and his grip on the phone tightened. The effect she had on him, just the sound of her voice alone, left him in a chokehold. He managed to force out a breath.

‘You've been giving Isabel a hard time,’ he said, tone still light. ‘You wanted to talk.’

‘Right, yes. I uh – I needed to –’

‘How about dinner?’ He suddenly sprung the invitation on her, and she paused to take a breath.

‘Dinner?’

‘We can talk better over a nice meal. How about tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Say 6:30? I will pick you up with my driver,’ he said casually and waited a minute for her to mull it over. He was ready to hear her decline, but he knew he would have his way eventually. However, to his surprise, she didn’t reject the idea.

‘No need for that.’ She finally responded. ‘I can just meet you at the restaurant. Send the address.’

His eyebrows quirked up, not in puzzlement but in surprise. ‘Why? Your boyfriend won't like the idea of another man picking you up for dinner?’

She inhaled, ‘No, it’s not that—’

‘Then I will pick you up at 6:30.’ It was a statement, one that silently said her resistance was futile.

‘Goodnight Dahlia.’ There was a pause from her end before she breathed.

‘Don't call me that,’ she said and ended the call.

And so night turned into day and day into night as nature would always have it.

Just as Lance had told Cora, he was outside her apartment building at 6:30, waiting in the back seat of a sleek luxury sedan.

He didn’t have to wait long before she stepped out, and his driver held the door open for her. He felt her hesitate when she noticed his dark silhouette inside, lounging against the seat. His body was angled forward with both his hands resting atop his cane, but all his senses were inclined towards her.

The door shut close behind her, and her scent filled the car, mixing with his.

He breathed in; coconuts, she still smelled like them.

‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,’ she said, shifting in her seat beside him.

‘Thank you for asking.’ And the car hummed to life, ready to take them through the city.

Cora nodded apologetically. ‘I know I basically signed all my rights away, but I want to be a part of the process. I wrote the book, so I understand every character best, the plot, the setting, it’s all my design, and if you want to modify how the stories are portrayed, you would want my help.’

Lance c****d his head to her. ‘Already making your case, and we haven’t even gotten to the restaurant.’

‘You need me to achieve the best possible product. I won’t fight you or your ideas –’

‘Really? Because we’ve barely started, and you’ve already shown your claws by bringing up court.’ He said, clipped, and felt her freeze beside him from his sharp tone.

She paused, inhaling as she pressed both her hands in front of her. ‘Please don’t take this from me, too.’

His long index finger tapped against his cane, and he hummed, making himself appear to be contemplating her words. ‘I will think it over dinner.’

‘Have I told you already how much I’ve missed you?’ He swiftly diverted their conversation, and it took a minute for her to process his words.

‘You know, I was so angry when you left.’ He disclosed casually, like they were two old-time friends having a normal conversation. ‘I wanted to punish you for leaving; to make you regret that choice you made, but I decided to wait. I allowed you to flee to every big city you thought could swallow your shadow and every little town you believed you could withdraw into and mask your identity.’

She stiffened beside him as his words sank in.

He knew everything. How naive she had been. She had never truly eluded him. All this time, she had been within his sight but ignorantly thought otherwise, and now he was enlightening her.

‘Seven years of waiting,’ he paused, and his jaw ticked. ‘And I’m still angry.’ The mood shifted, and there was a frostiness from Lance that made Cora shift with unease in her seat. His earlier warmth had vanished, replaced with something chilly and a subtle hint of darkness underneath.

His voice was low beside her ear as he leaned in. ‘I am so angry that when we met for the first time again, at that restaurant, right before you stormed out, I almost lost every ounce of self-control that I had been clinging to.

‘It was war for me that night, just sitting across from you, not being able to do anything other than that. It was even worse when I went with your agent to your home and found that misplaced shadow hovering in your apartment, with you.

‘I am so angry that that night, when I got back home, I imagined different ways I could neatly dispose of him without anyone noticing something amiss.’

He felt her confusion, then her dread, before she whipped her head at him. ‘Y... you mean Drew?’ He pictured in his mind her eyes to be like saucers as realization dawned on her. ‘You wouldn’t hurt him.’

He inhaled a deep, calming breath, and with it came her intoxicating scent that he was drunk on at that moment. He still wanted more, for it soothed the darkness in him.

He needed her like this, beside him, always. Seven years later, his need for her had only flourished like a wild rose bush with multiple thorns that thrived in neglect and hungered to draw blood.

‘You asked what I wanted – I want you.’ He suddenly declared cold and unwavering.

He heard her heartbeat quicken at his words, and she tried shifting away, but he had trapped her against the door. She had nowhere else to go and was completely at his mercy. She was all his.

‘W... what do you mean?’ Her voice was almost a whisper. He imagined her mind to be foggy with questions, but he also could tell that, deep down, she understood him. She always did. Just like how she had tried to ignore the darkness in him and lied to herself that they weren’t real, but she always knew those shadows lived in him. She read to them in her lulling voice, fed them with her captivating aura, disciplined them into order, and they recognized her essence.

‘Every part of me settles with you; you know this.’

‘Lance-’

‘You’re home to me.’

‘Stop it.’

‘You’ve always been like that for me since the moment you stepped into my father’s house that rainy summer nine years ago.’

‘This isn’t right.’ She turned away to her window, where the view of the city passed by.

Lance continued still. ‘Your voice drowns out the chaos in my mind. My senses learned silence by tuning to every note you produce, be it from your heartbeat or even the scent you choose to wear that day. And when you’re remotely near me, all my faculties narrow to the sum of you.’

There was a silence between them that followed, and Lance wished he could peer at her, but it was just two of them in the car, no third party whose help he could lend briefly. But he could hear the pounding rhythm of her heart, the sound her throat made when she took a gulp, and the erratic breaths escaping from her lungs.

He had put her in a state of perplexity by exhibiting his most profound thoughts, though not his darkest. She was catching on, but still clung to denial like it could deliver her from him.

‘Lance, w... what are you saying?’

He sighed, leaning away and crossing one leg over the other. ‘I thought my words were direct enough. I could elaborate-’

‘You’re toying with me.’

‘No, I’m not.’ He said flatly. ‘I get it, you need time to process this, and that’s okay, but I can’t promise you my patience. I already gave you seven years.’