Don't worry folks! No harm will befall the kitten!

I flinched, flattening my lips together at the slow tap of the knock, which resembled more to a loud thud hammering over my head. I slowly massaged my temples. Turned out I wasn't as invincible as I thought.

"Mr. Grey?" Taylor's crisp voice rang from behind the door.

"Come in Taylor." I strained out as I downed two painkillers to take care of the severe headache that was hell bent on defeating me. I grimaced as I swallowed, hating being resorted to take medication. My mind was a jumbled mess of unwanted thoughts and painful memories as struggle raged and rose inside my body like a tide trying to suppress them.

"Taylor." I called out to him in a flat voice.

"Yes Mr. Grey?"

"Make sure Ms. Steele doesn't venture into the gala." Ms. Steele, if everything went my way, might be spotted with me in a few days, weeks at max. To be honest, a face like hers was a masterpiece anyone could seldom forget, which meant people in my circle might recognize her as that waitress. I wanted to avoid that for selfish reasons. I didn't really care what her acquaintances speculated about, but I didn't want to give my circle fodder for gossip more than strictly necessary. Other women, I didn't take them out. Anastasia, I had different plans for her. So I wanted to introduce her to everyone on my terms.

Then I heard what Taylor had said.

"She wouldn't Mr. Grey." I whipped my head around to eye him suspiciously. Just what was happening under my nose here.

"And how, I wonder, you know that?" I drawled.

Taylor blinked as his body grew rigid. "I talked to her."

"Did you now?" My jaw set.

He took an unconscious step back.

"I'm your personal security Sir. I have to make sure she stays out of your way. She has assured me she will remain in the kitchen." She was being uncharacteristically obedient. One less thing to worry about. What I didn't like was her slowly building trust on Taylor. At this point, as far as she was concerned, I was beneath him in her affection-o-meter. I eyed Taylor critically. With his buzz cut and tall buff physique, he might not be a hunk, but he held himself with a dignity and grace that was eye catching. It certainly caught my eye. It might have caught hers too.

"You like her, don't you?" I clipped out.

Surprise briefly flared in his eyes before he reluctantly nodded.

"She's very innocent Mr. Grey."

"Yes. Of course she is." A nasty smile curved on my lips. "I would know wouldn't I?" Why the fuck was he so concerned for her? How many others had she effected alongside me. Wasn't he pursuing Mrs. Gail?

"Yes Mr. Grey." Fuck that calm of his!

"In fact, I think I would like to have a go at her—again."

I watched with petty satisfaction as Taylor swallowed. "You never repeat them Mr. Grey."

Now it was my turn to be surprised. Taylor, never in all his years at my service had disputed with me.

"I don't, but why does it make you uncomfortable?" I cocked my head.

"She thinks you don't want anything to do with her." Impressive. He usually backs down. And I wanted her to think that Taylor.

"I didn't. But now I find myself wanting her again. Tell me why does it make you uncomfortable Jason Taylor?"

He further straightened up his already erect posture. "It doesn't sir. I was just caught off guard. This isn't your usual memo. If you indulge her again, she's young enough to get the wrong impression. That's all." He was telling me in polite words that I liked to hit it and quit it. That or she was too good to be involved with the likes of me.

I narrowed my eyes at him, "So, you're telling me, from now on, you'll decide who I fuck and who I don't?"

Taylor's fingers, although clasped together on his front, fidgeted, "Of course not Mr. Grey."

"Are you my father?"

"No."

"Are you her father?" I emphasized on the glaring difference between their age, in case.

"No Sir."

"Then, pray tell, why is it making you uncomfortable?"

This time I was expecting him to apologize, but this day was full of surprises. I was also on edge from the meeting with Catherine Montgomery. Not a good time to bicker with me.

"I mean no disrespect, but she's too naive sir. She might take your temporary fascination for affection. Not your usual type. Might I remind you of Rosa, Lindsay, Leila, Audrey, Beth and so on. They were your usual but they turned out to be quite handful. Since I'm here to see to your security, I just wanted to make you were aware of the foreseeable potential future. Just doing my job Mr. Grey."

I pretended to nod in understanding.

"But you're concerned for her?"

Taylor took his time to think but then he nodded his acquiescence. "I am."

Interesting.

"Well, I'll take over from here. Don't concern yourself with her anymore. Do you understand my point Taylor? Keep away from her."

I could visibly feel Taylor's face flushing in resignation, "Yes Mr. Grey."

I smiled at him tightly. Then swiftly changed the topic to dissipate the tension between us and not giving him time to ponder over my questions. "How's little Sophie?"

His expressions on his face were still cautious, but his eyes wrinkled with a shadow of a smile at the reminder of his daughter, "She's good and unusually hyper, Mr. Grey."

I decided to declare for added measure. "I'm thinking of giving you and Mrs. Gail some time off. You both have been working hard. I would hate to let you both give up and quit on me because of my demanding schedule. A little breather of a week perhaps? What do you say?"

I looked at his face expression with full rapt. The way his eyes quickly alighted with pleasure and affection at Mrs. Gail's name was enough to tell me his interest in Anastasia was completely platonic. Good. I didn't want to lose him. I would have if I had to, but that would have been irritating.

"I would like that Mr. Grey." Taylor lightly coughed, blinking back his apparent disbelief and pleasure.

"You can discuss it with her and choose a destination. It'll be on me."

"Thank you Mr. Grey."

"No need for that. Now... have my parents and Elliot arrived?"

"They arrived twenty minutes ago. Last I saw them, your father and brother were chatting—arguing actually—in the living room while your mother quickly went to freshen up."

I chuckled.

"I shouldn't keep them waiting then."

"Christian! How are you? You look so handsome!" Mom greeted me excitedly as soon as she spotted me. In her soft beige gown and well coiffed hair, she was the perfect example of her name.

"Mother." I smiled with genuine delight. That and my painkillers had also kicked in. I swooped down to kiss her on the cheek. Grace and me, we had this small undiscussed arrangement between us. She couldn't touch me or give me a hug, but to make up for it I always gave her a kiss on the cheek. This had long become a secret ritual of ours. Then I earnestly and fondly looked at the protective figure of my father, greeting him as my mind yet again struggled with the image and evil-doings of my biological-father.

All things considered, I was lucky to be a part of this family even though I had been the cause of a lot of grief for them. Grace was so gentle and trusting, and her children had taken full advantage of that, especially me. Carrick was a little rough around the edges but he was fiercely protective of his family. I had given him a tough time during my teen years but he had proved to be no pushover. I would know since I was considered the black-sheep around the house, one who was grounded at least once a week by Carrick during teen years—until Elena happened. In a way, I had always been in awe of him. He was a gentleman through and through, and he'd tried to raise gentlemen. The irony of it.

"Christian, talk of the devil and the devil is here. Dad thinks this time he'll defeat you in chess!" Elliott said in one breath. His somewhat excited shout and a perpetual smiling face emerged in front of my eyes.

"Hello to you too Elliot." I winked at him as I gave dad a playful yet smug challenging look. I could see a mild huff leaving dad's throat. He had never managed to defeat me after I'd learned the ropes of the games, but that didn't stop him from challenging me to a game of chess every now and then. Tragic thing was, he was the one who had taught me chess in the first place.

We all walked towards the gala, animatedly talking, asking each other about their lives.

We entered through the grand entrance of the gala, causing a ruckus as everyone slowly started to come up to greet us. Mom was swept over by the sheer beauty, simplicity and elegance of the arrangements. I also had to concede to that, Ms. Ashword and her company had done quite well.

I did what I was expected to do. I played my part to perfection.

I complimented. I laughed. I appeared eager and welcoming. Some would even say I was extra nice to them. Although a storm was slowly brewing inside of me.

I tried to tone it down after Ros cornered me, "Christian! You look extra happy and friendly today."

I smiled drily at her, "Had an extremely relaxing weekend. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I am. You've a beautiful house."

"Thank-you."

The event passed with painful slowness as comely waitresses in their black and white monotone uniforms scoured about the entire time, attending whoever with whatever they wanted.

After a welcoming speech and urging people on to spend on charity as much as they could for abused women and children, we had a few auctions.

The most interesting for our family was the dance auction. I defeated my father and Elliott during the dance auction—another family ritual—winning the first dance with Grace.

"Christian, son, we have to stop meeting like this. What with you defeating me every time. She's my wife! This isn't fair. If you were some other guy, he would have a problem at his hand." Carrick exclaimed with laughing eyes.

Grace swatted at his shoulder lightly as he gave her a mischievous look. She always looked exasperated when we made a huge deal out of who would get to dance with her first, but secretly she revelled in it. We all knew that. She was no match for the three testosterone driven males when we all got together. The power completely flipped when Mia was in the picture. She had us all wrapped around her finger—especially me. I was fiercely protective of her. If anyone hurt Mia, they'll die a very slow painful death.

Elliott shook his head, "You know what, I will make a billion one day, and then defeat you at this auction. Just to wipe that smug look off your face!"

"What a great motivation to make a billion Elliot." I smothered my smirk.

"What about me?" Carrick quirked his brow. "I thought I had reserved the rights to dance with her when I married her." We both ignored what he just said and looked at him with a comically serious look. "You can dance with Mia dad." I said teasingly.

Whoever danced with Mia had sore toes for days, but we all had to dance with her. Because of an important exam tomorrow, she couldn't come all the way from Paris to attend the gala. She bullied us all into fighting for her at the dance auction as we did for Grace. To be honest we were too scared to not fight for her. Mia could throw a mean tantrum. I made a mental note to give her a call after she was done with her exams.

Elliot snickered, "I'm gonna tell her you said that."

"You've always been a snitch and you better not." I said warningly. I didn't want to deal with those uncomfortable waterworks. Mia, albeit a sweet sister, had a flair for dramatics.

After our dance, mom and dad drifted away in the sea of people.

I gave Elliot a critically probing look. He was smiling alright, but his skin had that strange pallor and his eyes were not as clear as they usually were.

"So... Elliot... how's it going?"

"It's fine." He shrugged.

I looked at him, shockingly surprised.

"What? No more stories of your new escapades?"

"There are no new escapades." He muttered sullenly.

"Oh. I was afraid this day might come. I told you not to overuse that poor penis of yours!" I couldn't resist saying as I tried to hide my smile. Elliot laughed back mirthlessly. What had happened? My brow frowned up.

"Hey, everything alright?" I ask, now serious.

"I'm in love with Kate, Christian." He suddenly declared, his eyes looking a bit wild.

"Kate?"

"Katherine." He quickly corrected.

"That infuriating Kavanagh woman? Seriously Elliot. You love that?" Elliot gave me a warning glare.

"I can't help it." He admitted helplessly. "And she's a great woman for your kind information."

I snorted. It just happened before I could stop myself. Elliot looked at my face then turned away, "You know what I shouldn't have talked about it."

"Elliot stop! I'm listening. Sorry okay. You and love don't sound right in the same sentence." But her. Seriously?

"Christian. I miss her. I love her. I fucking miss her so much! I can't go to the same places I visited with her without feeling these weird chest pains. I can't even shrug her off my mind enough to look at other women." God! Elliot had turned into a girl! The tragic thing was I couldn't even gloat to his face about it. I wondered how long this love of his would last. I didn't care for the Kavanaugh woman. But Elliot, he was my brother. I didn't like seeing my brother so unhappy and that too over a woman. That woman. I internally groaned.

"Get a grip Elliot. What happened?"

"It all started out as a one night thing. It turned into several nights and before we knew it we were hanging out together and not just for sex. Although when the sex did happen, it was explosive. We both never talked about being exclusive but she mentioned in passing to me she wasn't sleeping with any other fuckers." He scowled at the notion.

"So you slept with another woman?"

He groaned, "No I didn't. But I also didn't clarify to her that I wasn't sleeping with anyone else. One day she saw me with an old friend—one that I haven't even fucked before, Christian! She assumed I was fucking around on her. She stopped responding to my texts. Then when I caught her at her place, she said she was moving to New York. And I couldn't even say anything. It was my fault that I haven't given her any security. I never really let out how much she was beginning to mean to me."

"Did you try contacting her again?"

"She changed her number man. I don't even know if she's dating anybody else. God how the thought makes me angry and like an idiot. I feel like kicking myself."

If my brother wanted Kavanagh woman, then he shall have her. Jokes aside, seeing him so distraught over something was making me feel uncomfortable.

"Do you want me to find out if she's seeing someone or not?"

"You can do that for me?"

"Of course. I'll do anything for you Elliot." I said, looking at him intensely.

"Awh man, I mean, if you could do that for me, it'll at least give me some peace of mind. But what if I find out she's currently seeing someone?"

Then I will go to great pains to make sure he moved somewhere else my dear brother.

"My gut says she isn't." I said, then added, "Do you want her back in Seattle?"

"What's that suppose to mean?" His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

I swiftly corrected, "I mean what is it you hope for?"

"I'll even move to New York if she'll have me." He said with a sappy look lurking in his eyes.

I frowned at him. Why drag yourself so low for someone? Why should the thirsty go to the well, when the well can come to the thirsty? But I couldn't say that to him. This particular family of mine, they were my weakness. My affections, gratefulness and appreciation for them ran deeper than they would understand.

"Whatever makes you happy Elliot. I'll go see other guests now. Just know I'm always here for you."

"I know man." Elliot gave me a genuine smile which I returned.

After that, as far as good behaviour was concerned, I was at my best. My charm today was off the roof. I smiled at employees who I'd never given the time of my day before.

A pressure was building inside me. The more the pressure built, the more I tried to suppress it. The images of my grandmother, of my mother's cold dead-body, of her pimp's dead-body, all were flashing through my mind with no certain intervals.

I was so charming that people around me. People that knew me well enough were starting to appear either disconcerted or pleasantly astounded.

After dinner and the whole ordeal was over, I happily said my goodbyes to my family and the guests, taking the time that I had to. Blood was surging in my head. My patience was beginning to fray around the edges.

It was late when I turned to leave the function.

As I drew out of everyone's sight, the smile that had been plastered over my face for all evening dropped down immediately. I could feel the pressure in my mind and my body simmering. Like someone slowly dying in a torturously drawn out way.

I saw Taylor approaching me as I walked towards my office briskly. "Taylor." I said without stopping.

He started walking with me at my pace, "Yes Mr. Grey?"

"I'm going to my office. I have some work to do. I want no one, I repeat no one, not even you, to disturb me." I scrubbed my hand over my face and burning eyes.

I must have looked like a mess because Taylor said, "Mr. Grey are you okay? Maybe you should go to sleep. You don't look..." He trailed off as he saw my dead-pan stare.

The main reason he was in my employ for so long was because he kept to himself. And he was loyal to me. I needed to remember this guy was loyal to me before I insulted him for no reason other than my jackassery. He even cared of me. That softened me.

"Taylor. I'm fine." I grumbled out. "I'm absolutely fine. You're done for the day. Go to bed. Take some rest."

"Mr. Grey." He nodded and swiftly turned away.

I marched towards my office with no certain intent. I just wanted to be alone within the sanctuary of my private enclosure. I entered my office, roughly shut the door with a loud bang and absent-mindedly leaned against it. I almost wanted my wretched headache back just to concentrate on something other than my thoughts. I slowly inhaled, trying to calm myself down. Something tapped on my senses. I took another deep breath. It was Anastasia's unique scent.

Since my last meeting with her, this was the first time I had entered my office after returning from Chicago. Was my nose playing tricks on me? Was my body so attuned to hers that I could smell her day old presence. I opened my eyes, not knowing what to do but approached the bar all the while looking around.

I was alone. Of course I was.

Before I knew it, my hands were taking hold of a decanter of hard liquor and a glass. I trotted towards my chair and set those down on the table. I made quick work of taking off my suit jacket and carelessly threw it on the sofa nearby, then loosened my tie.

I sat down. Poured myself some whiskey and chugged it down, my throat burning, giving me a strange masochistic relief.

My gaze absent-mindedly went to the wall. I looked at it for a good five minutes, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and whispers, of horrors and humiliation, of hatred and rejection.

An email alert brought me out of that stupor. I geared up my laptop and started reading semi-important e-mails. I replied to a few of them. They could've waited but I needed something to do. Sleep was the farthest thing from my mind and my brain needed some direction.

I chugged down another glass.

Then got back to my e-mails. My fingers hovering over the keyboard restlessly as my leg shook impatiently. Even in this cold weather, I was perspirating.

I opened up the bottom-most drawer of my table, looking for an important document. I couldn't find it. "Where the fuck is it?" I harshly muttered under my breath.

I impatiently opened all my drawers causing a commotion of sounds. The file was nowhere in sight. I turned to take another gulp of my whiskey, only to find the bottle empty.

I loudly cussed out at nobody in particular.

My anger boiled over.

I saw my hand picking up the empty bottle of whiskey and throwing it against the glass wall painting. I watched with morbid satisfaction as both shattered at the violent impact.

I picked up my glass to join the party but then regained the sense to ask myself, what the fuck was I doing?

Was that insanity kicking in?

I instantly sobered. No! I was better than that.

Ignoring the shattered glass in my way, I confidently went to the bar with the intent to get another bottle for myself—to drink. My hand clutched at the bottle to the point where my fingers turned white. I closed my eyes tightly, my neck muscles cording. I had been so very calm after meeting Catherine Montgomery. It was the calm before a storm. My delayed meltdown was beginning to surface.

In an instant another bottle hit the wall as a guttural roar left my throat. The small particles of sharp pieces of glass flew out, some of them hitting me back. Several bottles hit the tall lamp in the corner, making it crash to the floor. Pieces of glass flew towards my direction, cutting me.

Then another and another. Before I knew what I was doing, all the bottles and the glasses displayed prettily in the small bar were rendered shattered and lying under my feet. The camel colored carpeted floor had turned soggy because of the liquid spillage over it.

I saw my table, rage soaring up inside my whole body again. Followed by with anguish and helplessness. The bottom of my shoe hit the table, making it skid. Another hit made the heavy table hover precariously on two legs before it hit the ground, along with my laptop and other miscellaneous items.

I had so much pent up fury inside of me.

I wanted to let it all go. The pressure that has been building up in me all day long was tearing me from inside out. I didn't want anybody to see this side of me. I couldn't risk anybody seeing me like this. Not even Taylor. Good thing I had instructed him not to interrupt me. Luckily, his room was situated quite far away from my office.

A whimper resounded near me.

My ears perked. I jerked my head around like a hound on a blood-trail. What if someone had seen me? My blood ran cold at the notion. It was enough to tarnish my image. It would certainly be enough to label me mentally unstable. If someone was in the room, by accident or design, they wouldn't like the consequences of spying on me.

I noticed, my nostrils flaring, a small form shivering behind the large curtains. I took a minute to think, murder overpowered my mind as my muscles flexed with tension. But thinking sanely was too difficult right now. I cracked my knuckles, then with large steps I was on whoever it was, roughly pushing the curtains away.

Anastasia!

My eyes widened.

I was dumbfounded and caught off guard for a while. She looked scared. Terrified. I could tell by the way she was clutching both her hands over her breasts.

Her back pressed to the wall as though she wanted to disappear through it. I waited for her to say something, but no coherent sound came out of her throat.

It was ironic that I had seen so many women donning the same apparel that she was wearing right now—that monotone black and white uniform. But somehow, it appeared... almost provocative on her curvy body. It suggestively hugged her ample curves in all the right places.

She looked alarmingly beautiful and so very... fuckable. Wisps and tendrils of hair encased her creamy delicate face as her big midnight-blue doe eyes were looking at me with fright. Fright because she was spying on me. That made me stop staring at her like a hungry predator eyeing a delectable feast. Though it proved my hunger for her had no plans to remain dormant for long.

My eyes narrowed into slits and I felt my lip curl into a snarl as I remembered why she was here and what she had witnessed. How much she must loathe and fear me now. More so than ever.

"Enjoying the show?" I growled out.

She blinked rapidly, her chin trembling and put her hands up in a surrender-like motion, "I wanted to talk—" Her voice broke mid sentence as I flashed near her in a second. Clasping her fragile wrist in my vice-like grip, I wrenched her away from behind the curtains and towards me with brutal force.

A hiss left her red-painted rose-bud mouth as she fell between my arms. Now she was face to chest with me. I could feel the faint tremors in her body. My forefinger and thumb pinched her chin as I lifted her face with deceptive gentleness, my tone quiet and menacing, "Were you spying on me, sweetheart?"

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