Rhys stared up at the bathroom mirror looking at the violet eyes that stared back at him. His midnight black hair stood up at angels from where he had been tugging at it. His hands trembled slightly as he released the sink. A bad day, that's all it was. A very bad day.
Something red flashed behind him and he flinched only to look back and discover it was the little light in the smoke detector, not… her.
When Rhys had first taken over his father's place, right after his father had died, he had been a bit overwhelmed. The Board of Directors hadn't wanted anything to do with him and had fought him for control. His father, mother, and sister were suddenly gone from his life. And all he wanted to do was take his mother's side of the business, Velaris Incorporated, and grow it to bring some beauty back to the world. His adoptive brothers and Mor had tried to help him but they hadn't had positions in the company yet and all had their own schooling or work to do. He struggled but he hadn't realized the worst had yet to come.
To the west of Prythian was an island called Hybern. The place was desolate and the land was overworked. The government had given way to the big corporations well before and had slowly chipped at the people's rights until there was no hope for the people there. Few left because they couldn't afford to get that far and often the government imprisoned those trying to leave. Able-bodied workers were not to go anywhere.
On that island one corporation had become the supreme ruler. The CEO at the top was dubbed the King of Hybern because whatever he said went. While he wasn't officially in a government position, all he had to do was point and his whims were fulfilled. Unsatisfied with the dying industry in his drained lands, he had started looking to the east to Prythian and had sent… her. Amarantha Scarlett.
Rhys' father had mentioned Amarantha a time or two before his untimely death but she had been denied access to the company. Other large companies had had problems with her once she had wormed her way in. Rumors of hostages and deaths when CEO's and board members disagreed with her followed in her wake. How much of it was true, a young Rhys would have questioned. The red-haired woman held a cold face and a special place in Spring Corp, or she had when Tamlin's father had been alive. Tamlin, it seemed, hadn't had the care for her his father had and had kicked her out.
She had turned her eyes then to the son of the man that had apparently cost her the partnership with Spring. Rhys had tried to keep her at bay but she had found her way in with some of his board members and with his father's inner circle that wanted nothing to do with a half-breed owner and CEO. So Amarantha had found her way in and Rhys had been left scrambling to cover his behind. Mementos of his family and friends had been wiped from his office. His computer and phone were scrubbed of every trace of humanity in him. And every file for Velaris had been tucked away in the most encrypted and deeply hidden files he could muster. But it hadn't been enough, so Rhys had done the first and only thing he could think of. He had offered himself to Amarantha and for some reason that had distracted her enough to keep her from looking too much more into him.
At that time in his life, he had stopped talking to his family to protect them. He had stayed away and had cut all ties with anything good. Instead he had devoted his time to trying to keep Amarantha from looking too deep into his world by providing her with as much pleasure as she had been able to stand. He had done his best to minimize the damages she was reeking on his company and the people beyond, but he hadn't been able find a way to get rid of her.
Amarantha had been insatiable and her favorite thing to do had been inflict pain with pleasure. She had gotten off on drawing blood leaving bruises. She had left him physically unable to move some days with what had given her pleasure, but he had kept pressing forward until he almost couldn't take it anymore. Suicide had become a constant thought on his mind and for the year she had controlled his life, it became the way he thought to escape.
A year from the first day he had knelt before Amarantha, he had stood on the roof of Nox Industries with every intention of jumping off the ledge. He had sent out notices to his family then, telling them just enough for them to know he didn't have other options. Just as he had been about to step off the ledge he had been tackled by one very pissed off Cassian. The man had apparently been storming the entire building looking for him to give him a piece of mind about just abandoning them for so long when he had gotten the message.
Sporting a black eye from Cassian's brotherly admonishing, Rhys had been hauled home and had faced his family. It was then that Azriel had unleased himself full force on the world, hacking every single system until he had secured the information about Amarantha actually having hostages. He had found incriminating messages about the things she had threatened to gain control. Then Mor had found him Amren, a cut-throat lawyer that had faced down mafia and left them begging for mercy. Between Azriel's information and Amren's legal knowledge, the two of them had left Amarantha in prison with a sentence that would span well past her life without bringing anything she had done to him into it.
Rhys had spent several weeks meeting with a psychologist daily but what had truly helped was his family. So when he had returned to work he had used Amren and Azriel to weed out every conspirator with Amarantha had flushed them from the company. Then he had bought all of those open shares with his own fortune and had handed them over to his family to give them majority share holdings and positions within the company.
But there were still triggers, years later. He wasn't fond of the color red. He couldn't abide it in his office or his bedroom. He didn't like to be touched by just anyone. And he really couldn't stand women who used their power to try and get to him.
Today it had been all of those things. One of the women in a trade deal he had been involved in negotiating had shoved her way into his office after leaving the conference room. He had heard Feyre's protest outside of the door as the woman had pushed her aside. Then the red-haired woman had advanced on him, almost prowling to get to him and had started talking about the trade possibilities if he was willing to work with her. She had started unbuttoning her blouse and had taken his hand to trail it over her exposed cleavage. He had taken his hand back rather quickly and had tried to get her to leave but she had been relentless even as he hid his discomfort behind the cold mask that had become his crutch.
Cassian had arrived shortly after, to remove her by force after Feyre had called him. And when Rhys was assured that she and everyone else had left, save Feyre, he had retreated to the bathroom to have his panic in quiet and to remind himself that Amarantha was gone and unable to do anything to him or the people he loved.
A knock on the door made him straighten. He didn't want to face anyone like this, not even his family which would be the only people with access to him on this floor.
"Rhys?" Feyre's voice came through the door. "Should I go get someone for you? Mor?"
He drew back from the sink and the mirror, trying to straighten his appearance. "No, I just need a minute. Thank you." It came out far colder than he meant it but that was indeed his crutch when it came to this sort of panic.
"It's been sixty minutes," Feyre's voice held an edge that told him she wasn't about to take his excuses. It made him almost smile. "What can I do to help?"
Rhys opened the door and stared down at Feyre, she was staring right back up at him, taking him in, assessing him as he often assessed her. Concern traced frim her eyes to her mouth but she didn't reach between them though he could feel her wanting to. He closed the space between their bodies and pulled her into a hug. She stiffened at the sudden contact and then returned his embrace.
"Are you okay?" She asked when it became a far too long hug. But Rhys wasn't sure he was and not for the previous reasons. With Feyre against him that wasn't a concern in the least. But his mind was focused solely on how her body fit so perfectly against his, on how she smelled so intoxicatingly good, on how he wanted nothing more than to stand like this with her for the rest of his life. "Rhys?" She pressed when he hadn't responded in what she had apparently deemed an acceptable amount of time.
"I will be," he replied and forced himself to let her go. "Thank you for calling security."
"Well, you didn't look comfortable and I certainly don't appreciate being stepped around like I'm a piece of furniture," she admitted. "The nerve of some people."
"Indeed." He replied. "Do I have anything else on the schedule for the rest of the day?"
"A phone conference with Dawn Medical in three hours. That's all I have on my end," she responded quickly.
"Good, that's doable. Have you had lunch yet?" He reached down and took her hand, wanting to keep her close.
"No," she admitted though it was well past the time she normally took lunch. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"What did you bring today?" He asked. She normally brought very basic things for lunch like sandwiches and an apple. Certainly not the left overs Cassian tended to bring that proved he was by far the best cook of the group. Not the salads and overstuffed subs that Azriel lived on. And not the frozen meals that Mor devoured in twos and threes, claiming they were too small of portions though Azriel pointed out that was the point. And no one knew what Amren ate down in her office and no one questioned it after Cassian had once claimed to smell blood.
"One of Mor's frozen meals smelled so good the other day, I thought I'd try one," she turned to lead him towards the lounge.
"Perhaps you can try that tomorrow. Let's go out somewhere. I didn't bring a lunch today," he lied. He had a lunch, some dish his two house maids had whipped up. They were great cooks on top of being wonderful at keeping his house clean and they had been with him since just before his family had been taken from him. They had been the two people that had witnessed the utter destruction of what Amarantha had done to him.
"Where do you want to go?" She asked turning to walk to her desk.
Rhys thought hard about where he wanted to take Feyre. He could take her to some fancy place by town car or limo where everyone would cater to him as was expected of him, but then again, he didn't really want to expose Feyre to that side of him more than he already did. Instead he wanted to show her something different. He wanted to show her something a little more personal to him.
"Have you ever tried Illyrian food?" He asked. She paused at her desk midway to grabbing her purse.
"Isn't that what Cassian brings practically every day?"
"Yes," Rhys nodded. "He's probably the only one of us that can cook it properly but sometimes Azriel can whip up a dish or two."
"So they introduced you to it?" She asked as she resumed grabbing her purse.
"My mother did. She was Illyrian and taught Cassian and Az how to cook. I apparently lack the ability," he smiled at her when she turned back to him.
"I suppose that's why you share some of their coloring," she murmured more to herself than to him. "I don't think I actually know anything about Illyrians."
"A backwards people in the north," Rhys admitted. "Back when this land was mostly tribes, before so called civilization, they were a warmongering people. The men still train as warriors though battle is something they will likely never see again and the women are to be bearers of children and keep house." Rhys steered her towards the elevator. "Women who try to escape the life are usually caught, dragged back kicking and screaming, and beaten into submission. They like their pure blood lines almost more than the people here." He waved at the air around him to indicate mostly the building but also the world beyond it.
"I never understood that," Feyre admitted. "Mixing cultures can be good and I have to say, can produce some very good-looking people."
"Then you are a better person than most," Rhys told her, tucking away the compliment in his heart. There was a chance she hadn't meant him but the smirk on her face told him she had. "My mother wanted out when she was young. She felt there was more than raising children in a hut in the mountains to a man who fought others all day. She tried to escape and was dragged back by the warriors of her clan. My father had been visiting that day, setting up a trade deal with their clan leader for some access to their resources in exchange for supplies. Never marks, Illyrians don't trade in marks. He saw them tying her to a whipping post and put a stop to it. Made her freedom one of the conditions of the trade and brought her home."
"So they married after that?" Feyre asked.
"No. My mother worked as a seamstress for a while, she was quite talented and my father ran into her again when he needed one of his suits fixed. He always said he had made up his mind on her when he had witnessed her trying to fight off those warriors trying to tie her to the post. So I suppose it wasn't coincidence he found her again, and again, and again until he convinced her to dinner, and then more." Rhys shrugged. "My mother always said he was persistent and stubborn, traits my sister and I inherited."
Rhys led Feyre to the parking ramp where his car was under constant guard. While he usually took town cars or limos when he needed to make an impression at work and beyond, he liked driving himself about. His little black sports car sat in the most monitored spot in the entire parking ramp. With a flourished bow he opened the door for Feyre only to hear her snort.
"So how do Azriel and Cassian fit in if Illyrians don't really leave that area?" Feyre asked when he got into the driver's seat.
"Remember what I told you about pure blood lines?" Rhys asked, setting the car in motion. He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye. "They also really care about your lineage. Cassian's mother was some poor washer woman who was likely attacked by one of the men of her clan. Since Cassian was born a bastard, he was cast out and taken to another clan shortly after he could walk. The point was for him to die in the wilderness, but the stubborn bastard survived. I met him when my mother brought me to her old clan to teach me the ways of my people. I think the Illyrian in her wasn't too thrilled when I dragged Cassian back home with me that night rather than let him sleep out in the cold again. But she still took him in and my father wasn't too concerned with another mouth to feed." Rhys sighed. His father really hadn't known Cassian had been in their house until he had been there for five years. By then it had been fact, just like Azriel.
"That's horrible," Feyre murmured. "How many get cast out to die?"
"Enough that someone sweeps the mountain side to try and find younglings before they get in too much trouble," Rhys assured her. "My mother's idea after I asked the same thing."
"And Az?" Feyre asked.
"Az was born to a man with a high rank, and to someone who wasn't his wife. His wife got mad and set her two vicious sons on him to make sure his life was a misery. They did—terrible things to him really. Some sort of compassion must have existed in someone in that house because he was turned loose a couple years after I met Cass. My mother took him in, apparently his mother was a friend of hers back in the day. So, we became brothers of sorts. Raised and educated alongside each other. My mother probably blamed every gray hair on us."
"I couldn't imagine the three of you in one house," Feyre shuddered.
"We've even gotten better," Rhys chuckled. "Likely because we don't live together anymore."
"Your mother must have been a saint."
"She was," Rhys admitted. His mind wandered back to his mother. To her dark hair, dark skin, and hazel eyes. The same coloring Azriel and Cassian bore; the coloring of most Illyrians. She had been a beautiful woman inside and out, strong, and very talented with a needle and thread.
Feyre let the silence remain between them as he finished driving them to a small little restaurant at the very edge of the district. The unassuming little white building didn't scream restaurant at all but Rhys knew the place well. He parked the car in the small side lot and led Feyre into the tiny dining room. The large woman behind the counter recognized him immediately.
"Rhysand! It's not Saturday!" She reminded him as he led Feyre up to the counter.
"I come here most Saturdays unless I have an event," Rhys explained when Feyre quirked an eyebrow. "Sevinda makes quite a few different dishes from lesser known cultures, but she excels at Illyrian in ways Cassian could only hope to duplicate." He paused for a second, looking up at the board behind the counter. Sevinda changed the menu daily to different dishes and he scanned until he found the two Illyrian dishes she had out for the day. "Do you mind if I order for you?" He asked, realizing Feyre wouldn't exactly know what she was ordering but that she also might still want that sort of control. He doubted Tamlin had let her have much control at all.
"You're not going to find me the spiciest thing on the menu, are you?" She demanded. Sevinda laughed.
"That is more Cassian's style than dear Rhysand's," the happy woman informed Feyre. He saw something spark in Feyre's eyes at the words.
"Alright, I'll bow to your expertise this time," she announced.
"Have a seat," he waved at the small dining room. There were only a few tables but it would give her some control back while he ordered.
"Pretty woman," Sevinda murmured at him.
"Beautiful truly. My personal assistant, Feyre," he explained. "Thought I'd introduce her to something new."
"Uh huh," came to snort of disbelief and he couldn't help but grin.
Sevinda had been his mother's first acquisition into Velaris Incorporated. The woman wasn't Illyrian but she had been sympathetic to his mother's plight before she had married his father. His mother had taught her the Illyrian dishes herself and the few Illyrians that had left the mountains often found their way to Sevinda's. Rhys had been coming to her restaurant since he had been born and then his brothers had come and now it was tradition to come at least once a week. The woman knew him as well as his own mother had and would know Feyre was not just his personal assistant. He usually came alone or came with his family. There was never anyone new.
With two styrofoam containers in hand, Rhys found Feyre peering out one of the windows. He set the containers down and offered Feyre a plastic fork.
"No fancy plates and silverware here?" She teased. "I thought all of you wealthy CEOs couldn't function without proper dining."
"You'd find proper plates and silverware just robs you of the experience, Feyre Darling," he purred at her. "I figured I'd let you try both and see which one you liked better. I like both so I'm fine with whichever you don't want."
Feyre rolled her eyes and dug her fork into one container and then the other. She considered for a moment and then a spark of mischief entered her eyes. "What if I like both?"
"Then I'm going to go order more." He winked at her, rose, and made to walk to the counter.
"I was teasing, Prick," she caught his arm and then let go immediately.
"And if you truly want both, I wasn't teasing," he saw the look of guilt cross her face. She really did like both and he supposed he could have split the dishes with her equally but they didn't have to. "Take one home for dinner tonight or lunch tomorrow," he assured her. He gave her a gentle smile and then went back to the counter. It was truly something that made him feel very good inside that Feyre liked this food. When he returned with another container, she appeared to have thought the better of arguing with him but he didn't doubt for a second she would retaliate somehow.