Adeus Moriarty

My father wasn't interested in such concepts as "I want" or "I don't like". In his world, carved from the crystal of high stakes and steel contracts, there were only categories of "profitable" and "unprofitable." My birth as an alpha in the Moriarty family was classified in the first category. My upbringing, education, manners—everything was calculated like a complicated financial statement. And my marriage, of course, too.

"Adeus," he told me that evening, sipping a twenty—five-year-old whiskey. "You're going to marry Valero." This will strengthen our alliance with their corporation and give us control over new markets. The youngest daughter, Olivia. Omega. It is quite suitable genetic material for the heirs."

He spoke of her as a rare rose variety that needed to be purchased for a greenhouse. Beautiful, expensive, prestigious. I was looking at my reflection in the dark glass of the panoramic window of his office. A perfectly fitted suit, impeccable posture, and a cool, composed face. The mask of the son I was supposed to be. Inside, a quiet, familiar rage raged. The fury of a cornered beast that had already accepted the chain, but hated every ringing sound of it.

Because women… Their scents, too sweet or too tart, their expectations, their fragility, which I was expected to protect and desire — all this caused me only icy rejection. I tried, God, as I tried in my youth, to meet expectations. He considered it his flaw, a breakdown in the well-established alpha system. But over time, I came to terms with the truth: my attraction was directed in a different direction. It was my most closely guarded secret, my personal fortress, which even my father and his plans were not allowed into.

Agreeing to marry Olivia Valero was a capitulation for me. The last, loudest chime of the chain. I've seen pictures of her—cute, with eyes like a frightened deer. I imagined our lives: flawless, lifeless, in a golden cage of joint business projects and rare, mechanical attempts to conceive an heir. I was getting physically stifled.

And here I am standing under the arches of the cathedral. The scent of millions thinned into flowers mixed with the smell of sweat from hands clasped in palms