Chapter 15 You Love Me Like You Love Hell

# Chapter 15: You Love Me Like You Love Hell

The board meeting the next day was a masterpiece of corporate theater—one that Callum and I had carefully choreographed until dawn. We entered the boardroom together, a united front that immediately set the tone. I wore black, severe and elegant, with a single piece of jewelry: the Monette family signet ring, traditionally worn only by the CEO.

Callum made the announcements with characteristic authority, presenting my elevation to co-CEO as a strategic decision rather than the seismic shift in power it represented. Most board members were too stunned to object—or too aware of Callum's controlling shares to voice their concerns openly.

Only Gideon dared to challenge us, standing abruptly when Callum finished speaking.

"This is absurd," he declared, glaring at me across the polished table. "She's not even a Monette. She's my soon-to-be ex-wife who slept with my father. And now you want to hand her half the company?"

A tense silence followed his outburst. I remained perfectly composed, watching as Callum slowly turned to face his son.

"Sit down, Gideon," he said quietly—a command, not a request.

"No." Gideon's face flushed with anger. "I've spent my entire life preparing to lead this company. I've done everything you asked, endured every test, every criticism, every impossible standard. And now you give it to her?"

I spoke before Callum could respond. "Not give. Share." My voice was calm, reasonable. "Your father believes—and I agree—that Monette Enterprises benefits from our complementary strengths. Your relationships with our European partners, my innovations in Asian markets. Together, we can expand the company in ways neither could achieve alone."

"Bullshit," Gideon spat. "This is about him wanting to keep you close, to control you. And you're letting him because you want his power."

"That's enough," Callum interjected sharply.

But I raised a hand, silencing him. "No, let him speak. Transparency is going to be a cornerstone of our new leadership approach."

Gideon laughed bitterly. "Transparency? From the two of you? That would be a first."

I stood, commanding the room's attention. "I understand your frustration, Gideon. But this isn't personal—it's business. The board has reviewed our proposal and agreed it serves the company's best interests." I glanced around the table, meeting the eyes of each member in turn. "Unless anyone wishes to formally object?"

No one spoke. Even Gideon seemed to deflate slightly, recognizing the futility of his position.

"Then it's settled," I concluded. "Callum will transition to Chairman, while Gideon and I will share CEO responsibilities, effective immediately."

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As the meeting adjourned, board members filed out, some stopping to offer cautious congratulations. Gideon stormed out without another word. When only Callum and I remained, he turned to me with a glint of admiration in his eyes.

"Masterful," he said softly. "You handled them perfectly."

"I learned from the best manipulator I know," I replied, gathering my papers.

He moved closer, his presence still commanding despite yesterday's surrender. "Was it all manipulation, Clarette? Everything between us?"

I met his gaze steadily. "You tell me."

Before he could answer, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, frowning. "I need to take this. Medical results."

I nodded, watching him step away to answer the call. Despite everything—his deception, his manipulation, his illness—I felt a pang at the thought of losing him. Not for love, exactly, but for the complex, electric connection that had defined us from the beginning.

That evening, I returned to my apartment—not the one I'd shared with Gideon, but a new penthouse I'd purchased upon my return from Italy. The DNA results from Switzerland had arrived while I was in the board meeting. The envelope sat unopened on my coffee table, its contents potentially redefining my identity yet again.

I was reaching for it when a knock came at my door. I knew who it was before I opened it.

Callum stood in the hallway, a bottle of rare whiskey in one hand. "May I come in?"

I stepped aside, allowing him to enter. He looked around the sparsely furnished space, taking in the half-unpacked boxes, the temporary feeling of it all.

"Not making yourself at home?" he observed, setting the whiskey on the counter.

"I haven't decided if I'm staying," I admitted, closing the door. "New York holds... complicated memories."

"And Italy holds your mother." He nodded toward the envelope on the coffee table. "The results?"

"Yes."

"Have you opened them?"

"Not yet." I moved to the window, looking out at the city lights. "I'm not sure it matters anymore."

He came to stand beside me, close but not touching. "It matters. Truth always matters, even when it's painful."

"Says the man who built his life on strategic lies."

His laugh was soft, genuine. "Perhaps that's why I value truth so highly. I know its rarity."

I turned to face him. "Your medical call earlier—bad news?"

"Confirmation of the timeline." His expression remained neutral, controlled as always. "The treatment options are limited and largely ineffective. Quality of life versus quantity—the classic trade-off."

"And which will you choose?"

"Quality," he answered without hesitation. "I have no interest in withering away in a hospital bed. I intend to finish what I've started."

"And what is that, exactly?" I asked. "What is your endgame in all this, Callum? Making me co-CEO, preparing for your... absence. What do you really want?"

He was quiet for a moment, studying me with those penetrating eyes. Then he reached out, his fingers brushing my cheek with unexpected tenderness.

"I want to leave knowing that what I've built will continue. That it will grow, evolve, become something even greater under your guidance."

"And Gideon?"

"Gideon is my son, and I love him," Callum said carefully. "But he lacks the vision, the ruthlessness required to lead in this world. You have both, in abundance."

"Because I'm like you," I said, understanding dawning. "Not by blood, but by nature."

"Yes." His hand moved to the nape of my neck, drawing me closer. "You are what I would have created if I could have designed my perfect successor. The fact that I found you instead... perhaps that's the universe's idea of irony."

I should have pulled away. Should have maintained the professional boundary we'd established in the boardroom. Instead, I found myself leaning into his touch, craving the dark electricity that had always flowed between us.

"And this?" I whispered as his lips hovered near mine. "Is this part of the succession plan too?"

"This," he murmured, "is the one thing I've never been able to control. My desire for you transcends strategy, transcends reason."

When his mouth claimed mine, it was with a hunger that matched my own. We collided like opposing forces of nature—fire meeting ice, destruction and creation in equal measure. His hands tangled in my hair as mine tore at his shirt, buttons scattering across the hardwood floor.

We didn't make it to the bedroom. Against the wall, on the cold marble of the kitchen counter, finally on the plush carpet of the living room—we consumed each other with desperate intensity, as if trying to imprint ourselves on each other's skin.

Afterward, as we lay tangled together, my head on his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart—the heart that would stop too soon—he spoke into the darkness.

"I don't know how to love gently, Clarette. I never have. My love is possession, obsession, control."

I traced the scars on his chest—old ones from a life I knew little about. "I don't need gentle. I never have either."

He shifted, looking down at me with an expression I'd never seen before—something almost vulnerable beneath his usual armor. "Do you love me at all? Or am I simply a means to an end for you, as you once accused me of making you?"

The question hung between us, heavy with implications. I thought of all he'd done, all the manipulations and lies, the calculated seductions and strategic moves. But I also thought of moments like this—rare glimpses of the man beneath the Monette legend.

"I love you," I said finally, "the way you love me. Like loving hell itself—knowing it will burn you, change you, consume you—but being unable to resist its pull."

His arms tightened around me, and in the darkness, I felt rather than saw his smile. "Then we are perfectly matched, after all."

As dawn broke over the city, I disentangled myself from his embrace and retrieved the envelope from the coffee table. Without hesitation, I tore it open, scanning the results quickly.

Callum watched me from where he lay. "Well?"

I set the papers down, my expression revealing nothing. "It seems the truth, like love, is more complicated than either of us imagined."