Session 𝓢ixty-Nine

Session 69:
"The Asset"

⨳ ⨳ ⨳

"Wow," I murmured as soon as I stepped into the walk-in closet.

Sure, it was huge, but I was more focused on the clothes that were hung and pressed just as Clarisse said.

One side of the closet was left empty for anything we wanted to hang up, but the last thing I'll be doing is unpacking.

Hopefully, that will manifest that we won't stay long.

"I guess I should shower and start getting ready," I murmured, glancing over to Monroe, who walked into the closet with me.

The time change really fucked everything over since New York is three hours ahead of Seattle.

We technically landed at three in Eastern Standard Time.

Now we have around two hours to get ready, which is definitely not enough time for me.

I need to look as presentable as possible, especially after how Clarisse looked at me.

Maybe I want to impress her—or maybe it's about proving a point.

Either way, I'm determined to win.

"Shower with me?" I asked Monroe, tilting my head slightly.

Monroe's lips twitched up as she eyed my face, "I have work to catch up on, darling," she softly murmured.

I remained silent, openly holding her stare for a moment.

Her words made something sink inside of me, but I get it.

She has a lot of work to keep up on during this weekend, as she's specified.

I softly hummed, finally glancing away from her as I reached for my top—

And smoothly pulled it over my head.

The cold air immediately nipped at my bare skin, my hardened nipples naturally making Monroe's stare divert down.

Her jawline grew tight, proving that I was testing every ounce of her restraint.

"Have fun working," I softly whispered, subtly handing her my discarded clothes as I walked past her out of the closet.

My lips naturally twitched up, hearing a tight sigh echo from her lips.

But I didn't turn back around.

I walked toward the attached en-suite, reaching for the waistband of my leggings.

I purposely left the bathroom door open, stripping out of my leggings as I kept my back to the bedroom.

The bathroom was nearly glistening.

From the gold accents—to the marble floors and counter, nothing was out of place.

I walked over to the glass shower, turning the gold handle to the left and immediately making water spew out.

Within seconds, steam managed to gather in the shower, and the water pressure looked heavenly.

I impatiently stepped inside, burying myself under the steaming hot water.

Internally, I was counting the seconds—hoping she would join me.

I started washing my hair to distract myself, grabbing one of the many products that Monroe had already set in the shower for us.

I ran the soapy shampoo through my wet hair, rinsing it out a few moments later under the hot water.

A startled gasp echoed from my lips when I felt hands firmly grab my waist. 

"Monr—"

"Shhh," I heard her soft voice in my ears, pressing her hand firmly over my mouth.

I let out a soft sigh through my nose, relaxing against her smooth warm body behind me.

"I severely dislike being teased, Liberty," Monroe softly whispered in my ear, her hand traveling down from my waist.

A soft hum burned in my throat, my eyes rolling closed as her fingertips roamed my slicked skin.

"You know better, darling," she murmured, biting her teeth into my shoulder and eliciting a gasp from me.

I reached behind to grab her waist for stability, especially when her hand slid between my legs.

A drawn out moan burned in my throat when she began circling my clit, pulling away from my shoulder that I knew she undoubtedly left a bite mark on.

I panted against her hand pressed to my mouth when she angled her fingers against my entrance, applying just enough pressure to make me squirm.

"Ro," I tried my best to say, but it was muffled against her hand as she teased my entrance.

She's doing this on purpose.

I shifted against her when she barely slid her fingers into me, slipping them right back out to circle my clit.

Monroe's hand fell away from my mouth, gripping the front of my neck when I tried to tug away from her teasing touch.

"Is this not what you wanted, Liberty?" Monroe murmured into my ear, "You wanted me to join you in this shower?"

"No," I forced out breathlessly, arching away from her fingers that applied pressure at my entrance without slipping inside, "Not to tease me."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't tease the person responsible for your orgasm, Liberty," she softly whispered, firmly sliding two fingers inside of me.

I gasped at the sensation, moaning deeply as my eyes rolled closed.

"Yes, I shouldn't," I quickly rushed out, moaning deeper when she curled her fingers into my spot.

Only to slide them right back out of me.

"Monroe," I whined, trying to push her away from me.

Her grip around my neck only grew firmer.

"Be good for mommy," she said, pressing the softest kiss to my damp shoulder like she wasn't putting me through an unbearable edging.

I let out a deep whimper, gripping her waist behind me as she continued teasing my core.

I couldn't begin to anticipate her next move, and somehow that made my body surrender even more.

I grew wetter for her, my inner thighs damp with my arousal instead of water.

Monroe only kept going, rubbing and teasing me for minutes on end.

"Very good girl, darling," she praised me, trailing kisses across my shoulder, "You won't tease mommy again, will you?"

I quickly shook my head, even if it was a partial lie.

I enjoy teasing her, even if it means enduring rounds of edging afterward.

"Please," I whispered, resting my head back against her body, "I'm sorry."

"I know, my sweet girl," she murmured, slipping two fingers inside of me and eliciting a gasp from me.

"Yes," I breathed out, squeezing my eyes closed when she went faster and deeper.

"Tighter, Liberty," she murmured in my ear as she pressed directly against my spot, making my closed eyes roll to the back of my head.

I focused on tightening for her, squeezing around her fingers just as she craved.

"You can do better than that, darling," her soft voice echoed in my ears, making me moan deeper.

My legs trembled as I pressed my weight against her, focusing on tightening against her fingers.

"Right there," I quickly whispered when she curled deeper against my spot, shifting her fingers against me.

"Oh wow, Liberty," she murmured, and I could hear how wet I was, "That's perfect, darling."

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter when she spread her fingers inside of me, making me grip her waist tighter.

My body writhed away from her when I hit my peak, whining and moaning as she purposely quickened her pace.

"God, Monroe," I forced out between pants, digging my nails into her soft waist as she helped me ride out my intense orgasm.

My legs were full on shaking, and I couldn't begin to catch my breath by the time Monroe was done with me.

She had to help me finish off my shower while she was at it, gripping my waist to help take the burden off my trembling legs.

I even had to sit on one of the stools outside of the shower when we were done, allowing Monroe to dry me off and apply my lotion.

Then I made an effort to stand, even if it made me wince and my legs tense up.

"You did this on purpose," I sighed as I practically limped past her at the bathroom sink.

"You earned it, darling," Monroe just had to say as I tried my best to walk over to the closet.

I sighed as I grabbed the handle of my suitcase.

"I can't be limping in front of your parents, Monroe," I pointed out as I dragged my suitcase into the closet.

"I'll stretch you before we head down," I heard her voice echo, making me roll my eyes.

"You're not touching me," I emphasized as I unzipped my suitcase, laying it flat in the large closet.

I focused on sitting on the floor and looking through the different clothes Monroe packed for me, not realizing she never responded to me.

She stopped by the closet door instead, wearing a white fluffy robe with her arms crossed over her chest.

I tilted my head as I eyed her body, "Maybe I could stretch you instead, Ro Ro," I murmured, glancing up to meet her stare.

But only to subtly wink at her.

Monroe hummed in response, "Perhaps we should skip dinner instead," she said, leaning against the door frame.

I narrowed my eyes at her, "Definitely not," I immediately shut her idea down.

"Come on, darling," she softly murmured, making me smile slightly, "I packed your favorite toys."

I dramatically parted my lips, my face burning up, "Ro," I mumbled as I threw one of the folded shirts at her.

Monroe only laughed softly, catching the shirt before it could fall to the ground.

"Let me play with you for a few hours, Liberty," she said with a small smile on her lips, her blue eyes trailing my face.

I blinked wordlessly, feeling so flustered from her straightforward words.

I had to fully look away from her and somehow compose myself.

"We're not skipping dinner so you can..." I trailed off, clenching my jaw as I let out a deep sigh, "Play with me," I finally whispered.

Monroe remained silent for a moment, but I could feel her stare burning into the side of my face, waiting for me to cave in or give some other compromise for her.

But we can't.

We need to be at this dinner, especially since it's my first impression.

I get Monroe genuinely doesn't care about her parents—even I already hate them, but that doesn't mean we should skip this dinner.

"After dinner," I finally said, somehow caving in and giving her a compromise.

Monroe hummed in approval, "Lovely," she murmured, stepping away from the doorframe to grab her own suitcase.

Soon, we were both getting dressed.

I settled on a long-sleeve red dress, which had a high neck so it covered my neck lingering with hickey's.

It came down to my lower thighs, so it felt appropriate enough, I think.

I mean, it's just dinner.

I also did natural makeup and a blowout on my hair, which I started doing before Monroe could mention wearing my curls out.

I always feel out of place when I wear them in environments like this, which sucks, but I can't really help it.

Especially with how I grew up.

My mother would always do my hair for events, and typically my curls would be slicked back or in a blowout.

"There," I murmured as I smoothed my hands down Monroe's black blazer that I helped her put on.

She wore matching dress pants and a white button-down underneath, her silky brown hair down with her bangs framing her face.

She looked perfect.

I genuinely couldn't believe how fast she had gotten ready.

Work had taken up a lot of her time since she had to go through some files really quickly.

"Should I change into something dressier?" I whispered to her, running my hands down her sides.

"No," Monroe didn't hesitate to say, gently grabbing my waist, "You look exquisite, darling."

"I just... want to fit in," I tried to explain.

Monroe's lips twitched up, "This is the last place you should ever want to fit in, Liberty," she murmured, her eyes holding mine, "What you're wearing is perfect. Even if your curls would've looked beautiful with this dress."

I smiled slightly, her words hitting a deeper part of me.

"That's very sweet of you, Ro Ro," I whispered, leaning in closer to her.

"Your hair is a part of you, darling. You should wear it proudly," Monroe said, leaning down to briefly kiss my lips.

I hummed softly as she pulled back, eyeing her perfect face.

I don't know if it was her genuine words or her mentioning something being a part of me, but all I could think about was my friends.

They're a huge part of me.

And I said I would tell her about Sarai.

I awkwardly cleared my throat when Monroe tilted her head, and suddenly the moment was gone.

Internally, it felt like I lost my chance.

"We should go down," I whispered.

Monroe remained silent for a moment, her eyes trailing my face.

It made everything inside me burn up, wondering if my thoughts were showing on my face.

"Should we?" Monroe finally spoke.

"Yeah, we uh don't want to be late," I said, even if it felt like she caught on.

I always forget her profession is reading people.

"Something's on your mind," she determined, making me freak out internally.

I'm not ready to tell her.

Not here.

Not when she already has her parents to deal with.

She just had a breakdown a couple of hours ago.

Now is definitely not a good time for this.

"I'm just nervous," I forced out, letting out a deep sigh at my lie.

I think this is genuinely a good excuse, though, and I'll tell her once we're back in Seattle.

I don't want to throw more curveballs at her than necessary.

"What do you need from me, darling?" Monroe asked, gently grabbing my waist, "How can I help?"

I blinked a few times, feeling so unbelievably guilty for lying to her after so long.

"Can you just..." I trailed off, suddenly pulling her into a hug, "Can we stay right here for a moment?"

Monroe relaxed against me, "Of course, darling," she murmured, leaning her head down to my shoulder.

I let out a soft sigh as she ran her hands up my back, holding me even closer.

The air was peacefully quiet between us—all I focused on was her steady heartbeat in her chest.

It was exactly the moment we needed before heading downstairs.

Even if it was brief, it somehow regulated my nerves.

I felt calmer as I walked with Monroe out of the bedroom, her arm wrapped securely around my waist.

I didn't bother trying to keep up with any directions.

I let Monroe fully lead the way, my short black heels clicking amongst her stilettos.

After walking down a couple of flights of stairs, down different hallways, and past a precisely decorated foyer—

We finally entered a formal dining room.

The stone ceiling was vaulted and lined with crown molding, glistening chandeliers hanging over the long white-clothed table.

It was set precisely with various forks and spoons, making me realize I didn't know the difference between which fork to use.

There's a small one and a big one.

Same thing for the spoons?

There are also three different butter knives?

God help me.

Everything looks so neat and precise, which I knew was curated by the staff.

Even the gold plates with folded cloth napkins on them, or the gold statue centerpieces.

At least the table was set to Monroe's liking, so that's a plus.

"Which utensils do I use?" I awkwardly whispered to Monroe as we stopped by the end seats, setting our things down on the table, "There are a lot of options and—"

I suddenly cut myself short, noticing one of the side doors open sharply.

I didn't bother finishing my sentence, not with Clarisse Leclair walking into the dining room.

Her golden blonde hair was down just like earlier, the silky strands curled precisely to frame her sharp face.

She wore a chiffon black blouse with a pleated skirt that fell past her knees, her posture rigid, and her hands held strictly in front of her body.

Diamonds glimmered in her ears and on her wrist, a clear sign of her wealth.

"Monroe," Clarisse spoke, motioning her daughter along.

She momentarily met my stare, but her hollowed eyes gave away nothing.

If anything, it made me feel uncomfortable, but looking away from her felt rude.

"What is it?" Monroe asked, not bothering to walk along with her mother.

Clarisse didn't say anything else.

She smoothly turned on her heel and walked out of the dining room, not a single word to spare.

Monroe stood beside me for a long moment, eyeing the closed door.

I glanced down, noticing her hand was squeezed into a fist by her side.

I went to reach for her to help, but she had already stepped away from the table.

"I'll be right back," she murmured, heading toward the door her mother walked out past.

I awkwardly pursed my lips together, getting seated at the long table as I reached for my phone by Monroe's.

Various staff members popped in as I waited, now wearing full-on suits and white gloves.

They didn't meet my stare once—it was like I wasn't here at all.

Instead, they focused on touching up the already neat table.

Like one out-of-place thing could make someone lose their job.

Or worse.

I glanced over when Monroe's phone lit up, softly vibrating against the table.

There wasn't a contact, but it was a Seattle area code, so it was probably important.

She was also working a little earlier, so it could be a patient or the office.

I suddenly stood from my chair, grabbing her buzzing phone as I glanced over to the door.

I'm not sure if I should even attempt to find her.

This place is too huge to be doing all of that.

But I also want to pass off her phone to her.

And... It's been a little too long.

A part of me wants to make sure everything is okay.

I suddenly stepped away from the table, walking around my chair to head toward the tall wooden door.

My heels clicked softly against the marble, carefully pushing the door open and walking out into the narrow side hallway.

It was lined with paintings and soft lit sconces.

We hadn't walked down this hallway, so I wasn't sure where to go.

I glanced left and right, trying to make a calculated guess.

I think the left heads to the front of the house, so I think the right is a good decision.

I suddenly took a step to the right—and another, walking down the hallway.

There were no doors, just a small step down as the long hallway continued on.

My stomach twisted in knots, briefly glancing over my shoulder as I tried to remember the direction I had come.

That's when I heard it.

The soft murmur of voices.

I glanced ahead again, noticing a door in front of me.

But it wasn't a typical door.

It was the type that you can push open without a handle or anything.

I drew in a deep breath, softly pressing my hands to the door and barely pushing so I could subtly squeeze through.

It was a kitchen.

A very large chef's kitchen, with two sets of stoves and fridges—even three dishwashers.

"She's beneficial."

I stiffened at Clarisse's voice, halting behind the wall.

"She's mine. Not either of yours," I heard Monroe's smooth voice.

I tried my best to peek around the corner, noticing Monroe's back was to me while her mother stood in front of her.

Clarisse's height was a little taller than Monroe's, standing with her chin tilted back and a few feet of space between them, like Monroe was a literal stranger.

"She's the daughter of a governor. We can work out an agreement," Clarisse spoke again, confirming that they were definitely discussing me. "Pave new pharmaceutical laws. The focus of Levane would shift to California."

I furrowed my brows at her words, remembering that Levane is their company.

Clarisse... or Monroe's parents, they want to make an agreement with my mother to have more lenient pharmaceutical laws?

What the fuck.

I guess Monroe’s ties with the government aren’t enough to push certain laws.

Not even her parents have those connections to pass laws like these, which means it must be bad.

I subtly peeked around the corner when it was entirely silent, noticing Clarisse's attention still pinned on her daughter.

Monroe looked stiff, but I couldn't see her face.

I couldn't read where her head was at.

"No."

Monroe's voice was firm, leaving no room for disagreement.

Yet her mother looked unfazed.

"We know you have a preference for the West Coast—"

"Don't pretend like you're trying to do this for anyone but yourselves," Monroe firmly cut her short.

Still, nothing.

Clarisse didn't react or say anything.

She was just blank, a hollowness behind her eyes.

"It's established that I'm not taking over Levane," Monroe added, her voice smooth and calm, but I could hear the subtle irritation her mother's words caused.

"That was never the agreement," Clarisse shut her daughter's words down, her blue eyes pinned on her. "He would love to hear this."

I furrowed my brows, wondering if "he" meant Monroe's father.

"I would love to say it to him," Monroe smoothly countered, "He's always used you to communicate issues to me. That's all you are. Another asset to him."

I pursed my lips at her harsh words, blinking a few times as I stared at the wall ahead.

Maybe I should leave—I shouldn't be listening to their conversation.

"She's quite young, Monroe," Clarisse suddenly said, her voice soft, yet laced with so much venom.

I think I'll stay, actually.

"You always had a thing for younger women, oui?" Clarisse spoke again, her passive tone growing even softer. "We're attempting to work with this age situation. Be a little grateful, Monroe."

I furrowed my brows at her mother's words, knowing Monroe did have a sort of pattern with going for younger women.

It never bothered me, but it seems Clarisse is using this as her own ammo.

"We?" Monroe suddenly clarified. "He's pulling these strings, not you."

I subtly peeked around the wall, wanting to see Clarisse's reaction to that.

But of course, her expression was still blank and unbothered.

I see where Monroe gets it from. 

"She's your patient as well," Clarisse softly murmured, "I assumed you learned your lesson from the last one. Tu es épuisante."

Is she talking about...

The first arrangement?

I remember Monroe mentioning she was a patient, how she never planned to get involved with another one again.

Until me.

Do her parents know her first arrangement?

Of course they do.

Monroe said they make an effort to know everything.

I just wonder... if they met her too.

God, I would hate that so much.

That would mean she’s special.

More special than she already is.

"NDA's have already been signed within your office," Clarisse spoke when Monroe was tensely silent.

She probably felt trapped in her head, trying to figure out her next words.

My baby.

"The details of her being your patient have been erased," Clarisse briefly explained, her tone unbearably passive.

Like she was cleaning up one of her daughter's spilled messes and hated it.

I'm surprised that they even approved of me by Monroe's side.

But that's why they're trying to hide the fact that I'm her patient, right?

Or even had people in Monroe's office sign NDA's.

Her parents want to move forward, even if it's for their own benefit.

I can't tell if this is better than them not approving.

My mother definitely won't approve.

Even if it's all erased, she'll still remember Monroe as my therapist.

She won't like this.

"No."

I suddenly zoned back in on Monroe's tensed voice.

I just want to hug her right now.

Her parents have already made all these moves without her, and I know it bothers her.

They've basically decided this is happening, and Clarisse is just informing her, which is so fucked up.

"I'm not taking over Levane, and Liberty is not being dragged into this," Monroe shut her mother down yet again.

It was silent for another moment.

Eerily silent.

I hesitantly peeked around the corner, eyeing the two of them.

Clarisse's blank stare felt even more deadly than I had previously witnessed.

So much so that it made me flinch internally, somehow being affected even if she wasn't looking at me.

I suddenly froze when I heard a vibration.

Or felt it in my hand.

Clarisse's attention shifted—

Over to me.

Monroe naturally turned around, her blue eyes locking with mine.

Fuck.

"I-uh," I suddenly forced out, my face burning up and my limbs growing numb.

I'm very fucking scared of her mother.

"Ro, you had a phone call," I awkwardly whispered. "I didn't want to interrupt."

"Eavesdropping felt more suitable?" Clarisse said, making me draw in a nervous breath.

Is it weird that I genuinely think her mother is capable of killing me?

"I would've told her everything regardless," Monroe said before I could formulate words, instinctively walking closer to me.

I didn't have time to say anything to Clarisse, not even to apologize for intruding.

Monroe gently guided me to turn around, walking me out of the empty chef's kitchen away from her mother.

But I could feel Clarisse's stare burning into us. 

My mind felt blank, weighed down in my head, as I remained stuck in my own thoughts.

I was still processing what had just happened.

Their conversation, and the fact that I was caught listening.

"I'm sorry," I whispered before I could think it through, drawing in a deep breath as I tried to remain calm, "I-I just, your phone was ringing and I wanted to check on you, but I shouldn't have eavesdropped—"

"Liberty," Monroe softly cut me short as she halted her steps, making me come to an abrupt stop beside her.

I forced a weak smile when she gently cupped my face, caressing the edges of my cheekbones.

"It's okay, darling," she whispered so delicately, "I meant what I said. You would've known either way."

I let out a soft sigh, "Yeah," I forced out, unconsciously reaching for her waist.

"Hey," she murmured, her eyes trailing my face, "It's okay, my sweet girl. I assure you."

"But she caught me, and now she probably hates me even more," I weakly whispered.

"There is no love or hate with them, darling," Monroe clarified, gently tucking the stray hairs away from my face, "You're either of use to them or you're not. There are no standard feelings here."

I forced a smile, "I'm useful to them, yay," I whispered, but my fake excitement sounded even sadder.

Monroe let out a deep sigh as she eyed my face in concern, instinctively pulling me into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Liberty," she said, her arms wrapping firmly around my waist, "You shouldn't have to be here, much less be around them."

"No, it's okay," I tried to assure her, running my arms around her torso, "It's... scary, but I'll endure anything for you."

Monroe hummed softly, "My sweet girl," she whispered, rubbing her hands up my back and making me relax further. "I'll handle this for us."

I softly sighed, nodding a few times as she continued rubbing up and down my back.

I was concerned that her mother might walk down the hallway at any moment, but she never did.

I guess she went a different way out of that kitchen.

Either way, it allowed me more time with Monroe.

It always felt so calm when it was just us.

Like nothing else existed—not even her fucked up parents.

But eventually, we had to pull away and walk back down the hallway toward the dining room.

Which was no longer empty.

No.

Now, there was staff lining the table where Clarisse already sat at the end, her stare pinpointed further down the table.

Where a man sat.

He was bald, with dark eyebrows and dark brown eyes.

He had a clean-shaven beard stubble that emphasized his sharp jawline, wearing a crisp black suit with cufflinks and not a wrinkle in sight.

"Monroe," he immediately called out, his deep voice echoing around us.

He... smiled too?

A wide smile that revealed his white teeth.

I felt weirdly unsettled by his open kindness.

"Ms. Fierro," he said as his dark eyes shifted to me, "We are happy to have you this weekend," he added, his French accent seamlessly slipping through. 

I forced a hesitant smile, "I'm happy to be here... Mr. Leclair," I awkwardly settled on as Monroe pulled one of the chairs out for me, not bothering to address her father.

"Oh n'importe quoi. Call me Leon," he said, making me wonder what his French words consisted of.

His smile was still very wide, so I guess it wasn't bad.

I wasn't sure how to feel after my encounter with Clarisse.

Who was silently seated at the other head of the table, sipping her dark wine.

"We're leaving tonight," Monroe suddenly spoke as I sat down, carefully pushing me closer to the clothed table.

"You've already gotten settled in. Stay the weekend," Leon said, practically leaving no room for disagreement.

It was weird.

He sounded very nice about it, but it's the way his words shut down the topic with ease.

There was a hostility to it, just kinder than Clarisse's approach.

"We don't mind packing up," Monroe said as I glanced down, noticing the staff pouring water into both of the crystal glasses in front of us, "It's not an issue at all."

"I'd say it's an issue," Leon said, his voice much more serious than before.

There was no kindness in his tone.

The warmth was sucked from it, only a passiveness behind his words. 

"We have an incredible library, Ms. Fierro," Leon suddenly addressed me, smoothly switching the subject, his tone growing lighter again, "There are plenty of books relating to computer science."

I forced a smile, trying not to feel unsettled by the information he already knew about me.

"Sounds great," I whispered, noticing the platters of caviar being set out.

Disgusting.

I don't think I'll be eating at all tonight.

Unless it's the beautiful woman beside me.

"Do you plan to go into politics as well, or is computer science more suitable to you?" Leon asked, openly making conversation with me, unlike his wife.

Who sat silently to herself, staring blankly ahead with nothing behind her eyes.

This entire dinner feels so off-putting.

God help me.

"I think we can assume she would take after her major," Monroe calmly spoke for me, her stare pinpointed on her father.

I couldn't even glance in his direction again.

"Either could be a good asset," he determined. 

"Neither are an asset to you," Monroe didn't hesitate to counter, somehow making the air tenser.

"To Levane," he corrected, as if that little detail mattered.

Judging by Monroe's tightened jaw, I think it made it worse.

"You need to start thinking about the company, mon bijou," Leon said, cutlery gently clattering.

What does mon bijou mean? 

Some kind of nickname in French, maybe? 

"How come?" Monroe softly murmured, tilting her head at her father, "I won't be taking over."

It was silent.

The air was stiffly silent.

So much so that it made me look down at the table, wondering when this dinner would end.

It's only just fucking started.

I should just zone it out.

"I would rather have nothing than to take over," Monroe added, sharpening the tension in the air.

Maybe I should get a glass of wine like Clarisse.

She seems content.

And weirdly zoned out.

"Nothing," Leon murmured, entirely unaffected by his daughter's words. "That's an interesting opinion."

Monroe hummed tightly, not contributing anything else to the conversation.

But it didn't feel over.

There was something hanging in the air.

A tense silence echoed around us as the staff began setting plates down.

It was salmon and green beans, which I guess wasn't too bad compared to the caviar that sat out for us.

"Legacy is important," Leon suddenly spoke through the tense air as I reached for one of the many forks, "Life can get bad when you discard your priorities."

I halted my actions, wondering what he meant by that.

It sounded like a threat?

Like life could and would get bad for Monroe if she didn't follow her family's legacy.

"Ms. Fierro," Leon addressed me, making my stare hesitantly shift away from my plate, meeting his dark eyes, "How bad do you think life could get?"

I blinked a few times at his question, wondering how to even answer it.

"I guess um..." I trailed off, realizing he's threatening me.

In front of Monroe.

I don't think I'm supposed to answer his question.

Is it rhetorical?

"I would assume anyone's life could get bad at any moment," Monroe suddenly spoke, and the stiffness in her tone was enough to make me draw in a deep breath, "Theoretically, I could grab one of those butcher knife's from the kitchen," she said, calmly reaching for the knife by her plate.

But only to slice into her salmon.

"I could walk to your room in the middle of the night and stab you forty-seven times in your chest," Monroe softly murmured, letting out the softest sigh as she glanced at her father, "Then your life would be pretty bad, no?"

Oh god. 

I pursed my lips tightly together, awkwardly looking down at my lap.

"Theoretically, of course," Monroe softly murmured, now focusing on cutting sharply into her salmon.

My breath was quite literally stuck in my chest, scared to breathe any sort of way with this tension coating the air.

I wasn't sure what her father would say.

How he would react to Monroe's threat of murdering him in his sleep.

The number of stabs was such an oddly specific number.

It made goosebumps prickle across my skin, glancing over to Leon, who was silently staring at Monroe.

The look on his face was serious, not a trace of a smile. 

A darkness behind his eyes that felt more cutting than his wife's. 

The expression on his face could haunt anyone's most lucid nightmares.

I flinched when a boisterous laugh suddenly echoed from his lips, startling everything inside of me.

Yet, Monroe and Clarisse didn't flinch once.

I was the only one who dropped my silverware, trying to regulate my breathing.

Monroe instinctively grabbed one of my trembling hands, wrapping mine in the warmth of hers.

"You are quite amusing tonight, mon bijou," Leon determined with another deep laugh, as if he knew Monroe was joking.

I knew she wasn't.

And I know her better.

She just threatened to stab her father to death, and he just... laughed?

It's so odd.

"Let's eat," Leon spoke again when Monroe only remained silent, "I hope you enjoy tonight's dinner, Ms. Fierro."

I forced a weak smile, "I'm sure I will," I forced out, lifting the fork in my hand as I tried to find my appetite.

But it was nonexistent.

I genuinely just want this dinner to be over.

Or maybe this weekend instead.