𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 is your average do-good lawyer on the rise to fame as a representative of young victims. Except her motivations aren't all that innocent. Rayne's only goal is to run from her past, to leave confrontation for the courtroom, no...
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"𝗗o you know how much I love you?" he asked his wife; she was nicely perched on his desk before him, legs open enough for him to stand between. Her shirt had already been long discarded to the floor allowing her inviting red bra to contrast nicely against her porcelain skin. Her medium – length, black hair hung silkily down her shoulders, curled. Never did he think he would get remarried after the train – wreck that was his first marriage with Rueben's mother, but here he was, twelve years later, still falling more and more in love with Elle with each passing day.
"Si, mi amor," (yes, my love) she smiled back.
"Buena," (good), he said as he grabbed her chin and planted a kiss on her lips, "Yo te amo mucho, mi àngel," (I love you so much, my angel), he trailed kisses down her neck, "gracias para salvàndome," (thank you for saving me).
"I love you too, hermoso," (handsome) she answered delicately, her voice soft for him only.
Emmet was about to speed along the process of making love to his beautiful wife, when the door knob to his office began to rattle. His head snapped up, looking for his shirt. He leaned over and grabbed it, draping the black cloth over Elle's head as the door opened.
He rolled his eyes in annoyance as Isaac walked in; he was carrying a box in one hand.
"Knock pendejo," (stupid/asshole) Emmet said with distaste, half – grateful that he and Elle hadn't escalated like he intended, but also half – angry he was cock blocked.
"Sorry," Isaac replied, looking at the ground.
"Why are you here anyways?" he questioned as Elle played with his palm.
"Dad needed me at the warehouse earlier. We finished for today but he had to catch a redeye to New York to see Mom for the rest of the night. He asked me to stop by and drop this off before I headed home," Isaac lifted the box, gesturing towards it.
"Rufus sent it? Do you know why?"
"It's got your name on it," he shrugged.
"Do you know what's in it?"
"No," Isaac shrugged again, "—but it's already been tested for explosives. Results came back negative."
"Alright, just leave it on the small table over there," he motioned to the corner of the room, "I'll look at it in a second."
Isaac nodded and did as he was told. When he finished, he walked back towards the door, ready to leave.
"Hey Zac—?" Emmet stopped him.
"Yeah?" he glanced over his shoulder in his direction.
"How's Rueben?"
"He's been better."
"I know I mean – off of the surface level ...?"
"I don't know. He doesn't talk to me, or anyone for that matter. Maybe that's just because someone taught him – taught us – not to do that," Isaac blinked nonchalantly in his direction. His voice wasn't filled with disdain, but rather empty; it was only because he already accepted that Emmet groomed them into 'emotionless' robots.
