The Grey Billionaire Series: Secrets and Lies

CHRIS

Everything is spinning. I can’t keep track of the drinks I’ve had. Four, five, six…ten?

I keep knocking them back. I need a distraction and the burn in my throat provides it. It allows me to focus on the bitter taste and nothing else.

Today was a disaster. The memories of it push me to keep drinking. The bland sex with Charlotte, the aftermath, shopping with her, her laughter, her sadness, her disappointment.

In the suite, I wait for my new phone. I sign into my iCloud and wait for my son’s picture to load. When it does, I can only stare at it. I trace my fingers over his adorable cheeks, his bright eyes, his curly hair. I miss him.

I don’t see him often. When he was a baby, I was with him every day. When he was a toddler, I never left his side. When he started talking, walking, learning, I felt so proud. So happy, despite the messed-up situation. This smart kid is my son. I’d protect him with my life.

But when he learned about the structure of a family, I was scared into hiding. Home schooling has its perks, but television is my current enemy. He’s only ever seen his nanny, daddy, grandma, grandpa, and Aunt Camille.

One Disney cartoon and he started asking questions. Questions I couldn’t answer.

“Where’s my mommy?”

“Those kids on the TV have a mommy. Where’s mine?”

How could I tell him? I can’t even tell Charlotte. The doctors think it’s a bad idea to tell her about him. They want me to wait until she remembers him on her own. It’s been seven years. How much longer will I wait to tell him the truth? Until he’s eighteen?

I seem to be drinking faster. The liquor disappears from the glass the minute it touches my lips.

Through the fog, I see the bartender’s worried look. But I bang on the counter until he pours more.

Down it goes. The burn. The burn keeps me sane. Whatever sane is now.

Reece is another story. Another thorn in my side. Located in a spot I can’t reach on my own. Maybe not at all.

I used to be a possessive guy. But it’s been a while since I’ve had any reason to be. Protective, yes. But I never displayed that sort of reaction to anyone in public before tonight. Reece brings out that side of me. Makes me want to be dominant again.

Things were bad after Charlotte forgot about Lincoln. I had to hide the existence of my own son, our son. A relationship can’t survive if there are lies holding it together. And in my case, I had a mountain of them.

Drinking used to help me, but I didn’t want to be one of those dads that came home falling over drunk. I didn’t want him to see that, even if he was too young to understand at the time.

That’s when Daniel told me about a club. Discreetly positioned in an underground vault of an old bank building. Mastering the art of pleasure and pain is what saved my life.

Feeling helpless about Lincoln, feeling helpless about Charlotte, feeling helpless about all the things I couldn’t control.

Feeling trapped was an everyday occurrence. The helplessness was eating me up from the inside. I became as hollow and as unrecognizable as an empty rotting coconut.

That Vault was my saving grace. I had no control of the outside world, but I had all the control in there. It became my own form of therapy, though I didn’t need it every day. Just some days. On the days I couldn’t breathe right, on the days I was too overwhelmed to function at all.

For a while, I felt normal again. Felt like me.

I think my dominance would’ve scared Charlotte. I hid a lot of my natural need for having things my way when she fell deeper and deeper into depression. Feeling loss and not knowing why, is a curse I’d wish on no one.

Pretending to be okay when you’re not, is like being trapped in a small space. The will to survive is there, the urge to adapt is there, but the fact that you’re still stuck doesn’t change.

I quickly came to the realization that I shouldn’t try to control her, and I can’t force her to be who I want her to be. She wasn’t strong enough to take my direction. Wasn’t strong enough to be firmly instructed. She’d crumble and turn to drugs like she’s always done.

So I stuffed my desires into a box. Developed a wall of protection around those needs, and buried them deep down.

When Lincoln turned six months old, I bought a mansion in Miami. I moved him from my parents’ house and I got him everything a child could ever need. I used to leave Charlotte in my old house in Long Island, NY, and go home to Lincoln for days, weeks, months.

Charlotte stopped going to rehab, stopped going to therapy, she felt neglected and I don’t blame her. She relapsed again and again and I couldn’t help her. I had to choose between babysitting my best friend, or being a father to my son.

I chose my son. I will always choose my son.

The breakup didn’t hurt. Not like watching her destroy herself hurt. Not like hearing Lincoln ask me why he doesn’t have a mom. Not like seeing the look on his face when he watches other kids with their moms on TV. Not like knowing I might never be able to give him that experience too.

Charlotte forgot about most of our relationship, most of our fights, most of her blackouts…and she forgot Lincoln.

My parents think she’s faking. If she is, she deserves an Academy Award. They demanded that I file for full custody when Lincoln was born. I didn’t want to do that to her, but I had no choice. Once the hospital reported the drugs in her system to DCF, they gave the order that she can never see him until she’s been clean for a long period of time.

She would have to report her progress every month. Drug tests every other week. It would’ve been brutal. She’d feel more trapped than she is now. Her uncle said it was better this way, better that she didn’t know him. Better that she didn’t remember. I was the only one hoping things could change.

The vault helped me on my darker days. I perfected everything from whips, to bondage to gagging to flogging to fire play. I know it all. I used it all. It’s all permanently stored in my brain, so I don’t need to seek it out anymore, because it’s always with me.

By the time Lincoln turned five, Charlotte and I tried to patch up our friendship. She’d ask me to visit her in Paris, or she’d fly here to New York. I never brought her to my house in Miami. I never brought anyone who isn’t family there.

New York is my safe haven for life outside being a father. Most people don’t know he exists and I want to keep it that way. The world can be cruel with information they don’t agree with or understand. Imagine the look on my seven-year-old son’s face if he saw his mother high? Or the look on his face if I sent him to school with other kids and they end up teasing him about shit he can’t control?

At least this way he’s home. This way he’s safe. He’s healthy. That’s all I want for him.

Charlotte’s still mentally messed up, still relapsing, still not remembering anything I need her to remember. I tried to patch up our friendship. I thought maybe if she was doing well, if she was finally one hundred percent clean, I could convince the judge to let me at least introduce them. But she’s not. And now I can’t. Maybe ever.

I thought I could at least get my best friend back, but I don’t know if she’s even in there anymore, and trying any harder makes me feel like I’m about to explode.

More drinks get served and I finish every one of them…

I glance around the room. It’s dizzying, but I search for the one person that still makes me feel…normal. Even fighting with Reece feels normal. At least I don’t have to walk on eggshells with her, like she’s about to run out and find a dealer, and either stick a needle in her vein. Or snort lines of cocaine.

The most I have to worry about with Reece is being jealous. Even if I don’t want to admit that to her yet.

I find Reece standing in a corner smiling as she stares down at her phone. Her smile is everything.

She is different. So different. Over the past couple of months, I found myself driving to her apartment in the middle of the night. My excuse was to help her with the shoe selections, emails and samples. But the real reason I always went over there, is because she makes me happy.

I don’t know what I like more. The fact that I want to possess her, or the feeling I get when she challenges me. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known and I admire that strength more than anything. It makes me want to be strong too. I can’t keep track of how many drinks I’ve had, but my sight gets fuzzy as the glass slips from my grasp.

I fumble in the haze, trying to catch it, trying to fix my mistake, trying to dismount the barstool—and I tumble.

The world goes black as I crash to the floor.

I attempt to move, but my body refuses. I try to utter a word, but my voice fails me.

“Chris!” Reece’s voice rings out.

My eyelids flutter open just a smidge. Just enough to take in her stunning face. I feel a gentle lift as she cradles my upper body in her lap, settling herself on the cold floor. I’m too numb to register her tender touch. But her intoxicating scent of fresh roses cocoons me in a sense of safety.

I can’t make sense of my response to her. Nearly passed out, sprawled on the floor in the middle of a public gathering, and yet I can still muster a smile—because she’s here. I’m enveloped in her embrace. I’m secure.

“Help me lift him. I’ll ring his chauffeur.” Her voice fades as I lose consciousness.