Chapter 44 He Is Willing
Sloane's POV
I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug deep into my palms, using that sharp pain to keep myself from falling apart.
I was waiting.
Waiting for his answer.
Waiting for him to firmly tell everyone, like he did downstairs just now, that I was his wife.
Waiting for him to say he was willing.
One second.
Two seconds.
Ten seconds.
In the study, there was only deathly silence.
I couldn't hear his answer.
He said nothing.
That silence hurt more than any cruel words. Like an ice-cold blade, it stabbed precisely and viciously into my heart where a tiny spark had just ignited, then twisted cruelly, crushing that pitiful bit of hope into dust.
So this was his choice.
When it came to family interests and inheritance rights, I, Sloane, meant nothing at all.
I slowly unclenched my fists. My palms were a bloody mess.
I turned around and dragged my body, which felt like it didn't belong to me, back step by step.
At the corner of the hallway, Keira stood with her arms crossed, leaning there leisurely, her face showing undisguised glee at my misfortune.
She'd clearly been waiting a long time, just to enjoy my current misery.
"Heard everything?" She walked up, her red lips curving into a vicious arc. "I thought you were so capable, but turns out in Jared's heart, you're not even worth one ten-thousandth of the company's shares."
She leaned in close, lowering her voice. That pretty face looked somewhat twisted with jealousy. "Sloane, you're just a bitch, a substitute for me. You'll never compare to me, because Jared will always choose what benefits him, and I am his greatest benefit."
Looking at her smug face, something strangely like a cold laugh grew from the dead ruins in my heart.
"Really?" I raised my eyes, calmly meeting her venomous gaze. "Then you'd better pray hard that Isabelle lives a long, long life."
The smugness on Keira's face froze. "What do you mean?"
"Otherwise," I mimicked her, slowly curving my lips into a smile that was cold and cruel, "if she dies, you, the Winslow family's only precious daughter, probably won't have even half your current glory. What will you use then to be Jared's greatest benefit?"
My words cut straight to her deepest wound.
Keira's face instantly turned deathly pale. Isabelle was her only support, the source of all her status and position.
"You bitch!" I'd hit her weak spot. Furious and humiliated, she completely dropped her socialite mask, screaming as she raised her hand to grab my hair.
I was prepared. The moment she moved, I dodged to the side and slapped her across the face with all my strength!
The crisp sound echoed in the quiet hallway, especially harsh.
Keira was completely stunned by the slap, covering her face, looking at me in disbelief.
She probably never imagined that I, who'd always been so patient, would dare to hit her.
"You..."
"Don't provoke me again."I stepped forward, my icy stare pinning her in place as I spoke each word with deadly precision. "Keira, I have nothing left now, so I'm not afraid of anything. Push me too far and I can't guarantee what I'll do. When it comes to mutual destruction, let's see if Jared will risk the entire Montclair family's reputation for a troublemaker like you."
With that, I stopped looking at her face that was turning green and white, turned around, and walked straight downstairs.
I found Annette and excused myself, saying I wasn't feeling well.
Looking at my pale face, she didn't ask questions, just nodded and had the driver take me home.
I didn't disturb anyone else and escaped from that suffocating place.
In the car, my phone screen lit up. It was a message from Jared.
"Where did you go?"
Three short words, carrying a commanding tone of interrogation.
I stared quietly at that message until the screen went dark, then threw my phone into my bag and closed my eyes.
Back at the villa, I took out two bottles of liquor and just poured glass after glass down my throat.
The ice-cold liquid poured all the way into my stomach. That bit of pain was nothing compared to one ten-thousandth of the pain in my heart.
I don't know how long I'd been drinking when there was a loud crash at the entrance. The villa door was violently kicked open from outside.
Jared burst in wrapped in cold air. He'd obviously raced back, his tie pulled askew, his handsome face full of approaching storm clouds.
He rushed up to me in a few steps, snatched the glass from my hand, and smashed it hard on the floor.
"Why didn't you reply to my message?" He gripped my wrist with force that almost crushed my bones, suppressed anger in his eyes. "Do you know how long I looked for you?"
I raised my head and looked at his anxious, angry face through my drunken haze. Suddenly I found it ridiculous.
I didn't speak, just let him grip me, my face numb after everything had burned out.
My silence and indifference completely enraged him.
He yanked me up from the sofa, forcing me to look at him. Those dark eyes churned with complex emotions I couldn't understand—anger, irritation, and a trace of panic he himself hadn't noticed.
"What exactly do you want?" he growled, his voice carrying a hint of out-of-control hoarseness. "Sloane, tell me, what exactly do you want!"
What did I want?
What I once wanted was his love, his one hundred percent trust and favoritism.
But now, I didn't want anything anymore.
"What do I want?" Using the courage from alcohol, I stood on tiptoe, leaned close to his ear, each word carrying fatal temptation and determination. "Jared, I want my child to be the Montclair family's heir."
His body suddenly stiffened.
I could feel his grip on my wrist tighten instantly, his breathing becoming rough.
I thought he'd find me delusional, would curse me for wishful thinking, would use the harshest language to humiliate me.
But he didn't.
He just stared at me hard, and in those unfathomably dark eyes, two flames of madness ignited, as if they would devour me completely.
The next second, he suddenly lowered his head and kissed my lips fiercely.
This kiss, like him, was domineering, forceful, carrying intense possessiveness and the meaning of punishment.
He pried open my teeth, drove straight in, plundering every inch of alcohol-scented air in my mouth, as if he wanted to take away all my reason and breath together.
I was caught off guard by his sudden madness. My body and the despair in my heart intertwined, giving birth to a kind of reckless abandon.
I stopped struggling. Instead, I reached out and tightly wrapped my arms around his neck, responding to him clumsily but intensely.
My response was like fire, instantly igniting the desire he'd suppressed for so long.
He swept me up in his arms and strode toward the bedroom upstairs.
The door was kicked open by him. I was thrown heavily onto the soft bed.
As the world spun, his tall figure had already covered me, tearing open the expensive dress I was wearing.
The sound of fabric tearing was like the overture to a mad feast.
He moved with desperate intensity, his body pressed against mine, over and over, as if trying to release all the tension, frustration, and restlessness that had built up over these past days.
I endured his storm-like thrusts, my nails digging deep into his back, scratching bloody marks.
Pain and pleasure wove into an airtight net, trapping me firmly.
That night, we both went mad.
On the ruins of love and hate, in the most primitive way, we tortured each other, sank together.