Chapter 234

Chapter 234
Elsa

"Drake," I said slowly, struggling to keep my voice steady as I paced the room again, "I don't believe you. You've lied to me so many times before. You've manipulated me, controlled me, made me feel like I was crazy for questioning you. Why should I believe you now?"

I stood up, needing distance between us. My hands trembled so badly I had to clench them into fists. "You fired Taylor for investigating Vera after she tried to frame me. You've consistently protected her while throwing me to the wolves. If you expect me to believe that was all some elaborate act because you were jealous—"

"I don't get jealous," Drake interrupted, his voice deadly quiet. "I eliminate threats."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" I laughed bitterly, the sound bordering on hysterical. "That's supposed to convince me you care? Jesus Christ, Drake, loving someone means being good to them—just them. Not playing these sick power games. Not punishing them for having coffee with someone. You're not possessive because you love me; you're possessive because you see me as property. As a fucking thing that belongs to you."

Drake stared at me for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. "You've changed," he said finally, almost to himself. "You used to come to me for everything. Every problem, every fear... you'd look at me like I was your entire world. Now you fight me at every turn."

His observation caught me off guard. I stopped pacing, my anger momentarily displaced by surprise. He was right. There had been a time when I'd depended on him completely—when his approval had been the air I breathed, when a single smile from him could make my day or break my heart.

"Maybe I finally realized you weren't going to save me," I said quietly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Maybe I got tired of waiting for you to choose me. Maybe I finally understood that I was never going to be enough for you."

Drake ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Vera isn't the enemy here, Elsa."

"Then who is?" I demanded, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "Because someone has been trying to destroy me, and she's the most obvious suspect. God knows she has plenty of reason to hate me."

Drake's eyes met mine, hard and certain. "Miranda."

The name hit me like a physical blow. I actually staggered back a step, my hand flying to my mouth. Miranda Stone—Drake's stepmother, the woman who had always smiled so warmly at me.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief, my hand still covering my mouth as if I could physically hold back my shock. "That's not... she's always been kind to me. She's the only one in your family who ever treated me like a person instead of an inconvenience."

"Exactly," Drake said grimly. "And you believed her, didn't you? "

I stood there, my world tilting on its axis, my legs suddenly feeling too weak to support me. If Miranda was behind everything... but then why would Drake protect Vera? None of it made sense, and I didn't know who or what to believe anymore.

I was still lost in my own thoughts, but I could see Drake's eyes glowing with a predatory amber light, his face flushed from fever but his intentions unmistakable. My heart hammered against my ribs as his mouth moved lower.

"Drake," I whispered, my body tensing as I tried to shift away, fingers clutching desperately at the sheets. "What the hell are you doing?"

His only response was to tighten his grip on my waist and continue his path downward. I struggled against him, thrashing and twisting until I accidentally tugged at my sleep shirt. The fabric tore with a sharp rip, exposing more skin than I intended.

"Goddammit, Drake, you need to stop," I gasped, pushing at his chest, my palms flat against his burning skin. "You're still fucking sick. You need to rest, not—"

"My darling Elsa," he murmured against my skin, his voice a low rasp that sent unwanted heat coursing through me like liquid fire. "You're practically inviting me with this little display." His eyes darkened as they raked over my exposed flesh. "Would be terribly rude of me not to respond, wouldn't it?"

His fingers traced the edge of my exposed skin, and goddammit, my treacherous body responded instantly. A violent shiver ran through me despite my determination to resist him. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

"You're burning up with fever," I protested, though my voice cracked pathetically, betraying my weakening resolve.

"And you're going to help me burn it out." Drake rolled over, pinning me beneath him with such suddenness that I let out a startled gasp. His skin radiated heat that had nothing to do with his illness. "Baby, you've been so cruel, making me sleep on that hard floor all night." He rolled his shoulders with a grimace. "My back is killing me."

"That was the fucking point," I snapped, still trying to maintain some semblance of resistance while my fingers twitched with the urge to touch him. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before—"

His mouth covered mine, cutting off whatever clever retort I'd planned. The kiss was demanding, hungry, almost desperate. I told myself to push him away, to remember all the pain he'd caused me, but my hands betrayed me by sliding into his hair instead. Weak. Pathetic. Why can't I ever resist him?

"Drake," I gasped when he finally let me breathe, my chest heaving. "This doesn't solve a damn thing between us. You're delirious from the fever."

"I know exactly what I'm doing," he growled, his fingers tangling in my hair and tugging just hard enough to make me whimper. "And what I need right now is you."

Part of me wondered if this was just another way for him to exert control, to make me forget my anger through physical pleasure. But another part—the part that responded to his touch like it was created for this purpose alone—didn't care about his motives. My body arched toward him instinctively, seeking more contact even as my mind screamed in protest.