Chapter 12: What Is Wrong With You?
She glared at him, her fists clenched in the sheets. “You’re absurd, Carlos. All of this is absurd. You expect me to play along with your twisted idea of a honeymoon? With you and my sister?” Her voice cracked slightly, but she masked it with anger.
Carlos straightened, his face impassive. For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the paused television. Then, he exhaled sharply and turned towards the door. “Suit yourself,” he said, his tone cold. “Megan and I are leaving in twenty minutes. If you want to stay here and wallow in self-pity, be my guest. I won’t force you to participate in anything anymore.”
Without another glance, he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Cynthia sat there, staring at the door, her chest rising and falling as she processed the encounter. Her fingers brushed her neck where his hand had been moments before. The defiance in her eyes faltered briefly, replaced by something more vulnerable. But only for a moment.
She grabbed the remote, turned the TV back on, and leaned back against the headboard, her expression hardening once more. Let him play his games, she thought. I’m not bending. Not this time.
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Moment's Later
Carlos leaned back against the plush leather seat of the SUV, the hum of the tires against the Parisian streets a subtle backdrop to the lively city outside. Megan’s head rested comfortably on his chest, her brown curls cascading over his arm. He absently twirled a strand of her hair around his finger as he broke the silence.
“What do you think about Cynthia not coming with us tonight?” His tone was calm, but there was an edge of frustration hidden within it.
Megan let out a short laugh, her lips curling into a smirk. “Fuck Cynthia,” she replied bluntly, not even bothering to lift her head. “What do I care? It just means I get you all to myself. That’s all I ever wanted, Carlos.”
“Hm.” Carlos sighed and shook his head slightly. “I can’t seem to get through to her. No matter what I do, she just won’t accept us.”
“She’ll come around,” Megan said dismissively. She tilted her face up to meet his gaze, her hazel eyes sparkling under the dim light of the SUV. “She doesn’t have a choice. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You really think so?” Carlos asked, his voice softening. “I’m tired of fighting with her. It’s exhausting.”
Megan sat up slightly, placing her hand firmly over his mouth to shush him. “Enough,” she said with a teasing smile. “I don’t want to talk about Cynthia during my alone time with you.”
Carlos blinked and let out a small chuckle. “Alright. I’m sorry.”
As if on cue, the SUV slowed to a halt in front of the towering façade of an exclusive five-star nightclub. The neon lights reflecting off its sleek black exterior gave the building an air of mystery and allure. Megan peeked out of the tinted window.
“Are we here?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.
“It seems so,” Carlos replied as he adjusted his suit jacket and opened the door.
Stepping out of the vehicle, Carlos took Megan’s hand. Together, they strode towards the entrance, exuding an aura of unshakable confidence. The bouncers stationed at the grand double doors didn’t so much as glance at their IDs— they knew better. With a subtle nod, they stepped aside, allowing the couple to pass.
The moment they entered the night club, they were enveloped by the pulse of deep bass and the intoxicating scent of expensive perfume mingled with the faint tang of liquor. The interior was a marvel of opulence, every corner draped in luxury. Crystal chandeliers hung precariously from high ceilings, casting a dim blue glow over the room. The crowd was exclusive, the type of people who wore power and wealth like second skins.
They were led by a server into an inner VIP lounge. It was an entirely different world— secluded, yet brimming with its own unique energy. The centerpiece of the room was a raised stage, where two dancers moved with hypnotic precision on gleaming silver poles. Their movements were fluid and sensual, the spotlight accentuating every curve and sway of their bodies.
Carlos and Megan settled onto a plush, oversized couch opposite the stage. The table in front of them was already laden with premium bottles of liquor, chilled in buckets of ice. Megan leaned closer, her fingers tracing slow circles on Carlos’s thigh.
“This,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, “is making me so horny.” Her lips grazed the corner of his jaw before she darted her tongue out, licking a trail down to his neck.
Carlos turned his head to meet her gaze, his eyes smoldering with restrained intensity. “We’ll have time for that later,” he said, his voice low but firm. His words seemed to ignite something in her, a challenge she was eager to meet.
“Now,” she countered, her hand trailing up to his chest. “I don’t want to wait.”
Before Carlos could respond, the door to the lounge opened, and one of his men stepped in. The interruption seemed to break the spell Megan had been weaving. The man was dressed sharply, carrying a sleek black briefcase. He approached the table and placed it down with precision.
“This is the money,” the man stated simply, opening the briefcase to reveal stacks of crisp euros neatly arranged.
Carlos nodded. “Alright. You can go now.”
Without another word, the man retreated, closing the door behind him. The soft click of the latch seemed to signal Megan to resume her efforts. She leaned in again, her lips brushing against Carlos’s ear.
“I want you to fuck me hard,” she whispered boldly, her breath hot against his skin. “Right here. In front of them.”
Carlos froze for a moment, processing her words. He pulled back slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. “I said later,” he repeated, his tone unyielding. He reached for the briefcase, unzipping it and pulling out a handful of bills. Rising to his feet, he strode to the edge of the stage, where the dancers had paused to watch the exchange.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Carlos began spraying the money into the air. The dancers responded immediately, their movements becoming even more alluring as they reached for the fluttering bills.
Megan watched him, her expression shifting from desire to frustration. “What is wrong with you?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the music.