Chapter 57 Seething

Chapter 57 Seething
~LIAM.

I've never felt such fury burning through my veins as I do right now, watching those damn college kids staring at her like she's some piece of meat, some fucking object for them to gawk at and claim.

When she told me she was a stripper before walking out the door, I couldn't fucking process it. My brain just refused to accept it, because the Scarlett I knew four years ago wasn't this woman. She was the woman who'd bolt into the closet the second I'd caught sight of her bare skin after a shower-the one who flinched at the idea of letting me see her like that. I had to earn her trust, piece by piece, showing her she was safe with me. And now? She's up on that goddamn stage, half-naked, dancing in front of a room full of horny assholes like her body means nothing.

I couldn't wrap my head around it.

Tearing my furious gaze away from them, I locked onto her as she spun around the pole with a fluid, unapologetic grace. She moved like she completely fucking ruled the stage, like it was her natural place to be.

Four years had done more than change her-they had hardened her.

And that outfit... Christ, it was something else. Leaving nothing to the imagination, except for her pussy, thankfully covered by a thong. Other than that, every fucking curve, every inch of her, was exposed to the room. But I couldn't take my eyes off her.

Her movements were slow and sensual, with each one a tease that drove me insane. She wasn't just dancing; she was toying with me, with every bastard in this room. And she knew it. I saw it in that glint in her eye, in the way her lips curled into a smirk, like she was daring me to make a move.

Our eyes locked, and she raised her head, narrowing her gaze as if she could sense my anger burning through the air.

Then she pointed at the guy in the center of the group, the quiet one who'd been eyeing her. The one she'd singled out, who, along with his dumbass friends, had been devouring her with their eyes since the moment she stepped on stage.

I didn't know whether to storm the fucking stage, drag her off, or just let her keep digging herself deeper into this mess. But what she did next left no doubt in my mind.

She beckoned him forward with a slow curl of her finger, and when he didn't move fast enough, his friends shouted, egging him on.

"Damn, what charm you using, birthday boy?!" one of them yelled.

"Wish it were me," another chimed in, and the birthday boy smirked, finally standing up without a word.

He made his way to the stage, and Scarlett guided him to the chair she'd set up in the center. Without a second thought, she shoved him down into it. His friends erupted in cheers, and my anger flared up even more, the fire inside me burning hotter.

She wasn't just dancing for attention; she was making a point, showing me she had control over everything. Over me. And I fucking hated it.

Climbing on top of him, she straddled him. I sat frozen, watching as she arched her back, her body bending in a way that twisted my insides upside down. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her lower, and she threw her head back, flashing me that same damn smirk.

I clenched my fists, every muscle in my body wound tight, ready to snap. I was ready to storm the stage, rip that guy off her, punish him, punish her. Ready to drag her away and make her regret every fucking second of this. But I stayed put. Seething. My anger only heightening my need to control this.

She grinded against him, and I saw his eyes shift to her exposed t!ts, the damn fabric barely hiding anything. The guys were cheering, urging him on, and all I could do was seethe with jealousy and anger. Scarlett was playing with fire, and she damn well knew it.

Switching positions, she pressed her ass against him, her back to him. She smiled at me, sweet, innocent, as if she wasn't grinding on some random guy who was clearly on the verge of combusting. Then, slowly, she stood, bending forward just enough to tease, her ass inches from his face.

My rage built with the music. The cheers mixed with my fury as his idiotic friends shouted for him to take his shot. But it wasn't until the music stopped and Scarlett fully stood, pulling herself away from him with that playful smile still in place, that I finally allowed myself to breathe again.

The cheers were deafening, and money rained down on her as the birthday boy sat there, panting, clearly overwhelmed, his erection visible through his pants. Scarlett leaned down, whispering something in his ear, then pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. With a confident sway, she sashayed off the stage, glancing back to me one last time, challenge filled in her eyes, before disappearing behind the curtain.

I was shaking with rage and disbelief.

She had crossed the line.

It was time for her punishment.

Standing up, my hands itched with the need to take control. As I moved toward the backstage entrance, my mind was made up. She was going to regret this.