Chapter 53 His lapdog

Chapter 53 His lapdog
Harriet snapped the latch of her designer clutch shut, her fingers trembling so violently the small gold metal piece clicked three times before securing. She tucked the bag tight against her side, her heart thumping wildly against her ribs like a trapped bird. Every breath felt thin, devoid of air, as if the plush marble restroom was rapidly losing oxygen.
She turned the heavy brass handle and stepped back out into the long, carpeted corridor leading to the main ballroom. The distance between the quiet hallway and the roaring crowd felt like miles, but she didn't even make it past the grand staircase.
Charles was standing right at the base of the stairs.
He hadn't moved an inch from where he had been watching her from above. His posture was perfectly composed in his tailored tuxedo, his large hands resting loosely inside his trousers pockets. To anyone passing by, he looked like a wealthy, patient husband waiting for his gorgeous wife to finish adjusting her makeup. But as Harriet drew closer, the air around him grew impossibly heavy. The raw, suffocating wave of his Alpha aura pressed down on the hallway, making her legs feel weak and heavy.
"There you are," Charles murmured, stepping forward to close the small distance between them.
He didn't give her space to pull back. His massive, warm hand slid around hers, his grip tightening with a firm, crushing force that left no room for resistance. He pulled her against his side, bending down so his lips hovered right beside the shell of her ear.
"Did you find what you were looking for in your bag, Harriet?" he whispered, his voice low and smooth, completely contrasting the dangerous flare of energy rolling off his body.
Harriet froze, her skin prickling with cold sweat. A photographer nearby raised a camera, the bright flash illumination popping twice in quick succession. Harriet forced her lips into a rigid, picture-perfect smile for the press, keeping her voice tight and barely audible. "Just fixing my lipstick, Charles."
Charles looked down at her face, his lips curving into a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver straight down her spine. "Good. Then we are done here tonight."
Without waiting for her reply, he turned and guided her toward the private side exit, bypassing the lingering reporters and council members entirely. He moved with a quiet, undeniable authority, his hand remaining clamped around her fingers as if he expected her to run at any given second.
The heavy doors of the luxury SUV shut out the noise of the city, sealing them inside the dark, soundproof cabin. Godwin pressed the button on the dash, bringing up the dark privacy glass that completely separated the driver's front seat from the rear compartment.
The moment the glass clicked into place, the forced politeness between them vanished into thin air.
Harriet couldn't breathe. The weight of the lies, the manipulation, and the cold reality of what she had just read burned through her veins like poison. Her trembling hands unzipped her clutch, pulled out the thick, wax-sealed parchment, and threw it hard right into Charles’s lap.
"You bought me!" her voice cracked, breaking the heavy silence of the car with sharp, cold fury. "Weeks before the casino game! Weeks before my family threw me out onto the street! You set Taylor up, you destroyed my entire reputation in the press, and then you walked in like a knight in shining armor to make me think you were saving me!"
The paper lay flat on his dark trousers. Charles didn't look down at it. He didn't blink, he didn't tense, and he certainly didn't look surprised.
"You planned every single second of it," Harriet choked out, tears of pure anger blurring her vision as she stared at his unreadable face. "My whole life... my marriage, my business, my family... you ruined everything just to force me into your bed!"
Charles reached down, picked up the contract with two fingers, and casually tossed it onto the empty seat beside him. Then, he shifted.
Before Harriet could pull away, Charles moved over her like a shadow. He leaned deep into her space, his large frame towering over her, pinning her back against the leather seat. His hands came up to frame her face, his thumbs pressing firmly against her jawline to hold her gaze fixed on his glowing gold eyes.
"I did what was necessary to claim what is mine," Charles growled, his voice deep, gravelly, and entirely stripped of any remorse. "You were suffering with that weak, pathetic fool, Harriet. Your father and your sister were already preparing to trade you away to the highest bidder the moment your name lost value. I simply ensured that the bidder was me."
"You monster," Harriet whispered, her hands pushing uselessly against his broad, immovable chest. "You're a monster."
"I am your husband," Charles corrected, his grip on her jaw tightening just enough to command absolute attention. "I don't care how many contracts you read, and I don't care who gave it to you. You belong to me, Harriet. Body and soul. I built this entire world around you, and I am not going to apologize for taking what belongs to the Edwin pack."
Harriet stared at him in complete, agonizing horror. There was no guilt in his eyes. There was no regret. To Charles, her entire existence was simply a prize he had successfully bought and secured, and nothing she said would ever make him see it differently.
The rain was pouring in heavy, violent sheets by the time the SUV pulled up the winding driveway of the Edwin mansion. Lightning flashed across the sky, casting jagged white shadows across the dark stone facade of the house.
The moment the car stopped, Harriet pushed her door open, determined to put as much distance between them as possible. She hurried up the front steps, her high heels clicking loudly against the wet stone, heading straight for the staircase to lock herself in one of the far guest rooms.
She didn't even make it to the third step.
Charles caught up to her effortlessly. Before she could react, his large arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her clean off her feet.
"Put me down!" Harriet gasped, beating her fists against his shoulders as he turned away from the guest wing. "Charles, let me go! Let me go!"
Charles ignored her completely. He carried her up the main staircase with long, powerful strides, his face set in a hard, dangerous line. He pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the master suite, walked inside, and kicked the doors shut behind them. The heavy lock clicked into place with a finality that made Harriet’s heart drop.
He dropped her onto the massive king-sized bed. Harriet immediately tried to scramble to the other side, but Charles caught her ankles, dragging her back to the center of the mattress.
"Don't fight me on this, Harriet," he growled softly, climbing over her frame.
"Don't touch me!" she screamed, her hands coming up to push against his shoulders as he pinned her down. "I don't want you touching me!"
Charles reached up, easily gathering both of her slender wrists into a single, massive hand and pinning them securely above her head against the silk sheets. His free hand reached down, tearing the delicate zipper of her evening dress, pushing the silk off her shoulders to expose her skin to the cool bedroom air.
His touch was fiery, demanding, and completely unyielding. Harriet twisted beneath him, her teeth grit as she tried to pull her hands free, but his grip was like iron. He leaned down, his mouth tracing a line from her jawline down to her collarbone, his breathing heavy against her burning skin.
He stopped right over her pulse point, where her blood was beating frantically beneath her skin. Charles sank his teeth into her neck—not enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a deep, undeniable bruise that marked her as his again.
Harriet let out a sharp, breathless gasp, her body going rigid under the sudden shock of his bite.
Charles lifted his head slightly, his gold eyes staring down into her tear-filled face, his thumb softly wiping away a stray tear from her cheek while his weight kept her completely immobilized.
"You can hate me all you want, Harriet," Charles whispered in a dark, gravelly rumble that vibrated against her chest. "You can scream, you can fight, and you can throw all the papers you want at my face. But you will never leave this house. You are my wife, and nothing in this world is going to change that."
The next morning, the rain had cleared, leaving the city beneath a layer of cool, heavy fog.
Down in the lower district, far away from the polished marble of the city council building where Charles was currently finalizing his political election victory, sat an quiet, high-end bar hidden behind a dim alleyway.
The interior was nearly empty, filled only with the soft sound of classic vinyl record music and the low hum of distant traffic outside.
Henry walked into the bar, his dark coat buttoned up to his chin. He glanced around the shadowy room before sliding quietly into a velvet-lined private booth tucked in the back corner.
Sitting on the opposite side of the leather booth was Hayley.
She looked completely relaxed, sipping a glass of deep red wine. Around her neck, a pristine white medical bandage was wrapped neatly to hide the bruise from the night before, but her face showed no signs of fear or trauma. In fact, her lips were curved into a sharp, confident smirk.
"You're late, Henry," Hayley said, setting her wine glass down onto the polished dark wood table.
"Charles kept the security detail tight this morning after the gala," Henry replied in a low tone, his eyes scanning the quiet bar once before looking back at her. "Do you have it?"
Hayley didn't say a word. She reached into her small designer purse, pulled out a sleek, encrypted hard drive, and slid it across the table toward him.
"What is this?" Henry asked, his fingers hovering over the cold metal drive.
"That," Hayley said, her voice completely smooth and devoid of the fragile, helpless act she had put on at the estate, "is the complete security feed from Charles’s secret underground facility on the north perimeter. The one where he's holding Taylor Rue."
Henry’s eyes widened slightly, his grip tightening on the drive.
Hayley leaned back against the plush velvet seat, taking another slow sip of her red wine as she watched him. The timid, helpless sister was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, calculating strategist who had set every piece into motion.
"Charles thinks he's the only Alpha who knows how to play a long game," Hayley said softly, her smirk widening into a dangerous, lethal grin. "Tell me, Henry... are you ready to take his seat at the council, or are you going to keep playing his lapdog?"