Chapter 173

Chapter 173

Vincent spun around abruptly, his eyes blazing with a darkness intense enough to devour someone whole.

The next second, he shoved me against the corridor wall.

My back hit the cold surface. Before I could speak, his towering frame pressed down on me as he lowered his head and kissed me fiercely.

This kiss held no tenderness whatsoever—only punishment and pure possessiveness.

He pried open my lips, driving straight in, hungrily plundering the last bit of air from my lungs.

His tongue swept across my palate with undeniable dominance, as if he wanted to devour me whole.

The kiss left me breathless. I pressed my hands against his solid chest, trying to push him away.

But he didn't budge. His large palm cradled the back of my head, deepening the kiss to its limit.

Only when my breathing grew faint and my legs went weak did he finally, reluctantly, release me.

He braced his hands on the wall, trapping me completely between his arms.

Lowering his forehead to mine, his ragged breath fanned across my cheeks.

"Don't look at him." Vincent gritted out, his voice terrifyingly hoarse. "Elena, don't look at him. Don't listen to him."

I leaned against the wall, steadying my chaotic breathing. Seeing him so insecure and volatile, my irritation at being forcibly kissed evaporated instantly.

"The mighty head of the Corleone family—how can you be so petty?" I raised my hand, gently wiping the lipstick smudge from the corner of his mouth, unable to resist teasing him.

"Yes, I'm petty." Vincent admitted without hesitation. He stared into my eyes, his obsession thick and undiluted. "I want to gouge out the eyes of every man who looks at you. You can only have me in your eyes. Understand?"

He was like a territorial beast—domineering and unreasonable.

I looked at the jealousy churning in his eyes and the deep-seated insecurity hiding beneath, then sighed.

Jocelyn's words had clearly struck Vincent's nerve.

He knew I harbored secrets. He feared those unknown pasts would take me away from him.

"I understand." I softened my voice, wrapping my arms around his neck and tilting my head up to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Jocelyn is just a baffling stranger to me." I met his gaze, speaking each word with utmost seriousness. "I don't care what madness he's spouting, or whether he knew me before. All I know is that the person standing here, who agreed to be engaged to you—that's me."

Vincent's body stiffened slightly, the tension in his jawline finally easing.

"Stop being jealous over such nonsense." I leaned close to his ear, lightly biting his earlobe with a soothing intent. "I'm entirely yours. No one can take me away."

Those words acted like a shot of adrenaline, completely smoothing over the violence in his bones.

Vincent inhaled deeply, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His arms tightened, holding me in a crushing embrace.

He said nothing—only used this bone-crushing hug to confirm my presence.

I rested against his shoulder, patiently stroking his spine over and over.

The corridor fell silent. I soothed him for a long while until his breathing completely steadied and that terrifying oppressive aura finally dissipated.

By the time the banquet ended, Zurich's night wind carried a bone-chilling cold.

Vincent was held up by several old-guard arms dealers in the ballroom, engaged in final negotiations.

Wrapped in my coat, I walked alone to the entrance steps to wait for him.

Antonio and his bodyguards stood a few paces away.

A black Rolls-Royce pulled up at the foot of the steps.

The door opened. Jocelyn stepped out.

He wore a charcoal gray cashmere coat, his gray-blue eyes appearing exceptionally deep in the night.

He walked straight toward me, stopping two steps away.

Antonio immediately stepped forward, his hand moving to the gun at his waist.

I raised my hand slightly, signaling Antonio to stand down.

"Elena." Jocelyn looked at me, his tone carrying suppressed urgency. "Give me ten minutes. Let's talk privately."

"Mr. Rochester, I thought I made myself perfectly clear in that second-floor corridor." I pulled my coat tighter, my gaze cold. "We have nothing to discuss."

"You truly don't remember anything?" His brow furrowed, extremely complex emotions churning in those gray-blue eyes—as if looking at an amnesiac acquaintance. "The scars on your body, the suffering you endured in the slums—it was all because..."

"Shut up." I cut him off coldly, my eyes sharp as blades. "I don't care what melodramatic reunion fantasy you're playing out in your head, or who you knew in the past. Right now, I'm only the heir of the Lucas family and Vincent's fiancée. Keep your condescending savior act to yourself. It disgusts me."

Jocelyn froze in place.

He looked at me, the strength and arrogance in his eyes instantly shattering.

In their place appeared something unmistakably hurt—genuine pain.

A trace of vulnerability surfaced on that perpetually cold face.

I watched his expression without the slightest ripple of emotion, only finding it absurd.

This man must have some kind of mental disorder.

I didn't spare him another glance, turning to walk up the steps.

Jocelyn didn't follow. He stood there, his gaze locked onto my retreating figure until Vincent emerged from the ballroom. Only then did he turn and get back into his car.

We returned to the estate well past midnight.

The moment I pushed open the main building's door, a thin figure rushed toward me.

The old woman wore only a thin nightgown, barefoot on the marble floor—she hadn't even put on shoes.

She crashed into my arms like a cannonball, clutching my waist tightly, trembling like a leaf in autumn wind.

Anxious whimpers escaped her throat as her withered fingers frantically patted my arms and back, checking for injuries.

"I'm fine." I sighed, patting her back and letting her smear tears and snot all over my haute couture gown. "I only attended a banquet. It was perfectly safe."

The old woman looked up at me, her eyes red and swollen.

I pointed to Vincent beside me, my tone gentling: "He went with me. Protected me well. Not a single hair on my head was harmed."

The old woman glanced briefly in Vincent's direction.

She quickly looked away, hugging me tighter—as if Vincent were nothing but thin air.

Vincent stood to the side, his expression instantly darkening like the bottom of a pot.

The mighty head of the Corleone family, completely ignored by a mute old woman.

He snorted coldly, yanked off his bow tie, and strode toward the liquor cabinet radiating a low-pressure storm cloud.

I watched his retreating back, somewhat amused.

After soothing the old woman for quite a while, I finally had the maid escort her back to the guest room.