Chapter 59 Chapter Fifty-eight
Ara
I couldn’t tear my eyes off the balcony.
Not when Mr. Slade Senior stood there like a king who’d just crowned the wrong prince, glass raised, that smug, dead smile carved into his face.
Madison clung to his arm like a trophy wife half his age.
While Ursula draped herself over Ethan, fingers stroking the lapel of his jacket, her lips still swollen from that sick kiss.
My stomach churned.
This wasn’t just any power play.
This was a public execution of everything Thayne had bled for.
I leaned into him without thinking, needing his heat, needing the reminder that he was still real and solid and mine.
His arm tightened around me instantly, fingers digging into my waist like he was scared I’d vanish.
But my mind was racing, spinning threads I didn’t want to follow.
Why Ursula, of all people?
She’d hated Thayne from the day I met her.
Always sneering, always whispering poison and cooking things up her sleeve.
But this? Marrying the secret older brother everyone just found out about?
Smiling like she’d won the lottery while tongue-fucking him in front of the entire city?
It didn’t make sense unless someone was holding a gun to her head, or dangling something she wanted more than dignity.
Then it hit me like a slap. Ursula was never going to inherit anything real from her own father.
A name, a few trust funds, a crumbling estate, maybe.
But those things were nothing compared to the real deal in the Slade empire.
She’d spent her life watching Thayne get everything she thought she deserved: power, fear, money that could choke a horse.
Now, Mr. Slade Senior was handing her a shortcut straight to the top.
Marry her stepbrother so they could make sure the Slade legacy never got into Thayne's hands.
She must have jumped on the offer. All she had to do was marry Ethan.
And sit at the right hand of the throne
while Thayne, her brother, gets burned at the stake.
And Ethan? He didn’t care who he fucked as long as the crown stayed on his head.
I felt sick to my stomach.
Thayne’s lips brushed my ear, voice so low only I could hear.
“You see it too, don’t you?” He asked.
I nodded, my throat too tight to form words.
“She sold her soul for a seat that isn’t even real yet,” I whispered.
His fingers slid down my spine, slow, possessive, grounding me.
“Let her think she won,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. “I’m about to show them what happens when you try to take what’s mine.”
He pulled back just enough to look down at me.
Those frosty green eyes weren’t cold tonight.
They were molten.
Ready to burn the world to ash.
And I was the one holding the match.
When it was time to dance, the music shifted into something slow and dangerous, all heavy bass and velvet strings.
Mr. Slade Senior watched everyone from above, his eyes narrowed on his son, then on me.
Thayne’s hand settled low on my back, fingers splayed wide, guiding me onto the dance floor like he owned gravity itself.
Every eye in the room followed us. People lifted their phones to take pictures of us and make videos.
I heard their whispers as they hissed behind champagne flutes.
He pulled me close so that my chest was flush against his abs, my red dress crushed against his muscular thighs.
One of his hands locked around mine, the other slid down to the curve just above my ass, pressing me into him so tight I could feel his heartbeat.
Then he moved.
He spun me out, slow and controlled, letting the slit of my dress flash my thighs to everyone watching.
When he snapped me back in, my back hit his chest, his lips grazing my neck for one hot second before he spun me again.
The room blurred until all I saw was a mix of lights, diamonds, jealous stares.
Another twirl, faster this time, and the red silk flaring like fire.
I laughed, breathless, dizzy, and drunk on him.
He caught me, then dipped me low, those intense eyes locked on mine, that possessive smirk tugging at his mouth.
Then he spun me one last time, hard, deliberate, a whip-crack of motion.
My heels skidded on the second my feet touched marble again.
Strong hands caught me before I fell, but they weren’t Thayne’s. No, Thayne's hands were large and hot and they always caused my skin to warm.
I looked up and my stomach dropped straight through the floor.
Ethan.
He grinned down at me, his swollen lip split and ugly from Thayne’s fist earlier, his beady eyes glassy with coke and victory.
His palms slid to my waist like he had any right to touch me. I tried to move out of his grasp but he grabbed me tighter, turning me around so it would look as though we were dancing innocently.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he purred, voice syrupy and vile. “Wouldn’t want you to break that pretty neck before the wedding.”
Behind him, Thayne stood frozen mid-step, the smirk gone, a feral and murderous look rising in its place.
The entire hall seemed to hold its breath.
Ethan’s fingers dug into my hips, pulling me closer, his mouth dropping to my ear.
“Let’s see how long your boyfriend lasts when I dance with what’s his.”
My skin crawled.
Thayne’s eyes met mine across the floor.
And in them I saw it plain as day. He wasn’t going to last five seconds. He was going to burn this whole place down with his bare hands.
Ethan’s hands were on me like wet snakes, sliding, gripping, refusing to let go.
His breath reeked of stale vodka and something chemical when he leaned in and sniffed my hair like a dog.
Eeeeew. I needed to get out of his grasp soon or I would puke all over the dancefloor.
“Tell me,” he rasped, his wet lips brushing my ear, “what does my little brother do for you that I can’t?”
I jerked my head away, my skin crawling with disgust and irritation.
“Why tell you when it’s obvious?” I retorted.
His laugh was low and filthy. He tightened his hold on my wrists until the bones ached.
“Feisty. Fuck, I love feisty. You and me, Ara? We’d burn this city down. Thayne can rot chasing a throne he’ll never sit on. I'll give you everything you want, leave him.”
I twisted hard, trying to break free. “You and I don’t even belong in the same sentence. You’re about to marry your own stepsister for a crown that isn’t yours.” I snapped in his face, tempted to spit too in his face for good measure.
How dare he?
Something dark flashed in his eyes. For a second the mask slipped and I saw the real poison underneath.
“Ursula isn’t….” He cut himself off, then gave me a slower, nastier smile. “You really don’t know shit about the game you’re playing, do you? Leave him. Marry me. I’ll hand you the entire world on a silver platter. Your little sisters will never want for anything again. Isn’t that the dream?”
The way he said my sisters’ names made bile rise in my throat.
“Don’t you ever speak about them,” I hissed.
He yanked me closer, his hips grinding against mine, his voice dropping to a sick whisper. “Then tell me what you do want. A cock that actually fills you up? That stretches that tight—”
“Ethan.”
Ursula’s voice cracked like a whip behind us.
His grip loosened for half a heartbeat, just enough to give me the opportunity I'd been praying for.
I ripped free and stumbled back, my chest heaving, skin on fire where he’d touched me.
Ursula stepped between us, those talons she called nails painted black, her eyes glittering with rage.
She looked ready to gut me right there on the marble floor.
Ethan only smirked, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaned toward me one last time.
“Think about it, Ara,” he murmured, and this time, his voice was like velvet and venom mixed together.
“I want you. You want safety. We’d be perfect together.”
Then he turned and walked away like he hadn’t just offered to buy me in front of his fiancée and the entire city.