Chapter 64 Chapter Sixty-three
ARA
I pushed back into the party and the air hit me like a wall of knives.
Everyone had their phones out now, and every pair of eyes tracked me like I was the main event in a circus I never signed up for.
I saw the smirks, heard the whispers. All I saw on the faces of those watching me was pity wrapped in venom.
I felt them peel the emerald dress off me layer by layer, leaving me naked in front of the entire city.
Viral.
I was viral for all the wrong reasons, and the night had barely started.
Ethan turned as soon I reached him, that fake-sweet mask of his sliding into place.
“Are you okay, princess?” he asked, his voice dripping with halfhearted concern, loud enough for the nearest phones to catch.
I wanted to spit in his face.
Instead I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood and forced the words out.
“I’m fine.”
A waiter passed. I snatched a flute off his tray and threw the champagne back like it was water, like it could wash the filth off me.
It burned all the way down, like fire in my throat, fire in my chest.
Across the room, I spotted Thayne.
Some woman I didn’t recognise had her hand on his arm, her blood red nails stroking the sleeve of his tux like she had any right.
She was leaning in, laughing at something he said, and he wasn’t moving away.
Ursula and her pack were back in the centre now, tossing their hair, giggling behind crystal glasses, basking in the attention they’d stolen.
The room swayed. Just once. A gentle, sickening roll.
I blinked, tried to focus on Thayne, on the woman’s hand still sliding up and down his bicep.
Then, everything doubled. I was seeing two Thaynes. Four red nails.
The chandelier above split into a dozen spinning stars.
My knees softened, and the champagne glass slipped from my fingers and shattered on the marble, a bright, violent crash that cut through the music.
I stared at the broken pieces, at the gold liquid spreading like blood.
My tongue felt thick.
The fire in my throat was spreading, slow and warm, down my arms, into my fingertips.
I looked up at Ethan.
His smile was different now. Smaller. Sharper. Knowing.
My vision tunneled.
And the last thing I saw before the floor rushed up to meet me was Thayne finally turning, finally seeing me, his face going white as death.
Then the world went black.
The first thing that hit me when I woke up was the rumble under my body, low, constant, like the growl of something alive.
Then the leather biting into my wrists, my ankles, my waist. Tight. Real. Unforgiving.
I was strapped to a chair.
My eyes snapped open, nothing but black cloth over them, thick and soft and smelling faintly of expensive cologne.
A cold chill ran down my spine. A blindfold.
Panic slammed into me so hard my lungs forgot how to work.
I jerked against the restraints. The leather creaked but didn’t give.
My arms were pinned behind the chair, wrists crossed and bound so tight the circulation was already prickling.
My ankles were lashed to the front legs. A wide strap crossed just under my ribs, holding me upright.
The vehicle lurched around a corner and my body swayed, helpless.
I was moving. And fast.
Somewhere dark, somewhere I didn’t know.
My mouth was dry, my tongue sticking to the roof. My head throbbed like someone had taken a hammer to it, slow, dull pulses behind my eyes.
Whatever had been in that champagne was still swimming in my veins, making everything soft at the edges and sharp in the centre all at once.
I twisted again, harder. The chair was bolted to the floor, no give, no mercy.
A whimper slipped out before I could stop it.
Who had done this?
Thayne? Unlikely.
Ethan? Possibly. But why?
Someone else entirely?
The last thing I remembered was the marble rushing up to meet me, Thayne’s face going white as snow, and then nothing.
Now I was blind, bound, and being taken to God-knows-where.
My heart was trying to claw its way out of my chest.
I forced myself to breathe through my nose, slow and steady, counting like Thayne had taught me when the panic attacks used to come.
One. Two. Three.
The car smelled like leather and money and something colder underneath. It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it through the fog.
I swallowed hard, and tasted metal.
Whoever did this wasn’t done with me yet.
And I had no idea if I was being rescued…
or delivered.
The vehicle took a vicious turn. My whole body slammed sideways, leather straps cutting deeper into my wrists and ribs.
I couldn’t see. Couldn’t brace. Could only feel the world tilt and my stomach flip with it. Blind. Bound. Helpless.
Then the engine roared once, savage, and the car surged forward like it had been kicked.
A heartbeat later, the brakes screamed and tires bit the ground.
My body jerked violently against the restraints, head snapping forward, then back, the blindfold shifting just enough for a sliver of light to burn across my eyes.
There was only silence for a long moment.
Dead, heavy silence after the chaos.
The engine cut, and doors opened somewhere in front of me, the cold night air rushing in, carrying the smell of salt and gasoline and something metallic.
Then, footsteps. They were slow. Deliberate.
My pulse was a war drum in my throat.
I twisted again, uselessly, leather creaking like it was laughing at me.
Someone was coming. I couldn’t see them, but I could feel them.
And whatever came next, I already knew one thing with bone-deep certainty:
This wasn’t rescue.
This was the next move on the board.
And I was the piece they’d just stolen.
The door beside me flew open and cold air rushed in, it was sharp with salt and gasoline.
I froze, every muscle locked, my breath trapped in my throat.
Ice cold fingers brushed my cheek, and I tried to shrink backwards but the ropes wouldn't let me.
The blindfold lifted slowly, inch by inch, like he wanted me to feel every second of the reveal.
That cologne hit me first. Expensive, clean, cruel.
Ethan. Even if he hadn't removed the blindfold, I'd have known it was him.
He leaned into the dim interior light, his face half-shadowed, eyes glittering with victory and something darker.
His smile was small, satisfied, the cat who’d swallowed the canary and was now licking cream off his whiskers.
“Oh, Ara,” he murmured, his voice soft and mocking, almost tender. “For someone who was so uptight about drinking alcohol earlier… you really shouldn’t have touched that champagne.”
My blood turned to sludge.
What?
The drink I’d snatched in anger. The one I’d thrown back like it could drown the humiliation.
He’d planned it. He’d waited for me to break, to grab something, anything, to steady myself.
And I’d walked right into it.
I opened my mouth to scream, to curse, to beg; I didn’t even know; but my tongue was thick, my words slow and syrupy.
Ethan just watched me struggle, head tilted, like I was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
“Shh,” he whispered, pressing one cold finger to my lips. “Don’t waste your energy, princess. You’re going to need it.”
His gaze dropped to the leather straps biting into my wrists, my waist, my ankles.
He traced one with a knuckle, slow, possessive.
“You look perfect like this,” he said, almost to himself. “Tied up. Helpless. Mine.”
Then he smiled, wide and wolfish.
“Welcome to the winning side, Ara.”