Chapter 9 Chapter Eight
ARA
Thayne’s sister sashayed away, her hips swaying like she owned the room.
She glanced back once, her red lips curving into a slow, mocking smirk, and blew me a kiss that felt like a slap.
I stood there in the middle of the marble floor, wine-soaked dress clinging to my thighs, the fabric cold and sticky against my skin.
My cheeks burned. My chest felt too tight to breathe.
Every single person had stopped pretending they weren’t staring.
Their phones were out, and their eyes sharp, with miles hidden behind champagne flutes.
I was the evening’s entertainment, and they were loving the show.
I couldn’t stay here another second.
I turned on my heel and started walking, fast, toward the exit.
The ruined dress pulled with every step, the wet silk slapping against my legs like a punishment.
Behind me I heard Munroe’s low voice barking orders, and felt the shift as Thayne’s men moved to clear a path.
But the cameras didn’t care about bodyguards.
They clicked and flashed like gunfire, blinding white, over and over.
Click. Click. Click.
Each flash froze me in place for a heartbeat: my ruined dress, my tear-streaked face and trembling lips.
Tomorrow those photos would be everywhere.
Tomorrow I would be the girl who got humiliated in front of the entire city.
I was halfway to the doors when a hand clamped around my elbow. Hard.
I looked up into the flushed face of a man in his mid-forties, expensive tux, expensive watch, cheap drunk eyes.
“Where’s a pretty little doll like you running off to?” His voice was thick, slurred, his fingers crawling higher up my arm like spiders.
Bile rose up in my throat.
“I’m going outside,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Please let go of my arm.”
He grinned, his breath sour with whiskey. “You look like you need company tonight, sweetheart.”
His thumb stroked my skin. I wanted to throw up.
“No, thank you.” I tried to pull free. He only gripped tighter.
The crowd watched. Some smirked, while some filmed. Nobody moved to help.
Where the hell were Thayne’s men?
I was still twisting when a shadow fell over us.
Thayne.
He didn’t say a word at first.
He just grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it.
The drunk yelped, stumbled, and suddenly he was on the floor, two guards hauling him up by the collar like trash.
Thayne stepped in front of me, blocking the cameras, blocking the world.
His back was to me, broad and furious, shoulders tight under the black tux.
He walked slowly toward the man, every step deliberate.
The room went quieter than I’d ever heard it.
When he reached him, Thayne leaned in, his voice low enough that only the man, the guards, and I could hear.
“Did no one ever teach you to keep your fucking hands to yourself?”
The man opened his mouth. “I didn’t know she was—”
“Of course you didn’t,” Thayne cut him off, voice sharp like a blade.
He glanced at the guards. “Throw him out.”
“You won’t dare,” the man sputtered.
Thayne smiled, cold and lethal.
“For my woman?” His voice dropped even lower. “I’d dare a hell of a lot worse.”
A ripple went through the crowd, whispers exploding like fireworks.
My woman.
He’d said it loud enough for everyone to hear.
He turned then, his eyes finding mine across the space between us.
They weren’t cold anymore.
They were blazing.
“We’re leaving,” he said, walking straight to me.
I blinked, still reeling. “What? Why?”
“I don’t stay where people disrespect what’s mine.”
His gaze dropped to my ruined dress, jaw clenching so hard I saw the muscle tick.
“What happened to your dress?”
“I—your sister—”
He froze. “Ursula’s here?”
I nodded, my throat tight.
His eyes darkened to something deadly.
He leaned in, voice a growl only I could hear. “Did she do this?”
I couldn’t lie. “She spilled her drink on me. On purpose.”
His nostrils flared. He turned his head slightly and murmured something to Munroe I couldn’t catch.
Then his hand settled on my lower back, warm, possessive, guiding me toward the exit.
People parted like the Red Sea.
I could feel every stare. I kept my chin up even though I wanted to disappear.
At the doors he stopped and looked down at me.
“Ara, look at me.”
I did.
For the first time tonight there was no mask. No indifference.
Just raw, unfiltered protectiveness that made my chest ache.
“What did Ursula do exactly?” His voice was soft, but it vibrated with barely contained rage.
“She… spilled wine on me. And laughed. She said I didn’t belong.”
His eyes flashed with naked rage.
He leaned closer, lips brushing my ear.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.”
My breath hitched.
We stepped outside into the cool night air, cameras still flashing behind us.
In the car I finally let my shoulders sag.
I stared at my lap, thumbs twisting together.
“This is my life now, isn’t it?” I whispered. “Constantly waiting for the next person to humiliate me. Worrying about my sisters being safe, never knowing what tomorrow brings.”
He was quiet for a long moment.
“Can I see my sisters soon?”I asked him.
“You need to earn that, Ara.”
The words hit like a slap.
I turned to him, anger flaring hot and sudden. “I’ve done everything you asked. I stood there while your sister humiliated me. I let you kiss me in front of the entire city. I signed your damn contract. What else do you want from me?”
His eyes met mine, dark and unreadable.
“I want you to act like my wife.”
My heart stopped.
“Wife?” The word came out broken. “The contract said until you were done with me. Not… wife.”
He leaned forward, slow, deliberate.
“We’re getting married, little lamb. You’ll give me an heir. And then we’ll see.”
Ice flooded my veins.
All of it, the party, the kiss, the public claim, everything had been part of the plan.
Not protection.
Ownership.
“You’re heartless,” I breathed.
His smile was slow, sinful, devastating.
“I warned you I was.”
Then, before I could scream or cry or slap him, he hauled me into his lap.
I fought, my fists against his chest, legs kicking, but he was stronger, always stronger.
He pinned my wrists between us.
“You lied,” I hissed, tears burning. “Everything was a lie.”
He didn’t deny it.
Instead he slid one hand between my thighs, tugged my soaked panties aside, and pushed two thick fingers deep inside me without warning.
I cried out, hips jerking, hating how my body opened for him instantly.
He curled his fingers, stroked once, twice, slow and cruel.
“Look at you,” he murmured against my mouth. “Soaked. Angry. Still dripping for the man you hate.”
I tried to speak, but he kissed me, hard, punishing, swallowing every protest.
His thumb found my clit, circled, pressed.
I moaned into his mouth, traitorous and helpless.
He tore the straps of my dress down, baring my breasts to the cool air of the car.
His mouth closed over one nipple, hot and wet, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.
He added a third finger, stretching, pumping, owning me.
I was shaking, riding his hand, chasing the edge he kept just out of reach.
“Please,” I sobbed, hating myself for begging.
Suddenly, he pulled his fingers free and cold air hit my wet skin.
He lifted me off his lap like I weighed nothing and set me back on the seat.
“You don’t get to come,” he said, voice rough, eyes black with lust and victory, “until you accept you’re mine.”
He opened the door and stepped out, leaving me wrecked, aching and furious.
I sat there panting, my thighs trembling, tears and mascara running down my face.
Then I saw them.
Thayne towering over Ursula in the shadows of the parking garage, her back against a concrete pillar.
Her voice carried, high and sharp.
“Madison miscarried your child, Thayne. Because you pushed her. Because of that slum girl. The least you can do is visit her in the hospital. She was carrying your baby!”
The world tilted. Everything inside me went cold.
He had gotten Madison pregnant.
And he had just publicly claimed me while she lay in a hospital bed losing his child.
But was it really true that Madison was pregnant? Thayne hadn't pushed her. She'd tripped herself.
Was this a ploy to tie him down by her side?