Chapter 149 Jealousy Gone Mad
Candice never expected that Brandon would suddenly attack and kiss her; she was completely dumbfounded.
Coming to her senses, she pushed him away instinctively and asked him with a hint of annoyance, "What's wrong with you?"
Before she could finish the rest of her words, Brandon pressed his lips against hers again.
This time, he was prepared. His hands shot out, capturing her wrists and pinning them above her head, a firm, unyielding cage of muscle and bone that left no room for escape.
A cold spike of realization pierced through her shock. She should never have let her guard down around him.
He always did this, stealing moments, taking liberties, ambushing her when she was least prepared.
A desperate struggle began, but her frantic movements were laughably ineffective against his strength.In her flailing, her arm accidentally bumped the light switch on the wall beside them. The room plunged into absolute darkness.
"Brandon!" A muffled, choked cry escaped her throat, instantly swallowed by the pressure of his kiss.
A new, unsettling feeling began to seep into her consciousness. Something was wrong.
His mood was off, a dark current running beneath the surface. This wasn't just a kiss; it was an assault, fierce and edged with a raw, angry desperation she couldn't comprehend. Her initial struggle gave way to a dazed stillness, her body held fast by his superior force, her mind a blank slate.
Just as she felt the last of her resistance drain away, Brandon's kiss began a slow, torturous trail down her jaw, along the column of her neck.
The sudden access to air was a relief, but her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
In the suffocating darkness, she could feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal, a dangerous heat that promised to consume them both.
If this continued, she didn't know what would happen, what lines would be irrevocably crossed.
Panic jolted her back to her senses. "Brandon! Do you have any idea what you're doing?" She snapped, her voice sharp with a mix of fear and fury. "It's the middle of the night. Are you on some drunken power trip?"
His movements seemed to stutter, a fractional pause in his relentless advance.
Seizing the opportunity, Candice yanked her hands free and planted them firmly on his chest, pushing with all her might to create a sliver of distance between them.
Already unsteady from the alcohol, Brandon stumbled back, the sudden shove breaking his momentum. He didn't press forward again.
Instead, in the gloom, he lifted his head, his eyes glinting with a bloodshot intensity. His voice, when he spoke, was a low, gravelly rasp. "A drunken power trip? You're right, I'm a little drunk. But wasn't this your idea? I heard you wanted to ask me out."
Candice frowned, the absurdity of his words cutting through her alarm. "When I said 'ask you out,' I meant to dinner tonight—with Elijah and Yasmin. It wasn't a date date," she explained, her frustration mounting. "It was a thank-you for helping me with that fake news story."
She let out an exasperated sigh. "How on earth did Finnian get that message so wrong?"
But Brandon, whether too drunk to process her words or simply choosing to ignore them, remained locked in his own fiery narrative.
His tone turned glacial. "I have to hand it to you, Candice. You really play the field. On one hand, you're all cozy with your little boy toy. On the other hand, you're trying to cut me off, only to turn around and invite me out. What's the plan? You trying to see if you can juggle two men at once?"
His accusation left her utterly baffled.
"What?" She stammered, shaking her head in the dark. "What boy toy? Cozy with who? Who said anything about juggling two men? You're not making any sense."
Finally catching her breath, she spoke again, her voice laced with annoyance. "Brandon, you're seriously drunk. Just go home and sleep it off. You're completely out of it; you don't even know what you're saying anymore."
His reply was colder than the night air.
"I've had too much to drink, but I know exactly what I'm saying," he bit out, his gaze a palpable weight in the darkness. "My mistake was being too lenient with you, Candice. Thinking I could let Elijah spend time with you, even after you abandoned your family. But that's over. I'm taking him back with me. Right now."
With that, he stepped away, deliberately widening the space between them before reaching over and flipping the light switch back on. The sudden glare was blinding.
He turned and started for the stairs, his intention clear. But the alcohol had taken its toll; his gait was unsteady, each step a clumsy, staggering effort.
A headache began to pulse behind Candice's temples. "Brandon, what are you doing?" she cried, rushing after him. "Elijah is already asleep! You'll wake him up!"
He ignored her completely, his focus fixed on the staircase as if it were a mountain he was determined to conquer.
This was insane.
Candice had no choice but to grab his arm, trying to physically halt his progress. "Brandon, calm down! What is it you're trying to accomplish right now?"
Her words were like water off a duck's back. He stopped, his cold eyes dropping to her hand on his arm. "Let go," he commanded, the two words sharp and final.
Candice sagged with weary resignation. How was she supposed to reason with a drunk? Faced with his icy stare, she relented, dropping her hand. The moment she did, he lurched toward the stairs again.
Throwing herself in his path, she blocked the bottom step. "If you want to take Elijah, you can do it tomorrow," she pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice. "It's too late now. You'll scare him if you burst in like this!"
"He's not that easily scared," Brandon slurred, his brow furrowing in that familiar, arrogant way.
He's so drunk, how could he possibly know that? Has Elijah ever even seen him like this? Her patience, already worn thin, finally snapped.
"Would you just sober up for a second?" She retorted, her voice rising. "Elijah's emotional state is still fragile. Are you sure you want to risk a setback by dragging him out of bed in the middle of the night? You claim to care about him so much, but what if this little stunt of yours makes him retreat into himself again? Will you be able to live with that, Brandon? And besides, have you even asked him what he wants? Does he want to leave with you right now? Don't you think you owe him the respect of asking?"
Her tirade finally seemed to penetrate the alcoholic haze. He stood motionless at the foot of the stairs, his brow deeply furrowed as if he were struggling to parse her words. After a long, tense moment, he abandoned his quest for the second floor and turned, heading for the front door instead.
Candice watched him go, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. "Now, where are you going?"
"Home," he threw back over his shoulder, his voice flat and cold.
A drunk man, who could barely walk a straight line, was going to drive home? When she saw him fumbling with the doorknob, she knew she couldn't let him leave. She followed him out onto the porch, where the driveway was conspicuously empty.
"Where's Knox? Your driver?" She asked, confused. "How did you even get here? Who dropped you off?"
Brandon squinted into the night, his eyes bleary. "He left," he answered simply.
Candice stared.
The driver just dropped him off and left?
What was going on? Had the standards for the Obelon family staff dropped so low? It was late, and Brandon was clearly in no condition to be on his own. But she certainly wasn't about to drive him home herself. After a moment's hesitation, she sighed. "Fine. In that case, you can just crash in the guest room for the night."
It wasn't like he hadn't stayed over before. She grabbed his arm to pull him back inside.
"I don't need it," he snarled, trying to wrench his arm away. "I'm not staying here."
This was his rival's house. The man's clothes were probably still in the closet. The thought alone sent a fresh wave of rage churning in his gut.
But Candice was done negotiating. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm doing you a favor by even letting you stay. Don't make me leave you on the doorstep." The night's drama had exhausted her. If he wasn't tired, she certainly was.
Ignoring his protests, she half-dragged, half-hauled him back inside and toward the guest room. He was a dead weight, and by the time they reached the bed, her own energy was completely spent. With a final, desperate shove, she sent him tumbling onto the mattress. His momentum, however, was too much. As he went down, he pulled her with him, and she landed in an undignified heap on top of his chest.