Chapter 238
Sophia's POV
The conference room felt like it was closing in on me. My head swam, a dull ache pulsing behind my temples. I pressed my fingertips against the edge of the table, trying to ground myself, but the room tilted slightly, the fluorescent lights too bright, too sharp.
Richard leaned closer, pointing at something on his tablet. "Ms. Cruz, what do you think about clause 4.7? The French wording seems—"
"I think..." My tongue felt thick. I blinked hard, forcing my eyes to focus on the screen. The words blurred together. "I think it's... standard."
He frowned. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Fine." The lie tasted bitter. I straightened in my chair, ignoring the way my pulse quickened. "Just a little warm in here."
His gaze lingered on my face, and something in his expression shifted. The professional politeness faded, replaced by something else. Something that made my skin crawl.
"Perhaps you should take a break," he suggested, his voice dropping lower. "Step outside for some air?"
I shook my head, regretting it immediately as the room spun. "No, I'm—"
"You look flushed." He reached across the table, his fingers brushing my wrist. "Your pulse is racing."
I jerked my hand back. "I said I'm fine."
But I wasn't. The heat spreading through my body wasn't natural. It crawled under my skin, making everything feel too tight, too sensitive. My breath came shorter, and when I tried to stand, my knees buckled slightly.
Richard was there in an instant, his hand on my elbow. "Careful."
"Don't touch me." I stepped back, putting the chair between us. My heart hammered against my ribs. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
He held up his hands in mock surrender, but his smile was anything but innocent. "I'm just trying to help."
"I don't need your help." I gripped the back of the chair, using it to steady myself. The room wouldn't stop moving. "Where's Lucas?"
"Still downstairs with Claire, I imagine." He took a step closer. "It's just you and me."
The way he said it—slow, deliberate—sent ice through my veins despite the unnatural heat burning under my skin. I looked at the coffee cup on the table, still half-full, and understanding crashed over me like a wave.
Claire.
"What did she put in it?" My voice came out hoarse. "What did you both do?"
Richard's smile widened. "She just gave you a little something to help you relax. To make you more... amenable to conversation."
"You're insane." I fumbled for my phone, but my hands shook so badly I could barely grip it. "I'm calling—"
He moved faster than I expected, snatching the phone from my trembling fingers. "No, you're not."
I lunged for it, but he caught my wrist, yanking me against him. The contact made my skin burn, and I hated myself for the way my body responded—the unwanted heat, the involuntary shiver.
"Let me go." I tried to pull away, but my strength was draining fast. Whatever she'd given me was working quickly.
"You know," he said conversationally, as if we were discussing the weather, "Claire mentioned you and Lucas have an... arrangement. That you're quite accommodating when it comes to powerful men."
Rage cut through the fog in my head. "She's a liar."
"Is she?" His grip tightened. "Because you don't seem to have any problem being his mistress. Why not extend that generosity to someone who could actually appreciate you?"
I bit down on my tongue, using the sharp pain to clear my head. "Because you're nothing like him."
His eyes darkened. "No, I'm better. I wouldn't parade you around like a dirty secret while planning a wedding to someone else."
"Fuck you." I twisted in his grip, but he was stronger, and I was getting weaker by the second. The drug was pulling me under, making everything hazy and hot and wrong.
"That's the idea," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "Claire said you'd put up a fight at first, but the drug would make you more... compliant. More willing to see reason."
Horror flooded through me. "She planned this. You both—"
"She wants you out of Lucas's life." He walked me backward, step by stumbling step, until my back hit the wall. "And I want an evening with a beautiful woman. It's mutually beneficial."
I shoved at his chest, but my arms felt like lead. "Lucas will kill you."
"Lucas is too busy playing devoted fiancé to notice." His hand slid up my side, and I flinched violently. "Besides, what's he going to do? Admit he cares about his secretary enough to start a war over her?"
He was right, and we both knew it. Lucas would protect his image before he'd protect me. That was the whole point of Claire's plan—to prove I was expendable, replaceable, nothing.
The room tilted again, and I grabbed his shoulders to keep from falling. He mistook it for surrender.
"There we go," he said softly. "Just stop fighting. It'll be easier."
But I wasn't surrendering. I was biting down on my own wrist, hard enough to draw blood, using the sharp pain to claw back some clarity. The metallic taste of blood grounded me, and I shoved him with everything I had left.
He stumbled back, surprised, and I ran.
Or tried to. My legs wouldn't cooperate, and I crashed into the table, sending papers flying. I could hear him behind me, his footsteps steady and unhurried. He knew I couldn't get far.
"This is pointless, Sophia." His voice was closer now. "The door's locked. I made sure of it before we started."
I grabbed my phone from where he'd dropped it, my fingers clumsy and slow. I had to call someone. Anyone. But when I tried to unlock it, the screen swam before my eyes, and I couldn't remember the code.
"Come here." His hand closed around my upper arm, spinning me to face him. "Stop making this difficult."
"Go to hell." I clawed at his face, but he caught my wrist easily.
"I was hoping you'd be more cooperative," he said, his tone almost regretful. "But Claire warned me you might need some... persuading."
He backed me against the wall again, his body caging mine. I tried to scream, but he clamped a hand over my mouth.
"Shh. No one's going to hear you. The floor's empty—everyone's at lunch." His free hand moved to my waist. "Just relax. Let the drug do its work."
I bit his palm, tasting blood—his this time, not mine.
He cursed and jerked back, and I used the moment to fumble with my phone again. This time, my shaking fingers managed to pull up Lucas's number.
I hit call.