Page 7

M y body shakes as I storm into the bathroom and rush toward the sink. Ragged breaths escape my lips, and I can still feel his grip around my throat, even though he’s no longer here.

My trembling fingers turn on the cold water, and I wash my hands up to my elbows, flinching at the icy touch on my skin. Goosebumps erupt across my body, but the whirlwind of emotions only tightens its grip on me. The more I replay what just happened, recalling every whispered word and each movement he made, the deeper I sink into despair.

Raising my head, I lock eyes with my reflection in the mirror. My clothes are wrinkled, and my face is a complete wreck. Yanking the hairpin out has left my hair sticking out at odd angles, and my skin is flushed a deep crimson—my cheeks and nose are deep red as if I’ve been running in the cold. The color seeps through my thick foundation, streaks of half-translucent mascara marring my skin, and my eyes are puffy from crying.

Lifting my hand to my lips, I brush my fingers across them, slightly smearing the remaining lip gloss and sending buzzing tingles as I recall his touch.

I’m scared. But not because of how he choked me or the psychotic gleam in his crystal eyes. No. I’m scared because of how aroused he was during it all. I felt it with every fiber of my being—the way he pressed against me, the undeniable hardness nudging between my legs. It was fucking impossible to ignore.

Jokes aside, Grace was right—he’s abnormally big. The thought of what might happen if he were to strip down makes me believe I wouldn’t stand a chance.

He relished what he did to me. I could see it in the way his eyes followed my tears and the smile that crept onto his face afterward. The bastard gets off on this, and I know that if I hadn’t fought back, he would’ve done something much worse.

West truly wanted to hurt me; his anger was more than just a feeling—it was a palpable force that practically radiated from him. He was beyond furious, like a true psychopath, ready to murder me despite the cameras and the fact that we still had to work together.

But I know he was seconds away from kissing me. I can still feel the heat of his lips against mine when I touch them. So why did he want it? He could have kept his distance and tortured me in other ways, yet he kept edging closer and closer, as if drawn to me by some magnetic force. The things he said about Eli revealed a jealousy that broke through the veil of his hatred, complicating everything between us.

It sounds absurd when I say it out loud, considering we’ve done nothing but the worst to each other, always seizing opportunities to display our mutual disgust. He could’ve slapped me or spit in my face, but what he did felt almost… passionate.

Intimate .

I know what it’s like when someone hates you and wants to inflict pain simply out of fury. I lived through that with my ex-husband, who loved turning me into his punching bag whenever it suited him. But with West, it felt different. It’s as if he wanted to hurt me yet sought something positive to emerge from it—for both of us.

And the fucker succeeded because I feel just like him. I feel aroused. I keep shifting from foot to foot, aware of the warmth pooling between my legs, seeping through the fabric of my panties.

This is sick. He is sick. And now I feel sick, too.

It’s a perverse kind of pleasure that borders on unreal, blended with pain—an explosive combination that can’t lead to anything good. His violence spreads through me like a poisonous flower, its roots wrapping around my insides, slowly killing me.

That eye contact held me captive in a way I’ve never experienced before. No one has ever looked at me the way West does, with a gleam that flares with the same intensity each time, as if he’s trying to peer into my soul to find the answers I’ll never give him.

I swallow hard, feeling a lump in my throat as my tremors begin to subside. I try to shake off the memories, but it’s futile; they keep surging through my mind, each one more intimate than the last.

The details that become almost invisible when I’m not truly looking at him always overwhelm me as I get closer. They take my breath away and send butterflies fluttering through my stomach, and now, I feel it all over again. The stubble prickling his chiseled jawline, the slight crook of his nose from past fights, and those dusty fucking freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, which make him look far younger than he is... All of this creates such artistry that he resembles a work of art more than a living human being.

And his scent—it feels like it’s burned into me, seeping into my pores—masculine, woodsy, and something uniquely his.

Every single thing about him turns me into a fucking puddle, sending a reminder that I need tattooed on my forehead—I can’t allow myself to get so close to him. He sucks the energy out of me from a distance, but up close, it’s ten times worse.

He’s a perfectly imperfect image of an evil man, a beast as ruthless as he looks. I’ve always known he wasn’t okay, but after experiencing his insanity firsthand, all I want is to run far away and never see him again.

I want to flee because he feels eerily similar to me. I can sense that something has shaped him into this angry storm—something that irrevocably broke him in the past and now threatens to destroy everything he touches.

And the last thing I want is to be caught in the crossfire that emerges from the battles he faces.

I keep my eyes cast down like the coward I am as I walk into the meeting room. The conversation between my dad, West, and his father, Lucas, abruptly stops, and I can feel their eyes boring into me.

God, I want to sink into the floor and disappear.

“Venetia. We’ve been waiting for you,” my dad says, patting the seat next to him as if I need reminding where I usually sit. “What took you so long?”

The burning imprints of West’s hands linger on my throat, tingling with small flames at his question. I pull my hair forward to hide them, knowing that Dad wouldn’t care if he saw them. To him, what matters is whether I can form a coherent sentence—if I can talk and help him run the business, then everything is fine.

Slowly, I take my seat, the cold leather offering a slight comfort. “Sorry,” I mumble, the word trembling on my lips. I can’t even conjure an excuse now; my mind is still swirling with thoughts, and I can feel West’s gaze fixed on me.

Why does he always fucking stare at me?

There’s a pause in the room, disapproval radiating from my dad beside me. I know he’s going to give me a lecture later about how unprofessional I was.

“Ah, never mind,” Lucas interjects, clasping his hands together. The loud sound makes me flinch slightly, but I keep my eyes down. Even so, I can still feel the intense power emanating from his dark gaze, cutting through the thick tension in the air. Lucas Reyes is a businessman who leaves destruction in his wake, using the most extreme methods to protect his dynasty. “Adrian, should you start, or should I?”

My dad finally shifts his attention away from me and turns fully to Lucas. “I’ll go. Kids, we’ve gathered you both here today for some special news,” he begins, his voice tinged with excitement. “Our families have been working together for a couple of years, relying on each other and building an empire that achieves perfection through hard work.”

An unpleasant feeling surges through me as he continues to ramble about something I struggle to follow, mostly due to West’s presence, but also because of how Dad veils his words. It feels like he’s trying to sugarcoat his message before dropping a bomb on us.

“I’ve been in real estate my entire life,” Lucas says, taking over with a gravelly chuckle. It’s such an unfamiliar sound from him that it sends a shiver down my spine. “It was my family’s company, and before that, it belonged to previous generations... You get the idea. We’ve built a name for ourselves, and with our unique methods, we’ve truly become the best of the best.”

“But real estate isn’t the top of the mountain,” my dad interjects, his leg nudging mine under the table.

I raise my head, focusing my gaze on the round table before us. It’s not what he wants me to do, but it’s better than nothing. I can sense his sigh and feel the tension in his chest, the impending anger simmering just beneath the surface at my disobedience.

“That’s correct, Adrian,” Lucas agrees. “That’s why I’m taking a risk and aiming higher.” He pauses for effect. “There will be an election in a year, and I will be running for Governor.”

Silence descends, thick and oppressive, pressing down on my throat like a suffocating weight. I always knew West’s dad was greedy, but this? This is absurd.

“I know this sounds strange,” he continues, as if he just read my thoughts. “But I was a state representative exactly a year ago. Remember that, West?”

The mention of his name feels like a slap to my cheek. “Yes, I remember,” he replies, his raspy voice sending a jolt straight to my core. Why does he sound like he just ran a marathon?

“There’s a lot of work to do, of course. And that’s when I’m going to need you both.” A bead of sweat forms on my forehead as my fingers instinctively reach for the skin around my nails. “Venetia. West.”

“Venetia, I need you to show respect and look up when Lucas is talking to you,” my father says, his voice laced with parental strictness. I can sense the effort it takes for him to restrain himself from lashing out at me.

Summoning what little willpower I have left, I raise my eyes and focus my attention on him. West is still glaring at me, but I try to ignore him. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the bandage pressed against his cheek, and for a second, a zing of electric dread shoots through me. It’s only now that I truly realize what I’ve done.

“Together, our families are indestructible. People already appreciate what we do for them, but they’ll love the campaign you help me create even more. I need a better image—a solid foundation—before I announce my candidacy. Achieving a higher position requires a mix of experience, public visibility, and political acumen. While I handle the main issues, you, our young heirs, will assist me with the public. And that means—” Lucas trails off, making my stomach flip.

There’s no way.

“You will marry each other. Adrian and I discussed this and concluded it’s the best decision. People need to see me as a leader who cares about them and their families. You kids understand how to navigate social media and all that. A few public speeches here and there, some business trips to meet my allies and secure their support,” he explains, each word tightening the invisible collar around my neck. My mouth feels dry as I try to swallow, a barely audible whimper catching in my throat.

“We can work together, sure,” West begins, his voice only adding to my rising unease. “But marrying each other? Isn’t that a bit?—”

“Why us?” I interrupt, my voice sharper than I intended, betraying the emotions I’m fighting to hide. “I don’t want to be rude, but isn’t marriage a better option for you? Shouldn’t the leader’s personal life take priority in the bigger picture?”

“Venetia!”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Lucas interrupts smoothly, his grin as unshakable as ever despite the tension crackling in the room. He meets my dad’s anger with calm confidence. “It’s a fair question. In my position, though, it’s not about happiness—it’s about responsibility. Sacrifices have to be made to secure the future of this business and the people who depend on it. Marrying now would make things too personal, too messy. My heir needs a partner who not only supports this cause but is seen as the ideal choice to help build the empire we’re striving for.”

Yeah, figures. Fancy words that fall apart under scrutiny. He gets to ‘focus on the job,’ but West and I? We’re supposed to forget our beliefs and marry each other, all because it’s convenient for him.

“People will sympathize with your story,” my father says. “As Lucas mentioned, we need the perfect image for him—including for his son.” He shifts his attention to the main asshole in the room. “At twenty-nine, you still don’t have a partner or kids. Having a wife to share your business with will earn you and your father even more sympathy.”

Dozens of icy needles prick my eyes, and the room blurs into a barely recognizable haze. Sharp wire seems to wrap around my lungs, constricting them painfully. That’s what I’m going to be—a wife to a man who doesn’t respect me, someone who will wipe his feet on me at every opportunity. I’ll have no voice, no ability to make choices—nothing.

And the worst part? This isn’t the first time I’ve been forced into this role. I still remember how my mother coerced me into marrying a man I didn’t even know, all because she needed money for her treatment and to cover my father’s debts. I had hoped that my father would stand up to her, that he’d realize how wrong it was. But I was sorely mistaken.

Now, the story is repeating itself, only this time, my dad is the one selling me off to a man I fucking hate.

“When we succeed in making people believe how much we care, that their comfort is our top priority, each of you will find your place beside me in politics after the marriage,” Lucas continues. “Your task is to attend meetings and present a united front—a brush of fingers here, a soft glance there. Don’t rush things. Make them believe in your story. Charm them. Get them to love the idea of you and our cause.”

He keeps talking, his steady voice and the confidence radiating from him making me sick. I can taste bile rising in my throat, my simmering anger muted by the weight of my loss.

I feel West’s icy stare, a gleam of animalistic victory lurking deep within it. The ringing in my ears drowns out the voices of his father and mine, but I know they’re busy outlining the brilliant plan they’ve discussed long before this meeting.

Betrayal slices through my already bleeding heart, and my lips tremble as I realize that after all these years, my dad still sees me as nothing more than a product—a tool for profit, a toy for someone else to use.

I’ve done everything I could to prove him wrong. After my ex-husband died, my dad took over the business, and I helped him improve it, assisting in building his path to where he is today. Lucas’s real estate company doesn’t just hire anyone; you need to be the best to work with them. I’ve busted my ass to get us here—through blood, sweat, tears, and an overwhelming amount of self-loathing.

And now, it all feels like it was for nothing.

Darkness creeps at the edges of my vision, pulling me into its vortex. I inhale, my chest shaking as I take in precious oxygen, only to feel something sticky running down my fingers. I glance down, realizing I’ve just torn off a piece of skin around my thumb. A crimson trail circles my black nail polish, thickening with each passing second.

“Venetia.” A firm squeeze on my shoulder is followed by a sharp demand whispered in my ear. I raise my head to meet Lucas’s gaze. “What do you think?”

It’s a rhetorical question—an illusion of choice, a pretense that the men in this room care about my feelings or thoughts. My expression remains blank, directed at them but not truly seeing them. I force a smile, my dry lips cracking with the effort, knowing exactly what I’m going to say.

“That’s a wonderful idea.”