Slowly, I turn to face her, and in the next second, my hand finds her throat, fingers wrapping around it as I push her back against the wall, caging her with my body. She squeals, her hands immediately curling around my arm. I press against her, erasing any chance of escape, feeling her muscles tense, instinctively responding to the threat. Her lips part in a silent scream as I apply pressure, relishing the way her heartbeat thrums against my fingertips.
Right now, I dictate the fucking rules.
“Cold, calculating little Venetia suddenly snaps at her partner and burns his fucking car down,” I muse, disregarding her throaty whimpers and the way her eyes squeeze shut from the force I’m applying. “They won’t believe me if I tell them this, you know?”
I ease the pressure slightly, and she gasps, the color rising in her cheeks. “I’m going to scream, you fucking?—”
She’s cut off as my other hand slips beneath her blazer, pressing two fingers into her liver. My dad taught me a lot of things, and one of the most important was knowing the most painful spots to exploit on a human’s body. “Scream all you want, baby,” I whisper, leaning closer to her face, blocking her from the light and the camera in the corner. “It’ll only make things worse for you.”
Her choked scream washes over me like a tide, so pleasant that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to suppress a groan. She no longer tries to wriggle free, her expression contorted in agony as I press down on the sensitive spot. A tear glistens in her eye before rolling down, tracing a path across her cheek, adding to my satisfaction just as I’d imagined.
“You really upset me, Venetia,” I say, and she turns her head away, desperately trying to escape me. “Don’t you want to apologize?”
I feel her swallow against my hand, her sharp nails digging into my flesh, creating tiny red punctures that send a strange ache through my stomach. My mind begins to envision all the ways she could mark me, deepening these wounds. I circle my fingers on her liver, digging harder and making her squirm in my grip like a trapped worm.
“Why did you lie to Eli?” she chokes out, and I tighten my grip around her throat, his name erasing any pleasant sparkles she might have ignited in me.
“I’m so sick of how you humiliate yourself. Eli this, Eli that—he fucking ignores me. Get a fucking grip, for God’s sake.”
“You don’t,” she licks her lips, and I can almost taste the saltiness of her tears on them, “get to decide?—”
“Oh, I’m not deciding. He does. He’s a grown-ass man—” I trail off, narrowing my eyes at the absurdity of that phrase. “A grown-assboywho makes his own decisions. He never fought for you, not even once. And you waste your time obsessing over him, but it’s not because you truly love him.” I laugh. “Honestly, you don’t evenlikehim, Venetia. It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud. The way you let him wipe his feet on you doesn’t sit well with your character.”
More tears stream down her face, and I don’t feel the same satisfaction I did before. It’s clear she’s upset over her idiotic Eli, not because of me. Everything I say is the bitter truth, but I don’tcare how much it hurts her. She needs to stop running around like a needy child. She’s been right under my nose the whole time, and that annoys me.
“Now,” I begin, slightly easing the pressure on her liver and throat. I need her full attention. “Now, you’ll look into my eyes and apologize for burning down my fucking car.”
Her emerald eyes burn with a fierce, consuming fire. Every inch of her radiates anger, a heat so intense, so intoxicating, that I crave to be engulfed by it. “Fuck you, West,” she rasps, and I have to close my eyes as they roll involuntarily at the way she says my name. That desperate, furious voice, each syllable coated in scorching hate forme.
Slowly, I shake my head, a smirk curling the corner of my lips. “Wrong answer.” This time, I apply pressure not with my hands but with my body. The heat between us intensifies—a potent cocktail of desire and my dominance. She feels so fucking easy to break right now.
“So strong yet so breakable,” I murmur softly, trailing my lips down her neck. The cherry-flavored scent of her perfume fills my senses, making my head spin. She shivers, and my cock twitches, a raw need pulsing through me. “What are you hiding, Netia?”
I pull back slightly, my face hovering mere millimeters above hers. Her warm, erratic breath lingers on my lips as she gazes up at me, her shimmering eyes filled with contempt. At this point, she barely struggles while I hold her captive. Her panic escalates to a dangerously intense level; I bet the people behind these walls can hear her heartbeat. She’s my little mouse, trapped with no chance of escape.
Power has always given me the deepest pleasure, but right now, I can’t even describe the feeling in such simple terms. It’s so much more than that—bordering on something surreal, something that only I can experience.
I don’t know when or how my brain sends me the wrong signal, but I find myself leaning closer. My gaze locks onto her lips, their glossy surface seeming to invite a smudge.
Her embrace, once so tight, loosens as her arms withdraw from mine. She stands rigid, a sudden shift in the energy that crackles and explodes between us. I no longer try to choke her; my hands stay in place, but my grip transforms into something merely possessive.
My eyes flutter shut as my lips brush against hers, a jolt of electricity shooting through my body before something sharp slices across my face, leaving a burning discomfort on my skin.
A groan of pain rips from my throat before I can stop it, and in an instant, I’m yanked back, my shoulder slamming against the wall as my hand instinctively clutches my cheek. I look down, catching the sight of her hairpin in her little arm, the sharp tip glistening with my blood.
She doesn’t waste a moment, pressing the right button on the elevator panel while I remain frozen, my fingers trailing along my damaged skin. This doesn’t feel like just a scratch; the bitch has cut me deeply enough that I can hear the blood flowing, the droplets staining my white shirt.
“Next time,” she begins, her voice breathy as she wipes the tip of the hairpin against her palm and secures it back in her hair, “I’ll slice open your fucking chest with it.” She smooths the creases in her clothes before her hands travel to her throat, fingers tracing the red imprint I left behind.
I’m fucking stunned, unable to speak or move. Blood flows from the cut like a river, and as the shock fades, pain begins to creep in. It feels like she sliced off the outer layer of my fucking face.
The green light indicator for the 28th floor clicks to life, and the doors unlock. Venetia glances back at me, her eyes wide with anger and her cheeks flushed deeper than the blood now coatingmy hand. “Fuck you,” she mutters before turning on her heel and storming out, leaving me alone in the elevator.
Silence settles in, and just as my thoughts start to coalesce into something coherent, one of our employees attempts to walk in but halts before the doors. His eyes widen in concern as he takes in my state. I’m still doubled over, blood soaking my hand.
“Oh, God,” he squeals, his gaze darting around frantically in search of help. “You need?—”
I cut him off by storming out of the elevator, shouldering him aside as I force my way out. Ignoring his questions, I head to the nearest bathroom, my shock slowly giving way to pure anger.
