Three Devils at the Door
1413 Words
Vivian's pov~
"Dad," I said, catching myself before the sharp edge in my voice could give everything away. I swallowed the bitterness, forcing a light, airy laugh to pass my lips. "I’m just teasing you. You can stop worrying so much about the quarterly reports."
"Ah, you had me worried for a second, sweetheart," my dad breathed a sigh of relief through the line, his tone instantly relaxing. "So, everything is good?"
"Everything is perfect," I lied smoothly, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. I didn't want to make him sad, nor did I want him stressing over the stability of the Lauren Group when his health wasn't what it used to be. "It's just that Garrison is incredibly busy with the company right now. He has some massive global CEOs arriving from London today for a huge contract. Once things settle down on his end, we'll have more time to focus on... starting a family."
"That's my girl," my dad said, pride swelling in his voice. "I knew I could count on you to keep things steady. Garrison is a powerful man, and powerful men need a supportive, patient woman by their side. Just keep doing what you're doing, and let me know how the meeting goes today."
"I will, Dad. Take care of yourself," I murmured.
We said our goodbyes, and the line went dead. I slowly lowered the phone, the fake smile sliding off my face as the quiet of the guest room enveloped me once more.
I had managed to keep the peace for him, but the countdown had officially started.
I looked at the clock on the nightstand. Garrison's elite guests would be arriving in a few hours.
Pushing myself out of bed, I walked over to the closet. If I was going to play the part of the homely, perfect wife one last time to secure his precious business deal, I was going to do it on my own terms. I pulled out a form-fitting, elegant dress, something that looked sophisticated but carried a sharp, untouchable edge.
I chose a knit, ankle-length dress in a deep, midnight emerald—a color that looked beautifully elegant under the estate's chandeliers but carried a sharp, cold edge. It hugged my curves tightly, the fabric stretching over my chest where the phantom weight of a large, warm hand still seemed to linger. I left my hair down, cascading in waves over my shoulders to hide the faint, purple bruise blossoming on the side of my neck.
Applied a flawless layer of makeup to hide the dark circles from my wild, chaotic night, and intentionally left my left ring finger bare and empty.
Taking a slow, stabilizing breath, I walked down the grand marble staircase, the click of my heels echoing through the quiet house. I turned the corner into the main living room just as the massive double doors of the foyer opened. Garrison was already there, his posture unusually rigid, a practiced, eager smile plastered across his face as he ushered his guests inside.
"Welcome to my estate, gentlemen," Garrison’s voice boomed with corporate warmth. "Allow me to introduce my—"
The words died in his throat as I stepped into the room, but I didn't hear him.
The entire world suddenly went dead silent.
My feet rooted to the spot.
Every muscle in my body locked tightly as a violent wave of heat began drumming beneath my skin, a roaring fire that flushed straight to my face.
My breath caught, suffocating me right there in the center of the room.
Three towering men stepped through the threshold, throwing long, dominant shadows across the marble floor.
They were impeccably dressed in bespoke, three-piece European suits that screamed ungodly wealth and power. But it wasn't their wealth that made my heart hammer violently against my ribs like a trapped bird.
It was their faces.
Through the hazy, alcohol-fueled memories of last night's VIP room, the jigsaw pieces of my mind violently slammed together. The broad chest I had been pinned against. The strong fingers that had ruthlessly gripped my jaw. The dark, predatory gaze that had watched me as a hand slipped past my underwear.
It wasn't a dream.
It hadn't been a hallucination.
It was them.
As if on cue, all three of them stopped walking. Their powerful gazes locked onto me simultaneously, completely ignoring Garrison's extended hand. And right there, under my husband's oblivious nose, their lips slowly curled into the exact same dark, teasing, possessive smirks from the VIP room.
The silence in the room became heavy, suffocatingly loud over the sound of the blood rushing in my ears.
Garrison cleared his throat, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second at their sudden lack of interest in him. He stepped forward, gesturing toward me with an arrogant wave of his hand, completely blind to the invisible thread of tension snapping across the room.
"Gentlemen, this is my wife," Garrison announced, his voice practically dripping with artificial pride. "Darling, these are the CEOs I told you about. The founders of the Vance Group."
The man standing in the center—the one whose deep, velvety growl had initiated my ruin last night, took a slow, deliberate step forward. He was towering, his broad shoulders filling out his dark charcoal suit perfectly. His eyes, a piercing, predatory shade of hazel, tracked down the length of my body, lingering on the emerald fabric of my dress before snapping back up to lock onto my frozen gaze.
"A pleasure to finally meet the lovely Mrs. Morgan," he murmured. His voice was identical to the one that had whispered against my ear in the dark.
He extended a large, tanned hand toward me.
My breath hitched.
I stood entirely paralyzed, my mind screaming at me to run, to lock myself in the guest room, to do anything but touch him. But Garrison was watching, his eyes shooting me a sharp, warning glare that silently commanded me to play the perfect hostess.
Slowly, my trembling hand rose to meet his.
The moment his palm slid against mine, his fingers wrapped completely around my hand, engulfing it in a crushing, suffocating warmth.
He didn't offer a polite, corporate handshake. Instead, he pulled me just an inch closer, his thumb sweeping slowly, deliberately over my bare knuckles, right over the empty space where my wedding ring should have been.
A sharp jolt of electricity shot straight up my arm. My eyes widened in panic, but his smirk only deepened, his gaze dropping to my bare ring finger with a look of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
"I am Lucian Kingsley," he introduced himself smoothly, his voice laced with a dangerous, unspoken challenge. "And these are my partners."
The second man stepped up to his left, his hands casually tucked into his trousers. He was leaner but just as menacing, with sharp, aristocratic features and silver-rimmed glasses that hid none of the dark, long-awaited hunger burning in his eyes. The man who had gripped my jaw.
"Adrian Sterling," he said, his voice a cool, calculating contrast to Lucian's heat. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes tracking the high collar of my dress as if he knew exactly what purple bruise it was hiding beneath the fabric. "Your husband has told us so much about your... devotion."
"An absolute pleasure," the third man rumbled, stepping up to my right. He was the broadest of the three, with a rugged, untamed edge that his impeccably tailored suit couldn't quite hide. The man whose hand had slipped beneath my clothes. His dark eyes consumed me entirely as he gave me a slow, slow nod. "Julian Thorne. We've been looking forward to this meeting all day."
Garrison, completely oblivious to the wolfish grins directed at his wife, let out a booming laugh and gestured towards the louge area.
"Excellent! Come, let's sit in the lounge," Garrison ushered them toward the leather sofas, completely missing the way Julian’s gaze lingered on my hips as I stood there trembling. "My wife has had the staff prepare some refreshments for us."
As they began to move past me, Lucian lagged a half-step behind. As his broad shoulder brushed against mine, his head tilted just enough so his breath fanned the shell of my ear.
"Nice dress, sweetheart," he whispered, so low it was entirely lost beneath the sound of Garrison's footsteps. "But we liked you much better without it."
- Writer
