The Threat Behind the Glass
1436 Words
The Monarch Gala Ritz Sky Ballroom, Manhattan
Arielle Santos moved down the sweep of the grand staircase as if it and everything in it belonged to her. Wrapped in midnight-blue velvet that clung to her curves like memory, with a diamond choker fastened to her throat and a slit high up on one thigh, she resembled vengeance polished to perfection.
The crowd gave her room. Envy. Desire. Whispers.
None of them were aware. That under the flawless smile, her body was still shuddering from the lines Xander had uttered mere hours before.
"Someone's watching you."
And he hadn't lied. He never lied.
She saw him waiting down below the man who had transformed her world with one kiss. Xander Cruz in black tie, collar unfastened just enough to suggest menace. He did not smile. He never did it in public. His face conveyed only one message:
Mine.
And tonight, she performed the role to perfection.
Their arrival was staged, cameras capturing the optimal angle as she slipped her hand into the bend of his elbow. They didn't say a word to each other for the first half hour, not that there wasn't anything to discuss, but because the world was waiting.
As soon as they made it to the distant lounge, under crystal chandeliers and far enough away from hearing distance, Xander gave her a glass of champagne and moved in close.
"Two of my security detail members are in the room. Suspicious person, they'll note it."
Arielle nodded, twirling the glass. "Is he here?"
"I don't guess. I look."
"And what do you see?"
He leaned in again, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
That you're the deadliest woman in this room. "Because they all believe you're breakable." He drew back. "I've watched how you f*ck, though."
Her stomach flipped and hardened.
“Keep talking like that,” she murmured, “and you’ll find out just how fragile I’m not.”
It wasn’t until an hour into the gala that things shifted.
She felt it first prickling in her spine. A chill, like someone breathing down her neck.
She turned slowly.
And there he was.
Brent.
Standing alone at the edge of the ballroom, watching her. Dark suit. Pale face. Lips tight.
He wasn't where he was supposed to be. This was an invitation-only affair. High-level clearance required. And yet
He stood gazing at her with a proprietary intensity that curled the stomach.
Arielle's eyes followed, tensed immediately.
"Security informed me he had departed Manhattan."
"He's not only here," Arielle breathed, "he's fixated."
Xander drew her close, leading her away from the center of the floor and into the hallway past the lounge.
"Let me take care of this," he told her, voicing a knife. You remain in this room. Don't move until I give you permission.
"No." Her jaw clenched. "This is my doing." I'm ending it.
Arielle emerged into the chill night air, her heels ringing softly over the stone. She knew he'd come after her. And he did.
Brent arrived a few minutes later.
"You've changed," he told her, his voice soft but sharp. "You weren't like this before."
"No," she replied, folding her arms. "Before, I was st*pid." Before, I believed love equaled loyalty. You showed me otherwise."
"She's playing games with you," he told her tightly. "That guy Cruz he's trouble. He'll use you up and discard you when he gets tired."
"Funny," Arielle retorted. "You're describing yourself."
"You were mine, Ari."
"No. I was convenient. There's a difference."
He moved in. Too close.
"I loved you."
"You screwed Mia the night before our wedding."
"You were withdrawing," he said. "You weren't providing for me what I required."
She came close to laughing.
"Perhaps that's because what you required was a woman without a backbone."
His hand closed around her wrist. It was hard.
And that's when a chilly voice sliced through the darkness.
"Release her."
Xander.
Standing behind him, two security guards emerged out of the darkness.
Brent released her gradually, but his gaze never wavered from Arielle.
“This isn’t over,” he hissed.
“Yes,” Xander said calmly, stepping in front of her. “It is.”
Later—The Penthouse
He didn’t speak as they entered. Neither did she. Not until the door slammed shut behind them and the silence boiled into something else.
“You shouldn’t have followed me out,” Xander said quietly, pulling off his jacket.
“I’m not your asset to manage.”
“You’re mine until this is over,” he growled. “I protect what’s mine.”
Arielle's heart hammered.
"Even if it means commanding me?"
He moved closer, hands on her hips, pinning her against the wall.
"I command what I take," he growled. "And don't lie that you don't enjoy being taken."
She gasped as his mouth ravaged hers, the kiss furious and bruising. She raked at his shirt, and he scooped her up with practiced muscles, holding her legs around his waist.
Their bodies were heat and tension and anger. His fingers dug into her thighs, her fingers clawed at his chest, and when he pushed into her, she screamed not in agony, but in hunger.
They f*cked on the wall, then the kitchen counter, then the bedside edge.
This wasn't love.
It was control.
Shared. Bitter. Addictive.
And when he finally fell next to her, slick with sweat and panting, he rolled over and breathed softly:
We must bring this pretense together soon.
Her heart ceased functioning.
She gazed at the ceiling.
"Why?"
"Because it is no longer pretend."
From afar, Mia glared at her phone in shock.
Another video. Anonymous.
Arielle. Xander. Intimate. Captured by a secret camera.
She gasped.
Someone was not simply observing.
They were about to reveal everything.
The moonlight streamed in through the penthouse windows in pale slivers of silver, illuminating Arielle's bare back as she lay face-down on the cold bedsheets, her breathing still short, her skin flushed with the aftermath of all they'd just shared. Xander sat next to her on the end of the bed, handing himself a glass of black whiskey, shirtless and strained.
They didn't say a word for a long minute.
And then, quietly, Arielle broke the silence.
“You said it’s not fake anymore.”
Xander didn’t look at her. He took a sip. Let it burn down. Then, in a voice low and careful, he said, “You knew it wouldn’t stay pretend forever. Not after what we’ve done. Not with what’s happening.”
She rolled over, the sheet slipping low enough to leave the soft underside of one breast bare, the imprint of his mouth still warm against her collarbone.
"Tell me," she told him. "Say what you desire."
He regarded her then really saw her.
"I want to be finished with the act. I want you here, with me, no games. No pretending. No plan for getting out."
Her heart hiccuped.
And that scared her more than Brent ever could.
Because she hadn't seen it coming.
Not from him. Not from herself.
She sat up, the sheet falling to her waist. "What if I can't stop pretending, Xander?"
"Then I'll keep pretending with you," he said, his voice growing rough. "Until you don't want to anymore."
Mia couldn't catch her breath.
The video had been sent without context, without a signature.
An email. A link. One line in the message:
"Thought you'd want to see what you gave up."
She clicked it.
And then her world halted.
Arielle. Naked. Bent over a counter.
Xander is behind her. Her moans raw, real, and loud.
It wasn't staged. It wasn't acted.
It was real.
And someone had recorded it.
She put her hand over her mouth, bile rising. Not from jealousy no. From fear.
Because she knew Brent.
Knew what he was capable of when his pride bled.
And if he was doing that… it wouldn't end with cameras.
Back in the Penthouse
The instant Arielle's phone rang, she knew. A lurch in her stomach.
She answered. No ID.
She clicked.
And watched the video.
The air left her lungs.
Her hand trembled.
Xander rose, taking her expression before she uttered a word.
"What is it?"
She flipped the screen to him.
He watched. His jaw locked. Then he snatched the phone and hurled it across the room.
Glass shattered.
“Who the f*ck has cameras in this building? ”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Tears pricked her eyes, not from shame. From rage.
“I’m going to destroy him,” Xander said coldly. “And I’m going to enjoy it.”
- Writer
