His Gentle Cruelty

Chapter 5 Lyra's face went rigid

Wesley came down the stairs in his robe and walked straight to Lyra's side.

"What happened?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Nothing," Lyra whispered, melting into his embrace. "I'm just... a little hungry, that's all."

He tousled her hair affectionately, his voice softening. "What would you like to eat? Should I call Mary to make something?"

She fluttered her lashes up at him. "No, I want Ms. Shaw to make that soup. You told me her almond and root vegetable broth was amazing, didn't you?"

Wesley's gaze finally flicked toward Zoe. Discomfort flashed in his eyes for just a moment, even though his tone remained icy.

"Prepare the soup," he ordered.

Zoe stood motionless, saying nothing.

His throat worked as he deliberately avoided her stare. "It's your specialty. Lyra wants it."

Disgust churned in Zoe's stomach as she watched their blatant closeness.

"Wesley," she snapped, her voice sharp. "What exactly do you take me for?"

"You're in no position to argue with me." His voice turned to ice as he arched one eyebrow. "When I say go, you go."

"I'm not your maid," she shot back, her nails biting into her palms. "I'll move out soon enough. But don't expect another favor from me ever again."

"How thoughtless of me," Lyra simpered. She shrank into his arms with feigned meekness. "Ms. Shaw is a big star now. Why would she lower herself to cook for us? That was my mistake."

She peered up at Wesley with wide eyes. "Let's just ask Mary to make something. Please don't trouble her over this."

Wesley's expression darkened dangerously.

"Zoe," he growled, his voice low and threatening. "Push me again and you're never leaving this house. Soup or suffocation. The choice is yours."

Zoe bit her lip until she tasted blood. Meeting his glacial stare, she turned without a word and walked toward the kitchen.

She brought the steaming broth to the dining room and set it on the table. Lyra picked up her spoon and sipped daintily, savoring it with exaggerated delight.

Then suddenly she clutched her throat. She began coughing violently.

"Wesley," she gasped, her voice strangled. "I can't... I can't breathe..."

Her nails dug into his arm as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Did she... did she poison me?"

Wesley's eyes narrowed to slits. They burned with poisonous fury.

"What the hell did you put in that soup?" he demanded.

Zoe's stomach dropped like a stone as she stared at Lyra's performance.

"I didn't put anything in it," she said. "I swear I—"

His palm connected with her cheek so hard her head snapped sideways. The moment his skin touched hers, something flickered in his eyes. Regret, perhaps. But he still growled through clenched teeth.

"Liar. If it wasn't you, then who else could it be?"

Lyra put on an Oscar-worthy performance of struggling to breathe. She gasped and clutched her chest.

"Wesley," she whispered weakly. "I'm okay... really... please don't fight over me..."

"Don't worry about her," Wesley cut in. His voice tightened despite himself as he glared at Zoe. "You love playing dirty like this? Then drink it. Right now. Prove it's clean."

Zoe's face went ghost white.

"Wesley, you know about my almond allergy," she said, her voice shaking. "You remember. This soup will kill me."

She stumbled backward like she had been physically pushed.

For just a heartbeat, doubt flashed in his eyes.

Lyra coughed delicately from the table. "Maybe... maybe it was something else that upset my stomach..."

When Wesley looked up again, his gaze had frozen into glacial hardness. He turned to the maid standing in the corner.

"Make her drink every last drop," he commanded.

The maid hesitated, her eyes wide.

"Did I stutter?" His voice cracked like a whip through the room.

"But sir," the maid began, "her allergy—"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Trembling visibly, the maid lifted the bowl and carried it toward Zoe.

The moment the liquid hit Zoe's throat, her body convulsed. Within thirty seconds, blistering hives erupted across her skin. It was a living nightmare, like fire ants crawling beneath her flesh. Her windpipe began to swell shut. Black spots danced in her vision.

"Please," she gasped. She clawed at Wesley's trousers, her voice a strangled plea. "Please..."

Lyra clung to his arm, watching Zoe convulse on the cold tile floor.

"She looks terrible," Lyra whispered. "Shouldn't we call someone? Shouldn't we—"

"Enough of this," Wesley cut her off. He turned away, pulling Lyra with him toward the stairs. "It's just another one of her acts."

Alone on the cold floor, the fire raging across Zoe's skin was nothing compared to the inferno consuming her broken heart. As darkness closed in around her, she thought she saw his silhouette waver. Just for a second. He seemed torn between walking away and...

Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the void.

When Zoe regained consciousness, she found herself lying in a sterile hospital bed.

The nurse monitoring her vitals leaned in with a gentle expression.

"You're awake," the nurse said. "You suffered anaphylactic shock. You've been unconscious for twenty-four hours."

Before Zoe could ask who had brought her in, two bodyguards stormed into the room. They hauled her out of bed and dragged her away without any explanation.

The charity gala's crystal chandeliers glared down at her sickly pallor. The angry rash still bloomed across her skin in ugly red patches.

A clique of rival actresses flanking Lyra approached with calculated, measured steps.

"Well, well, well," one of them drawled, inspecting her manicured nails. "If it isn't Zoe Shaw herself."

"That complexion is simply tragic," another sneered behind her champagne flute. "Did you catch something contagious, darling?"

Lyra clasped her hands together in false concern.

"Please be kind, everyone," she said softly. "Ms. Shaw is simply... going through some personal difficulties right now."

"Security," a woman with diamond earrings barked. "Remove this individual immediately. This is a charity gala, not some back-alley establishment."

Two attendants moved forward to escort Zoe out.

"Enough of this."

Wesley's command sliced through the murmuring crowd like a blade.

The women's smirks faded instantly. They grudgingly stepped aside and cleared a path.