90 DAYS OF BEING HIS WIFE

CHAPTER TWO

Why did the manager whisper that into my ear? I had expected him to handcuff the man for what he had done, but he just stood there, shaking.

"What do you mean?" I asked, turning to the manager. I finally noticed that he was shuddering, his face pale with fear.

"That’s not a waiter, you fool," the manager hissed. "That’s Daimon Thorne. I just called for the owner of this empire to trash you."

I felt my legs begin to tremble as I stared at the man who had just poured a glass of wine over my head. What he had done wasn't ethical, but I was too scared to care about ethics anymore. My throat went dry. I couldn't believe what this man had done to me—or more importantly, whom I had just insulted. He actually owned the entire gala and everything in it.

"I... I’m sorry, Mr. Daimon," I stammered, my voice trembling as he cut me off. "But you poured liquid on my face, which was—"

"No, dear, do not make excuses," he said, his voice cold and sharp. "I know what you did. You insulted me, and you insulted my power."

He turned away from me and looked at the manager with a chilling expression.

"Manager! Call security," Daimon ordered. "Imprison her."

My heart stopped. Why would he imprison me? It didn't make sense. Did he see me lurking by the safe earlier? Was he holding me because he knew my secret, or was he just that cruel?

I scanned the gala's corners, and there my sight spotted the exit door. Without hesitation, I sprinted toward the exit; the manager's eyes went wide, probably petrified because of what I was doing right then.

I ran as fast as I could, so fast that I couldn't even hear my own steps because the guests were busy with their chatter rather than watching a secret thief running away from the owner. Through the hallway I ran, it was very common for people not to stare, or they just stared at me. I was about to open the door, my palm rested on the handle ready to push it open, but a hand caught me by the arm.

Shit, I was dead.

I was forced down onto the clean white tiled floor where I saw my own reflection staring back at me. I turned around to see two security guards ready to take me away; one of them held my hand tightly, which started to throb with excruciating pain. I stared at both of them and I was sure these security guards were hella hot. I could tell they went to the gym because of how their abs bulged in their uniforms. Maybe I could seduce them into letting my hands go?

"Uhm, boys, maybe we could plan something?" I said, squinting my eyes, making sure they looked sexy enough to make these two idiots let me go.

One of them actually started to feel uneasy; I noticed he moved in an uncomfortable way. It was working. Yes.

"Are you even on the list?" said a deep, agonizing, dreamy voice.

It was the man who had thrown the drink on me. Well, I still tried to make one of the security guards feel uncomfortable under that uniform. His face was still sharp and gorgeous from that angle. I felt a lot of butterflies bursting inside my stomach right then. My cheeks suddenly flushed peach. Stop. I could not be intimidated by this man.

“She’s on the list,” said the manager, taking his phone out to check the names. "But her face doesn't match the ID she used to register, sir."

"All of you, out now. I have to talk in private with this woman," Daimon said. He stared first at the manager, then shifted his gaze to the security guards.

"But sir, what if she—" one of the security guards started to protest, while the other just stood there, staring at me. It was incredibly creepy.

"No. Go. Now," he said. His voice was deep, sharp, and undeniably charming.

I cleared my throat as the three of them disappeared from my sight, blending back into the crowded gala. The next thing I knew, he was dragging me into a hallway where not a single person was in sight. The air in the hallway felt like it was radiating through my skin; the air conditioning dug into me. It was a coldness I could hardly bear, especially since I was wearing nothing but a dress.

"Take out your ID," he said, tucking his right hand into his pocket.

"Me? My ID?" I asked, trying my best to act confused.

"Now," he said, blinking once.

"Fine," I hissed. I pulled my wallet out of the pocket of my yellow dress. It was a great dress, mostly because it actually had pockets. The wallet was a worn-out leather one that my mother had passed down to me five months ago, shortly before she died.

I took out my ID and held it in front of him. He stared directly at it, his eyes locked on the card as he observed and analyzed every detail. Then, he coughed and fixed his hair. For a few seconds, everything seemed to move in slow motion. No. Stop it, Ava, I told myself, trying to snap out of the trance.

“Ava?” he said as he lifted his brows, which made him look a bit hotter with his red lips. Maybe a lot hotter, making me want to marry this man right then and there and live with him for the rest of my life.

I was delusional. I had to stop thinking about this guy. I was there to steal, not flirt. Maybe I could seduce this man; he seemed to be one of those rich billionaire psychotic male characters from the books my friend Joanna kept hissing about.

"Ava Green. A thief with a taste for celebrity galas. Should I call the cops, or should we talk about why your hands were shaking near my safe ten minutes ago?" he said in a calm, serious way.

My jaw dropped, like I had seen a person being strangled. A shiver started to go down my spine. How did he know? I had been heading for the safe. How did this man know? Was I going to jail? I couldn't see my own perfect body in a jail surrounded by psychopaths and ugly, fat criminals