Love Under The Sheets

Chapter 4

"I didn’t make any trouble, CEO Black!" Freya waved her hands frantically, her voice edged with panic. The last thing she needed was for the CEO to misunderstand and prohibit her from going out again.

Freya raised her trembling right hand, her eyes pleading for even a shred of belief. "I was just admiring the display—that’s all. I swear."

One of the women smirked, her voice dripping with disdain. "Your mere presence in this high-end store is the problem. What a nuisance. Trash like you shouldn’t be here."

Orion Black’s gaze snapped toward the speaker, his stare so icy it could freeze the air between them. The woman faltered, shrinking back under the weight of his silent fury.

Freya clenched her fists, her voice low but unwavering. "I am not trash."

Though bound to Orion Black by debt, Freya would never bow her head and accept being called trash. The Black household had treated her with a dignity she hadn’t expected, far more than she’d ever received from the outside world. Sheltering her in shadows where the world couldn’t see. No one outside those gilded halls knew the truth: that she belonged to the estate, that she walked its corridors, that she existed in the orbit of the most powerful man in the city.

The women rolled their eyes, their sneers sharp enough to cut glass.

Caren stepped forward, her voice controlled but edged with quiet defiance. "Miss Freya did nothing wrong. She only wanted to admire the jewelry. What harm is there in that?"

"Her presence alone is an insult," the woman scoffed, though her contemptuous tone softened slightly under Orion’s watchful glare.

Caren’s jaw tightened. "You had no right to hurt her. She nearly hit her head when you pushed her to the floor."

A deadly silence followed.

"Pushed her?" Orion’s voice was deceptively calm, each word laced with a threat that sent a shiver through the room.

The woman paled. "She—she was blocking the way, CEO Black."

"You did it on purpose," Caren shot back.

The woman muttered under her breath, "If she weren’t so stupid, she would’ve moved."

"Enough!" Chris’s sharp command cut through the tension like a blade. The room fell silent, all eyes dropping in fearful submission.

His glare swept over them. "How dare you commit violence on Black territory?"

Caren pulled Freya protectively to her side, still glaring at the offenders.

"Leave. Now," Chris ordered, motioning Caren to the door. Without hesitation, she guided Freya away.

The women opened their mouths to protest—

But one warning look from Chris silenced them instantly.

Freya stole a discreet glance at Orion Black. Though his gaze never flickered toward her, the sight of his hardened expression sent a chill down her spine—his jaw clenched, his face shadowed with barely restrained fury.

Yet no matter how terrifying he looked, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. His features were carved with a ruthless elegance, magnetic even in anger. If not for Caren’s iron grip on her arm, dragging her backward, she might have frozen there, staring like a fool. Grateful for the intervention, Freya let herself be pulled away, sparing herself further humiliation.

While at the center of the store, Orion and his right hand, Chris Beaumont, stood like twin storms. An eerie silence choked the air, thick with the menace radiating from them. The staff cowered, their nerves fraying under the weight of anticipation.

Chris’s voice cut through the quiet, deceptively calm yet laced with threat. “Who pushed the lady earlier?”

A collective flinch. The attendants exchanged frantic glances before one finally pointed at a woman in their midst.

“Her, Sir Chris.”

“Who?” Chris snapped when the answer came too slow.

The attendant swallowed hard but didn’t back down. “They all harassed her. Shoved her to the floor.”

The accused woman shot the attendant a venomous glare—a silent command to shut up—but it was too late. Chris’s icy focus locked onto the trio now shrinking back, their heels scraping against marble as if their bodies refused to obey the instinct to flee. Not that it would matter. Orion’s security flanked the exits, their presence a silent promise: No one leaves.

Then Orion took a single step forward.

“Push them down a hundred times,” he said, his voice chillingly composed. “Exactly as they did to her.”

Chris didn’t hesitate. He gestured to the attendants, and the women’s protests erupted in panicked shrieks.

“No—CEO Black, please!”

“We’ll never do it again! Have mercy!”

“We’ll disappear—you’ll never see us— please spare us!”

On their knees now, trembling, they begged for a clemency that wouldn’t come. Orion’s response was a single, grim command.

“Do it now.”

The first shove sent one crashing to the floor with a cry. Heels skidded, whimpers turned to screams, and the sickening rhythm of punishment filled the room.

“Stand up,” Chris barked each time they collapsed and too pained to stand up.

And they miserably obeyed—because defiance wasn’t an option.

Bruises bloomed across the three women’s limbs, blood trickling from their scraped hands and legs as they struggled to brace themselves against each brutal impact. Their bodies trembled on the verge of collapse, yet the punishment showed no sign of ending.

"Please… stop…"

"Mercy… have mercy…"

But CEO Orion Black and his assistant, Chris, remained unmoved. Their cold gazes tracked every fall, every gasp of pain, as if the spectacle were a perverse form of entertainment. The attendants tasked with enforcing the punishment hesitated—yet one glance from Orion steeled their resolve. The count continued.

By the time the hundredth repetition was complete, the women lay motionless on the floor, their bodies a canvas of deep bruises and lacerations. Miraculously, they still breathed—shallow, ragged breaths that barely stirred the air.

One attendant bit her lip, her grip tightening on the clipboard in her hands. "CEO Black is ruthless, but this…" she whispered to her colleague, casting a furtive glance toward the door. "Who was that girl earlier? She must be connected to him."

"She looked ordinary," the other murmured back. "Too young—barely eighteen. But the way he reacted…"

A hush fell over the room as Orion stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor. He loomed over the broken figures, his voice a blade of ice.

"Remember this day. Next time, I won’t stop at bruises."

A collective shudder ran through the attendants. No one dared move—no one dared even breathe.

One of the women twitched, her fingers scraping weakly against the floor. "I… can’t… feel my legs…"

Another let out a broken whimper, her plea barely audible. "Help… please…"

Orion’s lip curled. "Let them crawl out. I won’t have their deaths staining this place."

He turned to leave—then paused.

"The jewelry she looked at earlier," he said, his gaze sweeping over the glass displays. "Where is it?"

An attendant scrambled forward, retrieving an exquisite diamond set. "This one, sir."

Orion studied it for a long moment before nodding. "Send it to my office."

The attendant froze—then jerked into motion, her frantic nod nearly a bow. "Right away, Sir."

Orion didn’t spare her another glance. Instead, his gaze slid to Chris, a silent command passing between them before he cast one last look at the broken figures on the floor. His voice was a whip-c***k in the stillness.

"Make sure they only crawl their way out."

His voice was a blade drawn slowly from its sheath—smooth, deliberate, and glinting with unspoken threats. "If anyone so much as offers them a hand, they’ll join them."

Then he was gone—his exit as calculated as his violence, leaving behind a room choked with fear, the air thick enough to suffocate in.

A whimper cut through the silence.

"Help us... please..." One of the women lifted a trembling hand, her fingers slick with blood, her voice shattered. The marble beneath her was streaked crimson, each desperate drag of her body leaving behind a smeared testament to Orion Black's cruelty.

The attendants stood frozen, their breaths shallow, their knuckles white where they gripped their own sleeves. They couldn’t move. Wouldn’t dare.

One of the younger staff members flinched forward—instinct warring with terror—but an older one caught her wrist in a vice grip. "We can’t," she hissed, eyes darting toward the doors where Black’s shadow had vanished.

The women kept crawling.

Every whimper, every choked sob, every scrape of broken nails against polished marble was a reminder carved into the witnesses' bones.

Cross Orion Black, and mercy wouldn’t even be an afterthought.

****TBC****