Seductive touch
907 Words
Irene Jones POV
My heart pounded, words catching in my throat. “Yes?”
“Miss, the Young Master would like to meet you.” The man gave a slight bow, his tone firm but formal. “I’m Albert, his bodyguard. I’ve been sent to escort you.”
For a moment, I stood frozen.
“Are you coming, Miss Jones?” His voice remained calm, though something in it pressed for an answer.
The question snapped me back. I nodded, mute, my body moving before my mind caught up. The gown clung too tight, too heavy, as if it knew I didn’t belong. Each step felt like peeling away pieces of the woman I was never allowed to be.
I wanted to stop him, to demand answers—Why? What’s happening? But the words never formed. My throat locked. I didn’t know this man. I couldn’t trust him. And worst of all, I had the sinking feeling that trust wouldn’t matter here.
The double doors opened. Outside, a sleek black SUV waited at the curb, engine humming low, its windows darkened to hide what waited inside. Albert gestured to it.
“He is inside.”
He pulled the door open.
A broad back filled the far seat, posture straight, unmoving beneath a dark suit. No glance, no acknowledgment. Just stillness.
My stomach tightened, anxiety sparking beneath my skin until my heels wobbled. Each step toward the car felt mechanical, every motion rehearsed but wrong.
Don’t panic. Keep your head down. Don’t make it worse.
I climbed in.
The door shut behind me with a soft, ominous click, sealing me in.
“So, you must be Irene Jones.”
The voice rolled through the space like low thunder, calm yet unsettling. A chill slid down my spine, my body locking tight.
“I asked you a question.” The edge sharpened, steady, expectant.
He still hadn’t turned. I hadn’t seen his face. But his presence filled every inch of the car, pressing down until I felt smaller with every passing second.
“Are you deaf? Or perhaps you don’t wish to answer me, Miss Jones?”
My lips parted, but nothing came out. My mouth was dry, thoughts scattering into useless static.
“Are you the chosen bride?”
The word bride landed like a lash. My breath caught. I swallowed hard.
“Yes, I am.” The answer slipped out in a whisper, weak, betraying me the moment it left my mouth.
“Don’t you think you’re too ugly to be chosen?”
The insult hit hard and fast, a venom I hadn’t expected. My chest tightened. My breath stuttered.
When had my veil been lifted? I hadn’t even noticed. Too much had shifted too quickly. My hands curled into fists in my lap.
He still hadn’t looked at me. Not once. So how the hell did he know? Whether I was ugly or not—though ugly, I surely was.
“I don’t know about that,” I murmured, lowering my eyes. My reflection stared back at me in the polished leather seat—hollow, breakable.
“So who knows?” His words cut like glass. “You think I’m unaware of how your greedy family replaced you in the bride’s place?”
My heart slammed against my ribs. No one outside the family knew. No one was supposed to.
Before I could move, he lunged.
My back hit the window with a sharp gasp, the glass cold against my spine. His hand braced beside my head, caging me in.
And then I saw them—his eyes.
Piercing green. Icy. Fixed on mine with ruthless precision.
“I hate liars like you.”
Breath tore shallow and fast from my lungs. Panic swelled in my chest.
Say something. Fight back. Do something.
“Who the hell are you?!”
A low chuckle rumbled from him, mocking. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Why are you so amusing?”
His smile barely touched his lips, his eyes empty, glinting with something twisted I couldn’t read.
He leaned closer. My body tensed, every nerve screaming. His nose brushed my neck. He inhaled.
No—
“What are you doing, bastard!”
His grip closed around my wrist—not enough to bruise, but enough to remind me how easily he could.
“So, you can curse too?”
“Who are you? Why are you touching me—speaking to me like this?”
“I am Cyril Myers. Your husband’s cousin.”
The name landed with quiet cruelty.
I blinked, tried to process, words tumbling out thin and shaky. “Then why are you acting like this? I’m your soon-to-be sister-in-law.”
His mouth curved in a smirk. His gaze dragged over me, unhurried, invasive.
“Why waste your life on an impotent, ugly man? You’re hardly appealing yourself—but how about one night with me? I can give you anything.”
I stared, heat rushing to my face, a storm of rage and humiliation crashing through me. He insulted me, and now he wanted me?
“If I’m so repulsive, why do you even want me?”
He leaned in again, calm, deliberate, too close.
“It’s mine to know, not yours.”
As he shifted forward, the fabric of my gown slipped, snagging just enough to bare my thigh.
His hand dropped, firm and deliberate, seizing my thigh. Cold. Possessive. Paralyzing.
“Leave me!”
- Writer
