Lap
1099 Words
Irene Jones POV
“I'm part of the Myers family now." I curled my fists as wind sliced across my skin, cold biting straight through to bone.
Why was this so hard? It wasn’t like I was in prison—or maybe I was. They were screwing with me, and my defiance wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop them.
Albert had dodged my outburst like a professional, still standing near the main entrance while I stood here, locked in, guards posted outside with no intention of opening the door.
‘Breathe,’ I told myself. ‘This is only blocking rational thought.’
“Miss, I already called the young master. He’s coming. Please wait.”
I glanced back to find Albert standing just a few steps away. When had he gotten so close? And when had he called Theodore?
“We’ve talked about this, Albert. I’m leaving.” No way Theodore would let me go—so having him here wasn’t worth the wait.
Albert looked down as if his ears had suddenly gone deaf, which they clearly hadn’t.
“What is all this commotion?”
Theodore’s deep voice cut through the air as he appeared beside Albert, rolling his wheelchair with practiced ease. He looked immaculate in his suit, gloves, and mask.
So he could roll the chair himself. Yesterday, he’d made me do it like I was his assistant.
“Nothing. Just your people, who don’t know how to behave like decent human beings.” The words scraped through my teeth, frustration and anger written all over my face.
Albert stepped back as Theodore rolled closer, stopping so near that his wheelchair touched my toes.
“You can’t leave.” He said it like a fact. Like it wasn’t already painfully obvious. But didn’t he see I was putting my foot down? I was leaving, damn it.
My lips curled into a mocking smile. “Mr. Young Master, it would be a great help if you let me leave. I’m getting late for class.” I did my best to sound professional, though the mockery bled through without effort.
“Is that so? I run a billion-dollar company, and I’m taking time off because we just got married. You can take a few days off from university.”
Should I be shocked? Probably. The man who didn’t even attend the wedding was now taking time off to spend with his replacement bride.
“I don’t own a billion-dollar company, so yeah, I need to go to class and work,” I replied, keeping my tone flat and matter-of-fact.
Theodore sighed, loud enough to make his dismissal clear. “Touché. But have breakfast at least. You’re the daughter-in-law of this family now. Leaving like this on your first day isn’t exactly ladylike.”
“Your family’s appetite would be ruined anyway. It’s not like they want me there, so I’d rather not inflict myself on them.” Saying it out loud shouldn’t have felt this good, but it did.
“No lies there,” Theodore chuckled. “But you’re still going inside. Don’t make a scene out here—you’re not leaving without breakfast.”
“Ugh—”
The protest died in my throat as his gloved hand closed around my wrist and yanked. Hard.
I stumbled forward, my balance gone, and landed squarely in his lap—wheelchair and all. My knee knocked against the armrest in the process, a sharp sting that made me wince.
“Have you lost your mind, you douchebag?” I hissed. The pain in my knee was sharp and stinging, radiating up my leg.
My hands balled into fists, nails biting into my palms. I want to hit him. Make him feel even a fraction of the humiliation burning through me right now.
How dare he pull me like this, into his lap, in full view of his guards and Albert. Like I was something he could just manhandle whenever it suited him.
“Told you not to make a scene,” Theodore deadpanned. “But you insisted. So I helped you out. Gave my people less drama to witness.”
I tried to sit up, but his arm locked around my waist before I could move. “Screw you. Screw your people. You can all die for all I care.”
“Don’t curse.” His grip tightened, fingers digging in through the fabric of my top.
I rolled my eyes. “No, I think I’ll curse some more. Let me go.” I twisted hard, thrashing against his hold. I didn’t care if the wheelchair tipped. Didn’t care if we both went down.
“Take us inside, Albert. My wife is throwing tantrums, it’s fine,” he ordered, as if he wasn’t holding me down across his lap while I squirmed, trying to sit up.
His hand pressed firm against my waist, pinning me in place.
“Yes, young master.” Albert’s words carried no judgment, and then the wheelchair lurched forward.
My stomach twisted, partly from the angle, partly from the way the chair jolted over the threshold. Every bump sent a fresh wave of humiliation through me, trapped and helpless in his grip.
“Why are you doing this?” I whimpered, nausea rising in my throat.
“Because you don’t understand normal language. So I had to take action that sets you straight.” Theodore’s thumb traced slow circles against my waist, deliberate and maddening.
I froze. “You—”
He cut me off. “Don’t speak. You’ll only make things worse for yourself. Enjoy the ride, wife. I never let anyone sit in my lap like this.”
Was that something to be proud of?
“I don’t want to be in your lap either,” I bit out. “You’re clearly trying to humiliate me.”
As if telling me not to speak would actually stop me. He should know better by now.
“So you think sitting here is humiliating?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You think my wheelchair is humiliating?" His grip shifted, thumb pressing hard into my side until I gasped—a warning.
My stomach lurched. “What? I never said—”
“You just did.”
“Don’t twist my words.” Heat flooded my face. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
The wheelchair wasn’t humiliating. His lap was.
“Learn to phrase your words correctly then. It might help you—instead of saying things you may or may not mean. Though with you, who knows? You’re quite unruly.”
- Writer
