The Devil’s Bride

Chapter 7: Drunken Claim

Ethan’s POV

The high-society club had been exhausting.

I’d intentionally skipped dinner at the mansion, leaving the little ballerina waiting in suspense for hours just to remind her exactly who held the strings in this arrangement. Instead, I stayed out late. Liliana Williams had clung to my arm all night like the ambitious snake she was—her perfume too sweet, her laugh too loud, and her body entirely too willing. I’d let her press herself against me for the media cameras, knowing it would fuel tomorrow’s business headlines. But the entire time, my mind kept drifting back to the quiet girl trapped in my bedroom.

By the time the Rolls-Royce started the long trek back to the estate, I was drunk, irritated, and dangerously hard.

Sitting in the dark back seat, the glow of my phone illuminated the text Suzie had sent me three hours ago.

Suzie:Connor was seen talking to her in a way that wasn't strictly professional, but I handled it.

My jaw clenched so hard it ached. I stared out the window into the dark city. She was looking at a common servant for comfort while married to me—one of the richest, most flawless men on this planet. The thought tasted like battery acid in my throat.

When I finally entered the mansion, the house was dimly lit. Perfect. I wanted her completely off-balance.

I found her right where she belonged: the master bedroom. She hadn't gone to sleep; she was sitting rigidly on the edge of the mattress, wearing the cream cashmere dress I’d chosen for her. She looked up when the door clicked open, her eyes wide with a mixture of raw exhaustion and terror. She should be afraid.

I slowly loosened my tie, the heavy, suffocating scent of Liliana’s expensive floral perfume still clinging heavily to my shirt.

“You’re still awake,” I said, my voice rough and deep from the whiskey. “Waiting for your husband like a good little wife, or just realizing you don't have a choice?”

Moore stood up slowly, her hands clasped tightly in front of her dress. “I… Suzie said you’d be back for dinner. I didn't know if I was allowed to sleep.”

I let out a low, mocking laugh that cut through the quiet suite. “Dinner? You think I’d rush back from a room full of real assets just to eat with a transaction?” I stepped closer, towering over her until she was forced to tilt her head back. “Look at you. Playing dress-up in designer cashmere like you actually belong in my world.”

I grabbed her chin hard, my thumb pressing deep into her jaw. Her eyes were already glassy with unshed tears. Pathetic. Perfect.

“You want to know what I was doing tonight, ballerina?” I leaned in closer, intentionally letting her inhale the other woman's perfume on my clothes. “I had Liliana Williams wrapped around my arm. A real heiress. Real money. Real class. The kind of woman who doesn’t need a ten-million-dollar wire transfer to know how to behave. She begged me to take her home.”

Moore’s breath hitched, a tiny flinch rippling through her shoulders. I watched the intense humiliation wash over her features, and the possessive, drunken anger in my gut flared white-hot.

“But I came back here instead,” I whispered cruelly against her lips. “To my little purchased property.”

I shoved her backward onto the bed. She gasped as she fell, the soft cashmere riding up her thighs. Before she could scramble away, I climbed on top of her, pinning both of her wrists above her head with one hand.

“Ethan… please,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she looked at my rumpled suit. “Not tonight. Please, I’m still so sore from yesterday…”

“Shut the f**k up.” I ripped the cashmere dress up to her waist, exposing the tiny, expensive lace underwear underneath. “This is exactly what you are here for. You don't get to dictate the schedule. You took my money to become my whore.”

I yanked the lace aside and pushed two fingers inside her without warning. A sharp gasp tore from her throat, her entire body jerking violently beneath me. She was incredibly tight—her body still bearing the swollen, tender evidence of how roughly I'd taken her the night before. I felt the physical resistance of her injuries, the tight heat of her pain, but the whiskey in my veins and the image of her looking at Connor burned away my restraint. I pumped my fingers anyway, forcing her body to yield to my touch.

Within moments, against her own will, she began to slick around my hand.

“Look at that,” I mocked, leaning down until my lips brushed her burning ear. “Your mind wants to play the victim, but your body already knows who owns it. You’re turning to water for me, Moore.”

I stared down into her eyes, my thoughts turning venomous. “Tell me, Moore… did you seduce my dad to get him to force this marriage on me?”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, wetting the black silk sheets. “Why do you hate me so much?”

I laughed darkly, releasing her wrists only to unzip my pants and free my aching length. “Hate you? Don't flatter yourself, ballerina. This isn't emotional. But then again, you ruined my plans of being with a real heiress. I would have been the undisputed richest man in the world after marrying into the Williams family.”

I forced her legs wider apart, gripping her hips to anchor her, and thrust into her in one deep, punishing stroke.

She screamed, the sound echoing off the cold marble walls of the suite.

The tight friction of her body gripping me almost made me lose my mind. I didn’t give her time to adjust or breathe. I f****d her hard and deep, the heavy headboard slamming rhythmically against the wall with every thrust.

“Look at you,” I growled, angling deeper, hitting the exact spot that made her hips violently twitch. “So pristine and pure but completely ruined for me. Say it.”

She sobbed, shaking her head against the mattress, trying to swallow her own whimpers.

I clamped my hand tightly over her hip, digging my fingers into her skin until it bruised. “Say it, Moore! Who do you belong to?”

“Y-You,” she choked out between broken, involuntary moans. “I’m… I’m yours.”

The total submission sent a dark, thrilling rush straight through me. I leaned down and bit her neck, right over the raw marks I’d left yesterday, stamping my claim into her skin. “That’s right. Mine. Not anyone’s. Mine to use. Mine to keep. Mine to break until there's nothing left of that pathetic pride.”

Her orgasm hit suddenly—a violent, shameful spasm that tightly clenched her inner walls around me. She cried out my name, a broken sound of pure betrayal against her own body, her entire frame shaking under mine. The sight of her coming apart while weeping pushed me completely over the edge.

I buried myself to the hilt and came hard, flooding her, marking her from the inside out until I was entirely spent.

For a long moment, I stayed there, heavy and buried deep inside her, breathing raggedly. For a split second, looking down at her tear-stained, pale face, something dangerously close to guilt tried to surface in my chest. I crushed it violently. She was a w***e. Nothing more.

I pulled out abruptly, watching my fluid leak onto the expensive sheets. She curled into a tight fetal position immediately, hiding her face, her shoulders shaking with silent, exhausted sobs.

I stood up, adjusting my clothes and pulling my tie straight, the alcohol still humming in my blood.

“Clean yourself up,” I said, my voice dropping back into a cold, corporate clip. “And next time I come home, don't make me waste time removing clothes. Be naked.”

I turned and walked toward the door, pausing only to look back at the broken form on the bed.

“Sweet dreams, Mrs. Vance.”

I slammed the door behind me, leaving her alone in the dark with the wreckage of the night.

But as I walked down the long, empty hallway of the mansion, the heavy floral perfume of Liliana Williams completely faded away. In its place, the cheap, stubborn scent of lavender seemed to cling to my skin, my clothes, and my breath.

And I absolutely hated how much I already wanted to turn around and go back.