Owned by the Betrayer

Gemma’s POV “Madam Blackwell, it seems Mr. Blackwell is unlikely to return tonight. Perhaps you should consider resting?” The servant’s tone is gentle, yet the undercurrent of sympathy cuts deeper than the throbbing pain in my shoulder. I remain silent, my gaze fixed on the dining table, where a feast lies untouched—plates adorned with herb-crusted lamb, velvety risotto, and fresh asparagus drizzled delicately with hollandaise sauce. And there, the pièce de résistance, a decadent chocolate lava cake, crafted with care, despite the doctor’s stern warnings. Tonight marks our third wedding anniversary, and here I am, playing the role of a lovesick wife, convinced that a flawless dinner can somehow mend the fractures in our marriage. The clock chimes once, then twice. “Just a little longer, Chloe,” I whisper, forcing a smile that feels more like a fragile mask than a genuine expression. “He’ll come. He’s just… caught up with something important.” I reach for my phone, hoping against hope for a message. But the screen remains dark—no missed calls, no texts, no sign of Cassian. With a heavy sigh, I begin to stack the plates, preparing to reheat the lamb yet again, when suddenly, the screen illuminates. Cassian? My heart races with anticipation— I open the notification, my excitement quickly turning to despair as the headline slices through me: *Tycoon Cassian Blackwell Reunites with Reyna Holloway at Private Airstrip—Wedding Bells on the Horizon?* Air catches in my throat, and the room begins to spin. The images flood my screen: Cassian under a brooding sky, an umbrella shielding Reyna’s sleek silhouette as she descends from a private jet. Reyna. My stepsister. The very woman who drove my mother to the brink of insanity, who captured my father’s affections, and left me drowning in her wake of debt and chaos. There she stands beside him, clutching an extravagant bouquet of crimson roses that seem to glow even in the dim light, that triumphant smile gracing her lips—the very smile that vanished three years ago when she learned of my engagement to Cassian. *After a mysterious disappearance, Holloway returns—straight into Blackwell’s arms?* No. This cannot be happening. On our anniversary? The phone slips from my numb fingers, clattering against the floor. Reyna—he chose her. Again. He didn’t even bother to disguise it. Cassian Blackwell has the power to conceal empires, to orchestrate entire wars, yet here he is, parading his choice for the world to see, for me to witness—who he truly desires. A laugh escapes me, a fractured sound that echoes in the silence. I blow out the candles, the smoke stinging my eyes, or perhaps it’s just the tears that refuse to be held back. After what feels like an eternity, I ascend the stairs like a specter, dragging my weary self toward the bathroom, yearning for the embrace of hot water to wash away the humiliation that clings to me like a second skin. Steam envelops the room as I turn on the shower, the mirror fogging over my reflection: eyes rimmed in red, skin pale and ghostly. The elegant emerald dress hangs on me like a forgotten flower, adrift on a dark summer river, wilting under the weight of despair. I peel it off slowly, wincing at the tug on my injured arm, revealing the delicate black lace lingerie beneath—fragile straps and silk that caress my curves. I had bought it in a reckless moment of bravery, hoping to surprise him tonight, to ignite a flame that has long since flickered out between us. Irony burns bitterly in my throat. Dressed for seduction, yet abandoned for another. My fingers tremble on the thin strap, poised to discard the last remnant of my foolish hope, when suddenly, the bedroom door bursts open. Heavy, uneven footsteps thud against the carpet—the sharp scent of whiskey cutting through the steam. My heart skips a beat. Cassian. He’s back. I freeze, instinctively crossing my arms over my chest as he stumbles into the bathroom. His suit is disheveled, tie loosened, dark hair tousled in wild disarray. Those piercing gray eyes, glazed with alcohol, lock onto mine with an intensity that sends a shiver racing down my spine. “Cassian—?” My voice is barely a whisper, laced with hurt and confusion. He doesn’t respond. In one swift motion, he closes the distance between us, powerful arms encircling my waist, pressing me against the solid wall of his chest. His face buries itself in the curve of my neck, the sharp bridge of his nose brushing against my skin. His breath is hot and ragged, heavy with the scent of liquor and restless energy. “Dressed like this… waiting for me?” His voice is a low growl, rough with desire. “You wanted to seduce me, didn’t you, Gemma? Tease me until I couldn’t think straight?” “No, I don’t—stop!” I gasp, pushing against his unyielding frame. “You’re drunk—let me go!” His grip only tightens. One hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back, and his mouth crashes down on mine. He consumes every protest, his tongue plunging deep in a fierce, claiming rhythm. It hurts—and oh, how it feels so good. His hand slips between my thighs, fingers teasing, pressing, until the only sound filling the air is the slick, sweet evidence of my arousal. Moonlight spills through the window, casting a pale, almost ethereal glow around his tall frame. His eyes burn into mine, fierce and intent, so close they scorch me. A sound escapes me—a high, sweet, desperate moan that I barely recognize as my own. His gaze darkens. His fingers delve deeper—no—I try to snap my thighs shut, spine arching off the counter, but he’s already there, curling against that spot that sends white-hot pleasure coursing through me, pumping slow and relentless while his mouth captures mine, swallowing every broken sound I make. Shame and pleasure intertwine, hopeless and intoxicating. I push harder, the image of Reyna flashing in my mind like a haunting specter. “You were with her! How could you—?” He pulls back just enough for his gaze to drop to the lace I’m wearing. A dark, predatory hunger ignites in his eyes. “Why the hell not?” His voice is rough, almost accusatory. “You begged to marry me, remember? You’re soaked, Gemma. I’m merely giving you what you’ve always wanted.” Heat floods my cheeks—shame, anger, and that treacherous spark of desire. “No! This was for us—for our anniversary! But you chose Reyna instead!” “Chose?” He laughs, cold and low. “Stop pretending you don’t want this, Gemma. I hate how much I want you. I hate that you wore this, waited like this, knowing exactly what it would do to me.” He slowly brings his wet fingers to his mouth, tasting me, his eyes never leaving mine. Then his damp fingertips trace my jaw, drifting lower, following the edge of the lace, drawing a shiver I can’t control. “But I take it. You laid the trap, Gemma… now you’ll face the consequences.” Before I can gather my wits to resist, his mouth is on mine again, swallowing every argument, igniting a fire I’ve fought so hard to suppress. My hands press flat against his chest, feeling his heart pounding furiously beneath. Is it racing… for me? I want him—oh, how I want him. Perhaps from that very first moment years ago, he has always been my deepest desire, even when I loathed myself for it. I’ve never truly been able to say no to Cassian. His hands move with a possessive urgency, stripping away every barrier, lifting me effortlessly despite the haze of alcohol that surrounds him. We tumble onto the sheets, tangled together, burning with an intensity that feels both inevitable and overdue. For the first time, Cassian claims me completely, his touch branding my skin, his voice—oh, that mesmerizing voice—softly whispering my name as if it holds the weight of the world. “Gemma…”