Bound to the Ruthless Billionaire

Chapter 8: The Shark’s Trophy

The evening of the Thorne-Weston Gala arrived with the kind of oppressive glamour that Claire usually found exhausting. Tonight, it felt like an execution.

She stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the master suite, staring at the woman looking back. The "Old Money" Claire Sterling was buried beneath layers of Midnight Blue Velvet. The gown was a masterpiece of structural design, off-the-shoulder, cinched so tightly at the waist she could barely breathe, with a train that pooled around her feet like a shadow. It was elegant, but the deep V-neckline left her collarbones and chest feeling dangerously exposed.

"Still not dressed?"

Dominic’s voice made her jump. He was leaning against the doorframe, looking devastating in a black-on-black tuxedo. He looked like the king of the very underworld she had been sold into.

"I’m dressed, Dominic," she said, her voice steady. "I’m just... waiting."

"You’re missing something." He walked toward her, his reflection looming over hers in the mirror. In his hand was a heavy, navy velvet box. He flipped the lid open.

Claire gasped. Resting on the silk was a diamond collar, a river of pear-cut stones so bright they seemed to burn. It wasn't just a necklace; it was a statement of wealth so massive it was almost obscene.

"I had these brought in from Antwerp this morning," he murmured, stepping behind her.

He didn't wait for her to take them. He lifted the diamonds and draped the cold, heavy metal against her skin. Claire shivered as the stones settled against her throat. He fastened the clasp with a definitive click that sounded exactly like the handcuffs she had imagined in the office.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his hands lingering on her bare shoulders, his eyes meeting hers in the glass. "They match the ice in your eyes, Claire. And they tell everyone in that room exactly who you belong to."

"They're a collar, not a necklace," she breathed, her hand rising to touch the cold stones.

"Exactly," Dominic rasped, leaning down to press a hot, lingering kiss to the curve of her shoulder. "My collar. Now, put on the matching earrings. The car is downstairs."

The entrance to the Royal Academy of Arts was swarmed with photographers. When the door of the Bentley opened, the flashes were blinding. Dominic stepped out first, but he didn't move toward the red carpet. He turned back, reached into the car, and practically hauled Claire out by her waist, keeping her glued to his side.

The whispers started the moment they hit the light.

"Is that Claire Sterling?"

"I heard her father was bankrupt... how did she land Thorne?"

"Look at those diamonds. He must have spent millions."

Dominic didn't look at the cameras. He kept his hand firmly on the small of her back, his fingers digging into the velvet of her dress, guiding her through the crowd like a prize he had just won at auction.

Inside the gala, the air was thick with the scent of lilies and expensive perfume. The elite of London were all there, the same people who had stopped answering her father’s calls the moment the money ran out. Now, they were bowing to Dominic, and by extension, to her.

"Stay close," Dominic warned into her ear, his grip tightening as they moved toward the center of the ballroom. "I don't want a single person in this room thinking you’re available for conversation."

"I have friends here, Dominic," Claire protested, spotting a familiar face in the crowd. "I can't just ignore everyone."

"You have no friends here," he countered, his voice like cold steel. "You have people who watched your family drown and didn't lift a finger. The only person you need to speak to is me."

As they reached the bar, a tall, blonde man in a traditional tuxedo stepped into their path. Julian Vane. He was the son of an Earl and a man Claire had almost been engaged to before the Sterling fortune collapsed.

"Claire?" Julian asked, his eyes wide as they swept over her midnight-blue gown and the blinding diamonds at her throat. "Is it really you? I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks."

Claire felt a surge of genuine warmth, a piece of her old life. "Julian, I, "

Before she could finish, Dominic’s arm wound around her waist, pulling her so hard against his hip that she stumbled. The atmosphere shifted instantly from polite to predatory. Dominic towered over Julian, his "Savile Row Shark" persona coming out in full force.

"She’s busy, Vane," Dominic said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that caused people at nearby tables to turn and stare.

"Thorne," Julian said, his jaw tightening. "I was just saying hello to an old friend. There’s no need for…"

"There’s every need," Dominic interrupted. He stepped forward, forcing Julian to take a step back. He didn't just claim Claire; he marked her. He reached out and ran a slow, possessive finger over the diamonds at her throat, his eyes locked on Julian’s. "She doesn't have 'old friends' anymore. She has a husband. And I don't like other men breathing her air."

The silence that followed was deafening. Julian looked at Claire, looking for a sign of help, but Claire was frozen by the raw, unchecked jealousy radiating from Dominic.

"Let’s go, Claire," Dominic commanded, not looking at her.

He didn't wait for her to agree. He spun her around and marched her toward the private balcony overlooking the ballroom. The moment they were shielded by the heavy velvet curtains, he shoved her back against the stone railing, his body pinning her there.

Dominic’s hands came up to frame her face, his thumbs pressing into her cheeks with a force that was both a caress and a threat. His eyes were wild, dark with a possessive rage she hadn't seen before.

"You look at him again like that," he rasped, his face inches from hers, "and I’ll ruin his family before the sun comes up. Do you understand me?"

Claire’s heart was hammering so hard it felt like it would burst. The diamonds at her throat felt like they were choking her. "You’re being insane, Dominic! He’s just a friend! You can't control who I look at!"

"I can, and I will," he roared, the sound echoing in the small balcony space. He grabbed her hand, shoving the massive diamond wedding ring into her line of sight. "Every inch of you. Every look. Every thought. You aren't a 'friend' to anyone anymore, Claire. You are my wife. And if I see another man’s hand near you, I’ll break it. Is that clear enough for you?"

He didn't wait for her to answer. He didn't kiss her. Instead, he leaned in until his nose brushed hers, his hot breath ghosting over her lips in a silent, terrifying promise of what was coming.

"We're leaving," he growled, his hand dropping to her waist and gripping her so hard she gasped. "Now. Before I lose my temper in front of these vultures."

He spun her around and marched her toward the exit, his body radiating a heat so intense it felt like she was walking into a furnace. Claire stumbled beside him, her lips tingling from the proximity and her mind a blurred mess of fear and a shameful, rising heat.

As they burst through the gala doors and into the cool night air, the Bentley was already waiting like a dark shadow. Dominic shoved her into the back seat and climbed in after her, the door slamming shut with a sound like a gunshot. In the sudden, suffocating darkness of the car, Dominic turned to her, his silhouette blocking out the world.

"The gala is over, Claire," he whispered, his voice vibrating with an unspoken hunger. "Now, I don't have to be a gentleman anymore."