The Rebirth of a Scorned Heiress

The chandeliers glittered across the room, shining on the impeccably dressed guests who had come to the private gala organized for rich high society business moguls from the fashion world. They had all come to see The Harrington family’s latest designs. Zara Harrington’s designs. She was the brain behind every piece of art. It had taken weeks of hard work and sleepless nights to achieve them, and her hands were raw from sewing until dawn. But that didn't really matter because they were never really hers. Her mother, Eleanor Harrington, had a way of cutting her down without ever raising her voice. She didn’t need to. Her words always slid in quietly, smooth, and sharp enough to stay lodged under her skin. “You wouldn’t know how to carry yourself in front of these people,” she had told her once, adjusting her sister, Vanessa's dress while barely glancing at me. “You’re not… polished enough. Best to leave the spotlight to your sister,” Eleanor had told her. At first Zara had argued, but the more her mother repeated it, the more it started to sound like the truth. Each time Vanessa twirled under the chandelier in something Zara had poured her soul into, the voice in her head whispered, She looks the part. You don’t. Today, when her mother had cut her down as usual, trying to make her see why she wasn’t the one taking the credit for her hard work, Vanessa had nodded in affirmation, placing her hands on Zara’s shoulder as a gesture of comfort, and her father had looked away. It stung worse than the champagne sliding down her throat. Worse than the ache in her hands. Because deep down, she was beginning to believe her. So all Zara could do at the showcase was drink. Drink and pretend she wasn’t breaking in half, then she slipped out before anyone noticed her. The music and chatter trailed after her as she wove through the corridor with eyes glazed with alcohol. The hallway spun, and she staggered, pressing her hand to the wall to keep herself steady. “Never good enough.” She giggled to herself. Today was supposed to be her eighteenth birthday, but nobody gave a fu*k. She had worked so hard on the collection hoping her mother would keep to her words and introduce her to the world on her special day. She brought out the bottle of champagne she had hidden in her gathered gown and took a sip, wiped her mouth with the back of her palm and giggled. Her elevator ride to her room was chaotic, but she continued to giggle until her eyes landed on her room number, before the numbers changed dramatically to a different one. She took out her key from her purse and swiped it, but the light blinked red. She waited and tried again, but it was still the same. She shook her head to clear the fog and tried again, but this time, she turned the handle and it gave way. “I guess it doesn't show a green light in this hotel." She muttered incoherently about the hotel’s poor tech and stumbled inside, shutting the door behind me. The room was dark with only a soft light spilling out from the bathroom. And that's when she saw him. The most beautiful man she has ever seen. He sat at the edge of the bed, his shirt buttons were open, and his chest was rising and falling like he had just run a marathon. His icy blue eyes were wild, glassy, and unfocused just like hers, only that he looked conflicted and so hot she felt herself stir with desire. Then he looked up and their gazes locked. His breath hitched. Something primal inside him snapped. Every instinct told her to run, but the champagne in her system blurred those instincts into silence, leaving only the primal desire pulling low in her stomach. Icy blue eyes titled his head back, exposing smooth beautiful neck as another broken sound escaped him, need and fury twisting together. Zara took a step forward into the room, her heels clicking against the floor as she closed the distance between them, drawn like a moth to a flame. Then he reached for her. Before she could process what was happening, warm firm hands wrapped around her waist. His eyes rolled back, and he let out a soft moan that went straight to her core. The hand tightened slightly, pulling her closer. Her mind raced. He didn’t speak for a while, but his hands were all over her, he nibbled at her ears and she moaned in pleasure. “I want you so much,” he murmured, his breath coming in sharp bursts. Deep down she knew everything was not okay with icy blue eyes, but she was way past the point of caring. All she knew was that he needed her at that point and that was all that mattered. She held his shirt and pulled until the remaining buttons came undone. “F*ck! You’re beautiful,” Icy blue eyes purred, his hands roaming all over her body, pulling them closer until there was no space left between them. Heat pooled low in her stomach, matching the fire in his eyes. His touch was like a drug because she couldn’t stop moaning. Icy blue eyes guided her hand to his throbbing member. “Help me,” he muttered, shivering and pushing closer to her. Zara found her voice. “What do you want?" She asked, cradling his face with her hands. “Touch me,” he whispered, placing her hand in his engorged d**k, his breathing becoming more labored and his skin burning up. She gasped as she felt him beneath her palm. Her hands began to move, massaging him where he wanted. A tremor ran down his body and he shuddered in her arms, his hand reached out and squeezed her waist to the point of pain, but she didn’t mind. His head tipped back, a groan tearing from his throat, the sound igniting some strange feelings from Zara. All she could feel was the heat of his body against hers, the way his need clawed at her own loneliness, her own hunger to be wanted, to be held and to be loved. She gave in to her desire and lifted her hands, her fingers brushing against his lips, and tracing it and moving down to his neck. She continued tracing every part of him. From his face to his chest and eliciting needy moans from him. She went down to his chest, tracing every contour of his body, down to a crescent shaped scar, pale, smooth and oddly elegant, adding to his appeal. “Beautiful scar” she commented, straddling his thighs and kissing the mark. “Please,” icy blue eyes whimpered, his hands tightening in her waist. The moment the words left his lips, the thin thread of control Zara had snapped, and she closed the distance, capturing his lips with a searing kiss. It wasn’t gentle. His mouth was hot, urgent, and merciless as he tasted her. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, dragging him closer while his hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her in place as he ravished her like a starved man. Zara gave a strangled moan, the sound seeming to unravel icy blue eyes. With a rough growl, he pulled her down with him onto the bed. There were no words. No names. No recognition. Only the kind of hunger that left nothing but ruin in its wake. Clothing tore under their hands, buttons scattering all over the floor while he slid her dress down her shoulders, leaving her shivering in the wake of his mouth trailing fire along her throat. Zara arched beneath him, his body pinning her onto the sheets. She clawed at his back, nails scraping, urging him closer, deeper. *** Jason Reeds pushed open the hotel suite door with a dark smile tugging at his lips. Everything was set. The golden boy, the smug bastard, had finally been lured into his trap. He could already picture it: his stepbrother groveling when the footage surfaced, when the world saw him stripped of control, and reduced to a craving mess. The door clicked shut behind him. He turned and stopped cold. The bastard. And a woman. Not just any woman. Her. Jason’s eyes narrowed. He had seen her at the gala just a few minutes ago. She was the same girl who’d turned every head with her careless beauty. He hadn’t even caught her name, only the way she’d looked as if she was lost. She had looked so pitiful even when her beauty had radiated over every corner of the room. She didn’t even notice how perfect she was. He never assumed they were together. And now, here she was, spread beneath him, gasping, trembling, her nails clawing into his back as though she’d shatter without him. Jason’s chest tightened. For a heartbeat, rage clawed up his throat, then desire slammed into it, hotter, filthier. He had only wanted to shame the smug bastard, but he didn’t know he would call his girlfriend to join the party. He didn’t understand why he was getting aroused at the sight of his stepbrother’s member digging into a woman. A dark, dizzying, forbidden craving clawed through his veins as he watched him thrust into her, watched her body arch and tremble under him. Jason’s hand slipped into his pocket, as the other palmed his erection. He swiped at his phone screen and pointed it in the direction of the bed as the camera illuminated the dim room. He leaned back against the doorframe, silently recording while his other hand unbuckled his belt. His breath caught as his fist slipped into his boxers, squeezing his throbbing d**k, watching and stroking. Each thrust he gave her, Jason mirrored with his hand, his chest heaved, and his teeth gritted against the groan, threatening to escape. He imagined she was writhing beneath him. That those gasps, those broken moans, were for him. That when she arched and begged wordlessly, it was his name she would cry. Watching his stepbrother f*ck his girlfriend, knowing she had no idea he was there made his arousal burn hotter than his rage. Jason’s hand pumped harder and faster until her cry of pleasure tore through the room, followed by that of his stepbrother, who collapsed against her, both of them trembling in the aftermath. Jason couldn’t stop the moan as he convulsed with desire, spilling his seed into his hands and biting down on his lips until he tasted blood. He came back to his senses soon after, tapped on the phone that was still recording and tucked it away like a loaded gun. Jason eased the door open, and slipped into the hallway with a dark smile on his lips. Tomorrow, he’d take her. Not because he wanted her…though God, he did. But because she belonged to that smug bastard. And taking what belonged to his stepbrother would be the sweetest revenge of all.