Dangerously Hers: Reclaiming What’s Rightfully Mine

Sylvia raised her glass of wine, her lips curved into a smile that was just a little too sharp. "To my dearest sister, Giselle, and her husband, Douglas. Two years of marriage already. May the rest of us soon celebrate your children." A ripple of laughter circled the table, but Giselle froze. Her smile faltered, her fingers tightening on her fork. To everyone else, it was a toast. To her, it was a blade twisted straight into her heart. Douglas's jaw clenched. His eyes burned across the table at Sylvia. "Don't talk to my wife like that. Sister or not, I won't tolerate you disrespecting her." The table fell into a stunned silence. Giselle's fork clattered against the china. In two years of cold silence and averted eyes, Douglas had never once raised his voice for her. Until now. Her lips quivered into a small, uncertain smile. Maybe because today is our anniversary? Still, she could feel every stare at the table pressing down on her. She gulped back tears. It wasn't her fault she couldn't get pregnant. She had tried. God knew she had tried. Herbs, clinics, prayers. Yet nothing. And Douglas had already grown cold toward her long ago. But tonight... tonight he was different. He leaned closer, poured red wine into her glass, and murmured, "Drink. I rented the entire hotel for you tonight. Have fun, Giselle." She forced a smile, raising the glass. His hand hovered at her back as she drank. But under Sylvia's menacing gaze, Douglas poured again. And again. The wine tasted sweet, but a strange, metallic heat began to crawl up the back of her throat. Douglas watched her swallow every drop, his eyes devoid of the 'love' he had shown at the table. Six cups later, Giselle's head spun, her body warm and weak. When Douglas tried to press another glass to her lips, she shook her head drunkenly. "No more... I'm fine..." He smiled. "Are you sure?" Her lids fluttered. "Mm... yeah..." She touched his thigh under the table, whispering hoarsely, "I'm tired. Take me back..." Douglas rose, his grip on her waist firm and almost bruising. "My wife is exhausted," he announced to the table, his voice smooth as silk. "I'll see her to the suite and return shortly." "Whatever," Giselle's stepmother muttered, stabbing her fork into meat without looking up. Giselle stood weakly as she bowed at the people at the table, "Excuse me." Sylvia rose, a predatory glint in her eyes. "Oh, let me help." Douglas gave her a look, then nodded. Together, they guided a half-conscious Giselle into a hotel suite. Once inside, Douglas tossed her onto the bed without a shred of gentleness and left without a word. The door clicked shut. Giselle moaned, tugging at her dress as heat scorched through her veins. "Hot... so hot..." She gasped for air, clawing at the fabric until her skin burned with fever. The door banged open again. Through blurred vision, Giselle staggered up, a weak smile stretching across her lips. "Hubby... I don't feel good..." She stumbled toward the tall figure, her hands sliding over his chest. Her fingers caught on a cold, heavy signet ring on his hand, the metal sharp against her skin. The man stiffened. His voice was low, dangerous. "Who sent you?" She giggled drunkenly, "What do you mean?" Her lips brushed his jaw as she tried to cling to him. He shoved her onto the bed, eyes narrowing. The room reeked of wine, perfume, and something else. His nostrils flared. "Damn it..." But then, Giselle slipped out of the last of her clothes, pale skin glowing under the dim lights. His resolve wavered. His throat bobbed as heat coiled inside him. She crawled to him, whispering brokenly, "Douglas... help me..." A humorless scoff escaped him. "Douglas, huh?" He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear. "Remember my name." He whispered it. And before she could protest, his mouth crashed against hers. -- The next morning. Sunlight spilled across the sheets. Giselle stirred, groaning as her body ached. Slowly, fragments of the night returned, heat, lips, hands. She blushed fiercely, running trembling fingers over the bite marks on her collarbone. "Douglas... when did you... become like this?" she thought. The door slammed open. Douglas stood there, face twisted in fury. Behind him, Sylvia smirked cruelly. Giselle gasped, yanking the duvet over her bare skin. "Douglas! I was wondering where you had gone to. You really outdid yourself last night-" he cut her off before she could finish her statement. His nostrils flared. He stormed forward, raising his hand. "You slut!" The word cracked like a whip. Her chest tightened. "What... what are you talking about?!" "You had an affair!" Douglas roared. His fist trembled in the air, veins bulging in his neck. "On our wedding anniversary! And you dare to ask me what I'm talking about?" Her heart thundered against her ribs. "That's insane! I didn't... Douglas, you were the one I spent the night with... " Giselle looked at the man she had loved for two years. This was the trap. He hadn't defended her at dinner; he had been announcing her 'guilt' to the world before it even happened. Sylvia's laugh cut through the chaos. "Oh, poor sister. Still pretending?" Giselle's breath hitched. "Douglas, please... tell me this is a joke. I don't understand..." "Look around you!" Douglas's voice cracked with venom. His eyes burned holes into her. "Do you even know whose bed you were in last night? Does this look like our suite?" Giselle's blood ran cold. Her lips parted in horror. "W-what do you mean...? You brought me here!" Douglas leaned down, his face inches from hers, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You weren't with me."