Substitute Bride for the Iceberg: Trapped in a billionaire's game

CHAPTER 8

I was still perched on the edge of his desk, thighs pressed against the scattered files, when Killian pulled back from that whisper. His breath had left my ear burning, but now he dropped into his leather chair like the king of the world, eyes locked on me with that cold, calculating stare.

“But you know,” he said, voice smooth as glass, “you still haven’t told me exactly how it ended up being you instead of your perfect twin sister walking down that aisle.”

I stared at him, heart still racing from the cello and the brush of his fingers. “What the hell does it matter to you, Killian? You got your Thorne bride. Debt paid, leverage secured. You won. Stop digging.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, close enough that I could smell the sharp edge of his cologne. “I don’t like loose ends, Seraphina. Isabella was the one I bought. She was flashy, predictable, easy to control. You? You’re the shadow twin who barely left the estate. So tell me why you stepped in. Why did you consent to marry the devil everyone calls the Iceberg of Wall Street?”

I laughed, short and bitter, sliding off the desk to put space between us. My heels clicked hard on the marble. “Consent? You really think I consented to any of this? My sister ran off days before the wedding because she couldn’t stomach selling herself to you. My family was drowning in debt, your debt. I did what I had to do to keep them from losing everything. It was never about you. It was survival. So stop feeling so damn ahead of yourself, like I chose this nightmare.”

Killian’s mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “Survival. Cute. You could’ve let the banks take the house. Let your father rot. But you put on the veil and said ‘I do.’ That sounds a lot like consent to me.”

I stepped closer, fists clenched at my sides, voice rising. “You don’t get it, do you? I hate this. I hate you. You’re a devil in a suit, buying people like they’re stocks. I swear on everything I have left, I will find a way out of this marriage. I will burn it down the second I can, and when I do, you’ll be the one left holding nothing but your precious leverage.”

He laughed then, a low, dark sound that echoed off the glass walls of the office. It wasn’t amused. It was dangerous. He stood slowly, coming around the desk until he was right in front of me, towering. “Burn it down? With what, Seraphina? Your cello strings? Your family’s already broke because of you. One word from me and they’re on the street tonight.”

His hand came up, fingers aiming for my chin like he was going to tilt my face up and make me look at him.

I didn’t think. My palm cracked across his cheek hard enough that the sound snapped through the room like a whip.

Killian’s head jerked to the side. The red print of my hand bloomed on his skin. For a second the office went dead silent except for my own ragged breathing.

He touched his jaw, eyes narrowing into something feral. “You just made a very stupid mistake.”

I lifted my chin, even though my hand stung. “Touch me again and I’ll do it harder. I’m not your property to paw at, Killian. I’m not Isabella. I don’t break easy.”

His voice dropped, low and venomous. “No. You don’t. That’s why I’m going to punish you right now, so you learn to fear me the way you should.” He reached for the intercom on his desk without looking away from me. “Bring me a set of fine needles. Medical grade. And nobody enters this office until I say so. Lock the floor down.”

My stomach plummeted. Needles? The word hit like ice water. “What the hell are you talking about? You can’t—”

“I can.” He clicked the intercom off and turned back to me, stepping close again, crowding me against the desk. “You think this is a game? You think slapping the man who holds your entire family’s future is smart? Let me remind you of something you’ve wanted since you were sixteen. The International Cello Competition in Vienna. First prize, ten million in sponsorships, a solo career that would actually let you step out of your sister’s shadow. You’ve practiced for it in secret for years. I know every audition tape you submitted under a fake name. I know how badly you want it.”

I froze. My mouth went dry. “How… how do you even know about that? That’s private. That’s mine.”

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “I know everything about you, Seraphina. That’s why I chose to keep you instead of exposing the switch. And here’s the punishment: you disobey me again, talk back, slap me, try to run, and I ruin your fingers. Every single one. Needles can do precise, permanent damage if you know where to place them. A cellist with ruined hands doesn’t play. She doesn’t compete. She doesn’t have a future. So the next time you think about fighting me, remember that I can take the one thing you actually care about and crush it in front of you.”

I stared at him, chest heaving, the threat hanging in the air like a blade pressed to my throat. My fingers, my whole life, curled involuntarily at my sides as the door to the outer office stayed locked and silent, waiting for those needles to arrive.