Hangover
1343 Words
SKIP! SKIP!! SKIP!!!
Kindly skip this chapter. It’s repetitive and I couldn’t delete.
Elizabeth POV
The pounding in my head felt like a punishment.
Like karma with steel boots.
I groaned and rolled onto my side, pressing my palm against my forehead. My mouth was dry, my stomach queasy, and everything smelled like regret. Regret... and perfume.
My dress was still on. My shoes were off.
The glitter on my skin had transferred to the silk sheets, like guilt tattooed in shimmer. I didn’t have to remember everything to know I messed up.
But then it hit me.
Christian.
I shot upright.
“Oh, s**t,” I muttered, wincing at the sting behind my eyes.
The memories came in flashes: the bass thumping in my veins, the drinks, the girls, the dancing. His voice cutting through it all like a blade. That furious look on his face.
The hard grip on my waist. His hand smacking my ass in front of the whole damn club.
My cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Or was it shame?
You belong to me now.
I shivered.
I flopped back against the pillows, burying my face in my hands. What now? Was he going to lock me away? Ship me back to my father like I was broken merchandise? Or worse—ignore me completely, like he’d made a mistake by bringing me here in the first place?
I stared up at the ceiling, dread pooling in my stomach. Maybe I should pretend I’m sick. Nana would be up soon with breakfast—what if I just refused to come down?
Pimmmp.
The sharp buzz of my phone cut through my thoughts.
I reached blindly toward the nightstand and grabbed it, squinting at the screen.
Grandma: How are you, Eli? I haven’t heard from you.
I sighed, rubbing my temples.
Another ping.
Grandma: Is Robert being hard on you? Call me, baby.
The last message was a photo—my daughter. She was wearing a yellow sunflower dress, flashing a toothy grin and the peace sign.
My throat tightened. My baby.
I nearly responded, but the door swung open with a soft creak, making me jolt and drop the phone.
Nana stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
Not her usual soft expression. She looked… disappointed.
“Out of bed, Elizabeth. It’s time for breakfast.”
I blinked at her, voice low. “Are you mad at me?”
“You almost cost me my job, Elizabeth,” she snapped, arms crossed over her chest.
I blinked at her, squinting through the sunlight. “Nana…”
“Don’t Nana me,” she cut in, voice tight.
“You think I begged Christian to let you out just so you could go grind on strange men and get drunk in public like a child?”
I winced. “I didn’t grind on anyone—”
She raised her brows. “You want to test me right now?”
I shut up.
She exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He was livid. Ice-cold, deadly kind of livid. So get your hungover self out of that bed, eat something, and brace yourself for whatever comes next.”
I didn’t move.
“Now, Elizabeth. Don’t make me come drag you.”
With that, she turned and walked out.
Just great.
I forced myself up, tied my hair into a loose bun, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and somehow managed to look less like roadkill. My legs were shaky as I made my way down the stairs.
I barely made it to the dining room before my heart sank into my stomach.
He was there.
Christian.
Sitting at the head of the table like a king on his throne—cold, quiet, terrifyingly unreadable.
I froze mid-step. The last place I wanted to be was in the same room with him. Not after last night.
He wore a dark, fitted gym shirt that stretched across his broad chest, paired with black joggers. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just come from a workout.
His jaw was clean-shaven, the veins in his arms pronounced.
He looked casual. Effortless. Dangerous.
My heart stuttered in my chest.
He didn’t look up. Just kept sipping his coffee like he hadn’t dragged me out of a club over his shoulder twelve hours ago.
Like he wasn’t plotting exactly how he’d punish me.
I swallowed hard and walked in quietly, hoping I could grab my plate and disappear.
Nana was setting the table and gave me a look that said, try nothing stupid.
I grabbed a plate of waffles and fruit, avoiding eye contact, and turned toward the stairs.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Christian’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.
I froze mid-step. “I… I thought I’d eat in my room today.”
He finally looked up.
And God… I wish he hadn’t.
Those dark eyes locked onto mine, cold and unreadable, and in that instant I felt like the floor tilted beneath me. My stomach knotted. My fingers clenched the edge of the table to keep steady.
“Sit,” he said.
Not a request, but a command.
I turned, reluctantly, and slid into the seat two chairs down from him.
He didn’t speak again until the silence between us had stretched thin and tight.
Then he said it.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Elizabeth?”
I blinked. “I… I don’t understand—”
“No?” he cut in, a cruel smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. “Nothing about going to a club behind my back? Wearing a dress that could barely pass for lingerie? Dancing like a damn pornstar in front of half the city?”
My mouth went dry.
He leaned forward, voice like venom. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m that stupid?”
“I didn’t think you were coming back last night,” I muttered, voice low. “You didn’t even say goodbye before leaving.”
He laughed—a sharp, cold sound that made my skin prickle.
“You wanted a goodbye?” His eyes narrowed.
“You think this is some f*****g fairytale? That I’d kiss you before heading off on business? Wake you up with soft words? You weren’t married, Elizabeth. You were sold.”
Sold.
My chest tightened.
He kept going, words sharper now. “You play by my rules. You wear what I tell you to wear. You stay where I say you stay. And you never—ever—act like a w***e under my name.”
That snapped something in me.
I stood, eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that—”
His chair scraped back violently.
The next second, he was in front of me.
Too close.
His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my throat—not choking, but enough pressure to make me gasp and freeze in place.
“Don’t raise your voice at me,” he growled.
His eyes were fire. “You don’t get to talk back. Not in my house. Not after the s**t you pulled last night.”
I could barely breathe, not just from his grip—but from the storm inside me.
My pulse thundered in my ears. Fear prickled under my skin, and for a terrifying second, I thought he might actually snap.
Then he let go.
I stumbled back, hand flying to my throat, lungs gasping.
Tears threatened, but I blinked them away.
He stared at me like I was a problem he hadn’t decided how to solve yet. Like punishing me here wouldn’t be enough.
“I’m not done with you,” he said darkly. “Meet me in my study. One hour.”
Then he turned and walked away like I wasn’t even worth looking at anymore.
I sank back into the chair, hands trembling, throat aching from the memory of his grip.
One hour.
Whatever was waiting for me in that study…
I wasn’t ready for it.
- Writer
