Chapter 7
1099 Words
Chloe’s POV
The silence was louder than any screaming match. Three days. It had been exactly seventy-two hours since Drake had left me trembling in that hotel room, dictating the terms of our affair like a corporate merger. “You do not text me. You do not call me. You wait until I tell you when and where. You are mine, but you will only exist for me on my terms.”
I was drowning in those terms.
Every buzz of my phone, every notification, sent a jolt of raw anxiety through me, only for it to be Hilda asking if I wanted takeout or a spam email. I felt like a creature caged, waiting for its master to drop a scrap of food. It was pathetic, but the hunger, for him, for the power he held over me, for the danger was absolute.
I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to dissect every single thing that had happened: the betrayal, the humiliation, the shock of Drake’s identity, and the breathtaking, terrifying s*x that followed. I was no longer grieving Jack; I was obsessed with Drake.
Suddenly, the phone vibrated against the pillow. Not a familiar ring, but a sharp, single text notification from the same unknown number.
Be ready in ten minutes. Black dress. No makeup. My car will be waiting on the corner of Elm and Fifth.
Ten minutes.
Adrenaline flooded my system, wiping away the inertia of the last three days. He had waited until he knew I was desperate until I was fragile enough to obey instantly. It was a masterclass in control, and it worked flawlessly.
I scrambled out of bed, grabbing the only black dress I owned, a simple, sleek sheath that looked far too innocent for what I knew was coming. I ran a brush through my hair, threw on a coat, and grabbed my smallest clutch.
“Where are you going in such a rush?” Hilda called from the kitchen.
“Just running to meet someone, Hilda! A coffee thing!” I called back, my heart pounding a panicked drumbeat against my ribs.
“Already on a date?” she shouted cheerfully.
The lie felt like a betrayal of her trust, but it was necessary. Drake had warned me. My life with him had to be entirely separate from my life with her.
I hurried to the corner of Elm and Fifth. The street was dark, the air cool. Exactly ten minutes after the text, a sleek, black sedan, the kind that looked like a moving fortress pulled up silently. The tinted window slid down just enough for me to see a discreet driver.
“Miss Anthony? Mr. Humphrey is waiting.”
I slid into the back seat, the leather rich and cool beneath my palms. The divider immediately slid up, isolating me from the driver. It felt like I was entering a sensory deprivation tank built for illicit affairs.
I didn’t know where we were going, and I didn’t dare ask. I looked out at the city lights blurring past, thinking about the man at the end of this drive. He was going to ruin my life, and I was going to let him.
The car finally stopped, the doors unlocking with a soft click. I stepped out onto a private, secured parking level of a monstrous skyscraper I recognized: the corporate headquarters of Humphrey Enterprises.
A private elevator was waiting, the doors already open. As I stepped inside, the lights flickered, and I heard a voice I knew, close and gravelly, coming from the speaker above my head.
“Good girl. You were punctual.”
My breath hitched. Drake.
The elevator ascended fast, shooting up dozens of floors without stopping. The only sound was the low hum of the mechanism and the frantic thump of my heart.
When the doors opened, I stepped out onto what must have been his private penthouse office floor. The room was massive, and all the glass walls and city lights spread out like scattered diamonds.
And there he was.
Drake was standing by the window, wearing a crisp white shirt, the top two buttons undone. He held a glass of dark liquor. He didn't turn right away. He just watched the city, a titan surveying his domain.
“Come here,” he commanded, his voice carrying the authority I now craved.
I walked toward him, the sound of my heels echoing on the polished floor. When I reached him, he finally turned, his gaze sweeping over me and the simple black dress, the lack of makeup—and a slow, possessive smile stretched across his lips.
“Perfection,” he murmured, setting his glass down. He reached for my wrist and pulled me in close, his fingers tracing the line of my collarbone.
“I had a very long, stressful day at the board meeting,” he growled, his mouth near my ear. “And I decided I need my reward.”
He didn’t ask if I wanted him. He didn’t ask if I was ready. He simply lifted me onto the massive mahogany desk, pushing his papers and tablet aside with a careless sweep of his hand.
The shock of being back in the corporate environment, seeing the city lights below, the cold, smooth wood of his desk against my thighs, and it made the blood rush everywhere at once.
“The board meeting didn’t go well,” he said, his eyes dark with predatory need. “I need to forget I have a son, a wife, or a reputation to maintain. And you…..” he leaned in, his lips brushing my wet earlobe, “are the only one that can make me forget.”
He grabbed the hem of my dress and tore it up, his mouth descending to claim mine in a fierce, demanding kiss that had no tenderness, only possession. The secret routine had begun, and it was going to consume us both.
I was lost. Completely, willingly lost on the cold, polished mahogany of Drake’s executive desk. The city lights outside the glass walls were a thousand glittering witnesses to my ruin, and I didn't care. All that mattered was the dark, intense pressure of Drake’s mouth, the rough texture of his stubble grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and the insistent rhythm of his tongue.
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