Stripper's Love: Addicted To Me

The Dinner

The heavy scent of Sebastian’s skin and the sharp tang of spilled beer eventually faded from her skin, replaced by the clinical, suffocating aroma of expensive floral arrangements and floor polish. Two weeks had passed since that reckless afternoon in the locked room upstairs. Two weeks of heavy silences, stolen glances across crowded rooms, and the relentless, suffocating march of high-society expectations.

Now, the reality of her situation sat heavily on the mahogany desk in her shared apartment with her friend pricellia.

Engraved heavy cardstock rested between Celestia’s trembling fingers. The elegant gold calligraphy practically screamed its finality: The marriage of Celestia to Marco Sinclair. First Saturday of October. The date was set. There was no rolling it back, no ignoring the transactional alliance that bound her family’s fading legacy to the Sinclair empire. She was the lamb being led to the slaughter, and the date of the execution had officially been stamped.

The heavy double doors of the library clicked open, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Celestia braced herself, expecting Sebastian or worse, Marco. Instead, the towering, rigid figure stepped inside. Sebastian’s father carried himself with the absolute, unyielding authority of a man who owned empires and crushed anyone who threatened them. His graying hair was slicked back perfectly, his tailored suit immaculate, but his eyes were cold, calculating, and fixed entirely on her.

He didn't invite himself to sit. He simply walked until he stood directly across the desk from her, casting a long, dark shadow over the wedding invitations.

"You look pale, Celestia," his voice a smooth, low baritone that carried a lethal edge. "I trust the wedding preparations are not proving to be too much for you to handle."

"I am managing, Uncle Don," she replied, using the formal familial title that always felt like ash in her mouth. She tried to keep her chin high, but the memory of her encounter with Sebastian his son made her stomach twist with a sudden, sharp spike of guilt and fear.

Don let out a soft, humorless sound that wasn't quite a laugh. He leaned forward, placing his large, manicured hands flat on the mahogany surface, leaning into her space just enough to make the air feel thin.

"Let us drop the pleasantries. We are alone, and I have very little patience today," Don said, his eyes narrowing into slits. "I know about the distractions, Celestia. I know about the little games you’ve been playing."

Celestia’s breath hitched in her throat. Her fingers instinctively clenched around the edge of the desk, echoing the way she had clawed at the wooden table two weeks ago. Did he know? Had someone seen them?

"I don't know what you mean," she forced out, her voice barely a whisper.

"Don't play stupid. It doesn't suit a girl of your upbringing," Don snapped, his demeanor shifting from cold to predatory. "Sebastian is a loose cannon, and you are a highly volatile trigger. I have spent a lifetime building your Father wealth, and this merger with the Sinclair family is the crown jewel of my career. I will not have it tarnished, disrupted, or ruined by a pathetic, secret tryst in the dark."

The explicit confirmation that he knew or at least strongly suspected sent a wave of ice through her veins. The room seemed to tilt. If Marco found out, the alliance would shatter, her family would be ruined, and the fallout would blooden both families.

"Sebastian and I"

"I do not care what you and Sebastian do in your imaginative little heads," Don interrupted brutally, his voice dropping to a harsh, demanding hiss. "What I care about is optics. What I care about is compliance. You are going to marry Marco Sinclair on the first Saturday of October. You will smile, you will wear the white dress, and you will be the perfect, dutiful wife he expects."

He leaned closer, the scent of his expensive cologne overwhelming her.

"If I see you so much as breathe too closely to my son again, if I catch even a whisper of a rumor that threatens this wedding, I will personally dismantle everything you hold dear," Don threatened, his voice deadly calm. "I will cut off your family’s trusts. I will ensure your name is dragged through the dirt so thoroughly that even the alley rats won't look at you. And as for Sebastian... I will strip him of his inheritance and exile him so far from this city he will become a ghost."

He let the threat hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. Celestia felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, born from a mixture of intense terror and raging helplessness. She was a pawn in their game, trapped between the violent passion of the son and the calculated malice of the father.

"Do we understand each other, Celestia?" Don asked, his eyes demanding absolute submission.

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat tasting like copper. "Yes," she choked out, looking down at the gold calligraphy of the wedding date. "We understand each other."

"Good." Don straightened up, instantly smoothing the wrinkles from his jacket as if he hadn't just threatened to destroy her life. He turned on his heel, walking toward the exit with the same detached elegance he had entered with.

At the door, he paused, his hand resting on the brass handle. Without turning around, he delivered one final, crushing blow. "Make sure you clean yourself up before dinner. Marco is joining us tonight, and he doesn't like a pale bride."

The door clicked shut, leaving Celestia alone in the suffocating silence, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, the countdown to her ruin officially ticking away.