Chapter 19
May 30, 2025
The ballroom was thick with applause, champagne, and stares that felt more like inventory than admiration. I could smile through strategy. I could play heir and CEO and survivor in heels that hurt. But sometimes, even queens need to breathe.
I slipped out the terrace doors. The cold slapped me awake. I let it. The wind pulled at the hem of my red dress, kissed the sweat at the base of my neck, reminded me I was still real beneath all the armor. One deep breath. That’s all I needed. But then I heard him. The footsteps. Measured. Familiar. Uninvited. I didn’t have to look.
“Don’t,” I said flatly, eyes still on the skyline. “Not tonight.”
“You never looked at me like that,” Rhys said, voice low. Bitter. Bruised. I closed my eyes. So it was going to be that kind of night.
“You never looked at anyone like that,” he added. “Not even me.”
I turned slowly, letting him see exactly what he no longer had access to. “And whose fault is that?”
He stepped closer. “The way you looked at Ashcroft—”
“Stop,” I warned.
“Is that how you see him now? Is that who you needed to become this?”
I didn’t flinch. “You don’t get to ask me what I need.”
“You looked at him like he mattered. Like he saw you.”
I laughed. Cold. Sharp. “Because he did. And you never did.” He blinked. Just once. I could almost see the gears turning, trying to reshape the version of me he thought he still knew.
“You’re twisting this,” he said.
“No, Rhys. I’m finally saying it. You were in love with a version of me that kept quiet. That didn’t challenge you. That dimmed herself just to survive your spotlight. And I’m done pretending that version of me was real.”
“You were my wife,” he said, stepping closer. “You chose me.”
“And you discarded me.”
He looked down, jaw twitching. Then, suddenly, without warning, he grabbed my wrist.
“I still remember what it was like,” he said, breath thick with something desperate.
I yanked my hand back. “Let me go.”
“I never stopped wanting you, Celene,” he whispered, stepping in, his hands now at my arms. “You were mine.” Before I could step away, he leaned in. His lips crashed toward mine, uninvited, unwanted.
I shoved him back, hard. “Don’t you dare.”
But he caught my arm again, tighter this time, trying to close the space I’d already burned down. And that’s when instinct kicked in, I didn’t think. I just moved. My heel pivoted. My elbow jabbed straight into his gut. He grunted. I followed it with a quick twist of his wrist and shoved him backward. He stumbled against the stone railing, eyes wide.
“Touch me again,” I said, chest heaving, “and I’ll make sure you leave with a limp.”
A sound behind us broke the tension. Damon. Standing at the terrace doorway. Watching everything. His expression didn’t move, but his eyes? They burned. Not with anger. With pride. And something sharper. He started to step forward, but I raised a hand.
“I’ve got it.”
Rhys looked between us, one hand still on his chest. “So this is who you are now?” I brushed my hair back into place, fixed the strap of my dress, and turned toward the ballroom.
“This is who I’ve always been. You just never earned the right to see it.” As I passed Damon, he didn’t say a word. He just looked at me. Like he wanted to clap.
I smirked. “What? Surprised?”
He gave a low chuckle. “Hmmm, you look so hot.”
Then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the shadows, past the terrace, down a hallway, into a quiet, unused corner where the walls couldn’t talk. I didn’t protest. I didn’t need to.
The heat in my body did all the work. My back hit the wall, his mouth crashed into mine. He groaned as he kissed me hard, one hand gripping my thigh and yanking it up around his waist, the other already sliding up my dress.
“I wanted to fuck you all night,” he growled into my mouth. “And now I’m not holding back.” He yanked my panties to the side and drove two fingers into my pussy, fast and rough, curling them just right until my hips bucked against his hand.
“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he muttered. “You like when I watch you handle assholes like him? You get off on putting men in their place?”
I moaned, biting his shoulder. “I get off on you.”
He unzipped just enough to pull his cock out, thick, hard, angry, and dragged it against my slick folds. No teasing. No asking. Just raw hunger. He lifted my other leg up and slammed into me in one brutal thrust.
“Oh fuck-” I gasped, head falling back, nails digging into his arms.
“That’s right,” he growled, pounding into me. “Take this cock. Let everyone hear how good I fuck you.”
His thrusts were hard, deep, relentless. The kind of fucking that didn’t need romance. It needed rage and want and payback. My heels were off the ground, back scraping the wall with every slam of his hips. He was growling my name between kisses, his mouth on my neck, my shoulder, my lips. I clung to him, wrapped around him, drowning in the heat, the filth, the way his cock filled me so fucking deep I could barely think.
“You’re mine,” he hissed. “And no one’s ever gonna touch this pussy again.”
“Damon- fuck- harder-” I begged, and he gave it to me, slamming in faster, so deep I saw stars.
We came like animals, loud, messy, desperate. My pussy clenched around him so tight he cursed against my throat, his cum spilling inside me in thick, pulsing waves. He held me there for a second, breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine.
