Chapter 7 The Fallen Aristocrat

My mind emptied, leaving only a tangled rush of shame, rage, and fear.

And beneath it all, a forbidden thrill jolted through me like an electric current.

"Answer me."

His thumb was still pressing against my lips.

And his other hand had somehow slipped under the hem of my dress, his burning palm pressing against the inside of my cold thigh, slowly moving upward.

I shuddered as images from last night — being folded into his arms, taken by him, driven to the point where my cries fell silent — exploded uncontrollably in my mind.

"Bastard!"

I used all my strength to slap him, but he easily caught my wrist and twisted it behind my back.

He suddenly lifted me, turned sharply, and pinned me hard against the cold office desk.

Papers scattered to the floor with a rustling sound.

"Let me go!"

I fought back, but his sheer strength smothered my resistance, leaving me as helpless as a bird tangled in a hunter's net.

"Let you go?"

Arthur leaned down, his solid chest completely pressing against me, his amber eyes gleaming with a predatory light under the lamp.

"Ms. Windsor, you started this game, but I decide how it ends."

His palm moved upward, past the edge of my stockings, his rough fingertips tracing circles on my most sensitive skin.

I gasped, my body going limp uncontrollably, a familiar, shameful wetness spreading from below.

"Your body tells the truth your words never will."

He curved his lips in a wicked, cruel smile.

Then he lowered his head — not kissing anymore, but biting.

From my chin to my neck, then to my collarbone, leaving marks that claimed me as his own.

I could smell his strong cologne mixed with his unique, aggressive masculine scent, enveloping me completely.

"Tell me you want me, just like that night."

His breath was hot against my ear.

"You treated me like some random male escort, used me and didn't even acknowledge me afterward, didn't even bother to discuss payment. Sophia, is this how you do business?"

His knee forcefully pushed between my legs. Through the thin fabric, I could feel the unmistakable hardness pressing against my inner thigh.

"No... it wasn't like that..."

My grip on reason was slipping, and every instinct howled for control.

"No?"

He gave a cold, low laugh, his grip on the back of my head tightening until I could do nothing but yield to the deepening of his kiss.

It was possessive and unrelenting, his tongue claiming my mouth with a hunger that left me breathless, as if he meant to take all of me.

Just when the air was slipping from my lungs, his hand slid to its target, pressing firmly through the final layer of fabric.

"Mm..."

The sound escaped before I could stop it — a muffled moan that seemed to snap the last restraint.

Arthur's eyes flared, heat blazing in their depths. With a single rough motion, he tore away my underwear, the sudden chill sending a shiver through me.

Without pause, he guided that fevered length toward me, poised to cross the final threshold.

"Don't!"

I was finally scared, tears bursting from my eyes.

"I'll take it! I'll take your case!"

His poised movement suddenly stilled, the heated tip lingering at my entrance, rubbing in a way that made me ache with a mix of desire and apprehension.

He lifted his head, gazing down at me, the desire in his eyes still smoldering, now laced with a hint of amusement.

"If only you'd been this obedient from the very beginning."

He withdrew slowly, methodically straightening his suit, as if he hadn't just tried to take me on this very desk.

I collapsed against the desk, my body weak, fumbling to pull down my skirt, my legs still trembling.

"Now, we can talk about work."

He sat on the sofa across from me, crossing his legs, once again the cold and calculating tycoon.

I drew a deep breath, forcing down the humiliation and fear, and stepped down from the desk.

"I'll take it, but I have three conditions."

"Go ahead."

He arched a brow, clearly intrigued by my defiance.

"First, we only discuss work in my office, during business hours."

"Second, outside of work, you are not to contact me in any way."

"Third," I locked my gaze on him, "you are never to touch me again."

Arthur's laugh was low and mocking. "Fine."

He rose and moved toward me, and I instinctively stepped back.

But he only picked up the discarded contract, set it before me, and tapped the signature line.

"I agree, Ms. Windsor," he murmured, leaning close so only I could hear. "Not allowed to touch you? That depends on whether you can resist."

In the days that followed, I began working with Arthur.

True to his word, he appeared in my office on time each day, speaking only about the PR campaign to whitewash the Russell Group.

His business acumen and strategic vision were formidable, every decision precise and ruthless.

Yet I felt him testing me constantly.

He would casually bring up old feuds between Asteria City's founding families, sound me out about Isola Virella, even discuss the methods of long-defunct mafia clans.

Each time, his eyes stayed fixed on me, catching every flicker of expression.

It felt like walking a tightrope, every step measured.

One afternoon, after a meeting ended, he lingered.

"To celebrate our successful cooperation."

From his pocket, he produced a velvet box and handed it to me.

"A small gift."

I hesitated but took it. "Mr. Russell, you are too kind."

"Open it," he said.

Inside lay a silver necklace, its pendant a vintage round locket.

"This is just the beginning."

He left with those cryptic words, his bodyguards in tow.

Back home, I locked the door and opened the locket with trembling hands.

There was no photo, no hidden compartment—only an engraving on the inside lid: a serpent with a dark tail, its eye a ruby no larger than a drop of blood, gleaming with a cold, sacrilegious light.

It was the Davis Family's highest token, carried only by the godfather and his heir.

And my father's piece had vanished the day he was executed.