Chapter 8 You Want Me

'Who is he, really? What does he know?'

The questions detonated in my mind, sharp and relentless, stealing the breath from my lungs.

I thought I had escaped that family. Escaped the blood-soaked past...

Just as the fear was about to swallow me whole, George's call came through.

"Sophia! It's bad. Five minutes ago, every major news outlet ran the same headline — all of our worst secrets. They're saying our firm has been falsifying data for years, manipulating public opinion, even tied to several political sex scandals. And now our firewall is breached. All client files are being downloaded at an insane rate!"

At the same moment, the television in my suite flickered to a breaking financial bulletin.

"...Sources report that the Russell Group, currently seeking a legal transformation, has been accused of massive technical fraud in its renewable energy project, along with using offshore shell companies for large-scale money laundering. The scandal has triggered an immediate collapse in related stocks..."

Arthur and I had been shoved onto the same chopping block, at the same time, by the same method.

It was surgical, ruthless — weaponizing the media storm, then pinning the target in place with irrefutable 'evidence.'

Exactly the way my father had been destroyed. Framed, condemned, and executed.

A cold wave rose from the floor and climbed my spine.

This wasn't coincidence.

There was a hand in the shadows moving against both me and Arthur.

And that hand... could very well be the one that obliterated the Davis family.

I couldn't sit still any longer.

I grabbed the necklace and stormed out of the hotel, heading for the Russell Group tower — my first time walking straight into Arthur's domain on my own terms.

His office was chaos. Staff darted back and forth, voices sharp with panic.

Arthur stood alone at the floor-to-ceiling window, his silhouette unnervingly still.

When he heard my footsteps, he turned slowly.

"Looks like we share a problem," he said, his voice unreadable.

I slammed the serpent-tail necklace onto his desk.

"Who the hell are you? And why do you have this?"

His gaze didn't waver. "Who I am doesn't matter." He picked up the necklace, his thumb brushing the ruby as if testing its weight. "What matters is that the person trying to kill us... is the same."

The confirmation hit like a hammer.

I drew in a deep breath, forcing my hands to stop trembling.

"I'll help you turn the narrative. You help me find the one behind this. We work together."

"Fine," he said. "But this time, the price won't be six thousand dollars."

Three days later, our counterattack was complete.

I played the media like a fiddle, releasing carefully chosen scapegoats to redirect the fury toward Russell Group's competitors.

Arthur unleashed his underground network, and by dawn, the outlets that had spread the story had vanished from the city's landscape.

It was a clean, brutal reversal.

At the celebration, we emptied a bottle of whiskey between us. The burn and the taste of victory loosened the iron grip I kept on my guard. My cheeks flushed warm.

"I'll admit it," I said, swirling the last amber drop in my glass. "You're good."

His smile was a slow curve, dangerous in its ease. He stepped toward me, each stride shrinking the space until his shadow fell over mine.

"So, Ms. Windsor... are you satisfied with the service this time?"

The words were the same as before, but the air between us was different — charged, volatile.

I didn't have time to answer. He took the glass from my hand, drained it in one swallow, and caught the back of my head in his palm. His lips claimed mine.

The taste of whiskey mixed with him, igniting something deep in my chest. His kiss was no longer just punishment or conquest — it was wild, reckless, a collision of equals testing each other's limits.

This time, I didn't push him away. My hands slid up, locking around his neck, pulling him closer.

He lifted me effortlessly, pressing me against the cold glass of the window. My dress tore open under his hands, the sound sharp in the quiet. His palms roamed over bare skin, leaving trails of heat that made my breath stutter.

"Say you want me," he murmured against my ear, his voice rough.

My legs wound around his waist before I could think. My body answered for me.

A low growl rumbled in his chest. There was no gentleness now — only the raw urgency of two people who had been hunted and cornered, finding solace the only way we knew how.

The city lights blurred behind us. His movements were relentless, each one pushing me higher, then dragging me down, until I was lost in the rhythm.

"Look at me," he demanded, tilting my chin so I met his eyes. In the reflection on the glass, I saw us — tangled, moving, a fevered knot of need.

Shame and desire tangled in my veins, making my skin burn hotter.

"You're insane..." I gasped, but my body arched into him.

He turned me, bracing my hands against the window, his breath hot at my nape. "Let Asteria City see how the untouchable Ms. Windsor begs under me," he whispered.

The words shattered what was left of my composure. I was swept under, carried by the storm we had unleashed on each other.

Time dissolved. When he finally stilled, I was too spent to move.

He wasn't done. He gathered me into his arms, carried me to the bed, and claimed my lips again, beginning another round that blurred into the night.

We were two wounded predators, tearing and tasting, finding solace the only way we knew how.

It wasn't until the first light seeped into the room that I finally surrendered to exhaustion, my body giving way in his hold.