Chapter 2

The man's gaze flickered past me for a split second before he was on his feet, his massive frame casting a long shadow over me.

Just as I was trying to figure out what he was doing, his arm snaked around my waist.

His hand was warm and strong, and even through the fabric of my dress, I could feel the taut, coiled muscles of his arm.

"You sure about this?" He asked, his voice a low, magnetic rumble with a barely-there hint of an Italian accent.

Without a second thought, I nodded, letting him guide me through the throng of bodies. We ignored the stares, walking straight out of the grand ballroom.

When we finally reached the quiet of the hotel corridor, just the two of us, I let out a long sigh of relief. "Thank you."

The words had barely left my lips when the sound of footsteps and hushed voices echoed from the end of the hall.

"Are you sure he's here? Did you see who he was with?"

"Looked like some drunk girl. Couldn't see her face."

The man's brow furrowed. Instantly, he flung open the door to the nearest room and pulled me inside.

Before I could process what was happening, he slammed me against the door, his tall body pressing close. His hot breath fanned across my ear. "Don't make a sound."

I got it immediately. The people outside were after him.

I gave a quick nod.

He'd just saved me from total humiliation; helping him out was the least I could do to repay the favor.

He didn't make another move, just held us in that charged, intimate position. We waited as the footsteps in the hallway drew nearer, then faded away into silence. Only then did he pull back, just an inch.

The room was dark, the only light filtering in from the neon city glow outside. It traced the perfect, sharp angle of his jawline.

My legs suddenly felt like jelly, and I nearly crumpled to the floor. He caught me in one swift motion, his arm locking around me again.

In the darkness, every sense was dialed up to eleven. The scent of him—something clean, masculine, and intoxicating—the raw strength in his arms, the solid warmth of his chest, it all miraculously filled the cold, empty space that had been carved out in my heart tonight.

Perhaps it was the stimulation of alcohol; at this moment, I turned around and hugged him tightly, burying my face in his firm chest, and tears gushed out uncontrollably.

It started as silent sobs, then morphed into choked, uncontrollable whimpers.

Like a lost, heartbroken child, I cried my eyes out in his arms, letting all the pain and betrayal pour out of me.

His body seemed to tense for a moment, but he didn't push me away.

I didn't know how long I cried. Eventually, exhaustion washed over me, my consciousness blurring at the edges. All I knew was a primal need to hold on. I clutched at his shirt, my voice a slurred mess. "Don't go. Don't leave me alone."

I heard him sigh, so faint it was almost imaginary.

In a hazy dream, I felt myself being lifted and placed onto a soft, massive bed.

My eyes fluttered open just in time to see him leaning over me, his gaze deep and intense.

I was a grown woman. I knew exactly what could happen when you were alone in a hotel room with an attractive stranger.

But I wasn't scared. I had no regrets. Instead, I looped my arms around his neck, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me from drowning.

"Can you be gentle?" I asked, my voice shy but laced with a desperate anticipation.

He froze for a beat, his breathing turning ragged.

Then, a soft kiss landed on the side of my neck. A large hand roamed my back, sending a shiver down my spine.

I didn't resist. Fueled by alcohol and a tidal wave of emotion, I gave in with a sense of self-destructive pleasure, meeting his advances with my own.

When my dress was gone, his kisses became more aggressive, a hungry trail across my cheeks, my neck, and finally, my lips.

Lost in a haze of passion, I thought I heard him whisper something in my ear, but the words were too muffled. The next second, I blacked out completely.

The next time I opened my eyes, it was afternoon.

My head felt like it was splitting in two, and my entire body ached. The man from last night was long gone.

A flash of last night's events hit me, and I shot up, yanking the covers off in a panic.

I was completely naked, my skin littered with the tell-tale purple bruises of a passionate night.

Oh, God. Did I really just sleep with a stranger?

Scrambling out of bed, I frantically gathered my clothes from the floor and threw them on. My fingers were still trembling as I bolted from the room and jumped into a taxi.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but I couldn't erase the image of his handsome face, his tattooed, muscular body, or the phantom whisper of the words I couldn't quite remember.

I shook my head, trying to force the thoughts away.

The car pulled up to the gates of the Vance family estate.

I had just stepped inside when a sickly-sweet voice called out, "Eleanor?"

I turned to see Isabella and Bianca standing behind me.

Bianca's eyes landed on me, and her brow immediately creased. "Where have you been?"

Her gaze swept over my messy hair and wrinkled dress, and a look of pure annoyance crossed her face. "Do you have any idea how worried we were?"

Worried?

A bitter laugh threatened to escape my lips.

Worried I'd ruined their perfect wedding, or worried I'd embarrassed the Vance family name?

"Mom, don't be so hard on Eleanor," Isabella cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy.

"She was probably just upset and had a little too much to drink. It's all my fault." As she spoke, her eyes welled up, putting on her classic damsel-in-distress act.

Bianca immediately softened, patting her hand. "Isabella, this has nothing to do with you. It's her own lack of self-respect."

Her attention snapped back to me, her tone sharp with accusation. "Last night was Isabella and Theodore's wedding. For you to disappear like that, as her sister, it shows a complete lack of class!"

I managed a grim smile. Here we go again.

All it took was a few crocodile tears from Isabella, and Bianca pinned all the blame on me.

"Go to your room and clean yourself up. Your father wants to speak with you," Bianca ordered, before linking arms with Isabella and heading toward Aiden's study.

I bit my lip, my nails digging so deep into my palms that I should have felt pain, but I felt nothing.

There was no place for me in this house anymore.

After changing in my room, I went to the study.

Aiden sat in the master chair behind his desk. Isabella had her arm looped through Bianca's, resting her head on her mother's shoulder.

The three of them looked like the perfect family.

"Sit," Aiden commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite him without a shred of warmth.

I sat, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach.

"I've called you in to inform you of an important matter," Aiden said, getting straight to the point. "We have finalized a marriage alliance with the Volker family. You will be married next month."

"What?" The word flew out of my mouth.

The Volker family was the most powerful Russian mafia in New York. Rumor had it their leader was a ruthless, cold-blooded monster nearing sixty, whose last two fiancées had died under mysterious circumstances before their weddings.

Were my parents going to marry me off to that old man?

"I won't do it," I blurted out, the refusal automatic and absolute.