Contractually Yours: Chapter 32

By the time I’m home late evening, my head is about to explode. From the way pressure squeezes my skull and my temples are throbbing, it’s the beginning of a nasty tension migraine. The bombshell demand from the Hae Min Group has been on my mind all afternoon. As well as that damn picture of Sebastian and Gabriella.

Gabriella’s agency doesn’t have enough influence to force a Korean conglomerate like Hae Min to do anything. That leaves two other possible outside forces with any say in the project: Peery Diamonds and Sebastian Jewelry. And I certainly don’t want her.

So that leaves Sebastian.

It’s perfectly understandable that he’d want to keep her close. She’s the face of Sebastian Jewelry, and she’s the one he loves. The former is public knowledge, and he told me the latter before we got married.

There’s no reason for me to feel this sick.

But hot fury and betrayal have been clawing at me for hours. I could barely get through my meetings. Thank God none of them required me to make any big decisions.

James stops the car and steps out to open my door. I take a moment, my eyes closed.

This is just an arranged marriage. I have fond feelings that might border on a girlish crush for Sebastian. But the intensity of the pain that’s been plaguing me says “fond feelings” is insufficient to describe what’s in my heart.

Still, I re-create the mask I need to face my husband. It’s the smooth one I put on every time I see a nasty headline about myself. Carefree. Proud. Impervious.

Only when I’m certain of my composure do I step out of the car. “Thank you, James. Good night.”

I step inside the house. I pray Sebastian’s working in his home office, but he’s at the kitchen counter with his laptop. He looks relaxed and at home in nothing but shorts.

If I hadn’t seen the photo of them at the hotel or if I hadn’t heard the Hae Min Group’s demand, I might be admiring the gorgeous, lean muscles of his chest and abs. But right now, toxic thoughts bubble in my heart.

Did he do more than just see Gabriella at the hotel? Is that why he changed into another outfit?

Stop being ridiculous. Why would he stay in a suit after his day was over?

But logic doesn’t want to be in charge. It’s already ceded the driver’s seat to emotion. I tighten my grip on my control.

“How was your day?” he says with a smile.

I search his expression, looking for any hint he is hiding something or wants to tell me what he’s done. But no. It’s just a smile.

“Tiring,” I say, giving him the same smile.

He makes a small sympathetic noise. “Sorry to hear that.”

His response feels mocking. He’s the reason my day was tiring.

“How are your face and back?”

“Fine.” My response is like marble—smooth and cold. The bruise on my cheek is the least of my worries. I heal fast. You can hardly see it now. My back’s a little sore, but nothing more.

I wish I could conceal my churning emotions as easily as I can cover up the bruises.

I place my purse on the counter and get a glass of cold water. The iciness gliding down my throat pulls me out of the fatigue fog. The fluid sloshes in my empty stomach. I haven’t had dinner. Bianca brought me some soup and salad, but I couldn’t choke them down.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you, though.” Concern and bemusement twine on his handsome face.

“Okay.” Is he about to come clean about how he went behind my back to make Gabriella the face of the Sebastian Peery launch?

“I looked into who leaked photos from the party to The Hollywood News.”

Shock slaps me. “That wasn’t necessary,” I say sharply. “They always do what they want, and going after them only comes back to haunt me.”

His stunned expression says I’m being unreasonable more eloquently than any words. “I’m the one who’s going after them. They won’t bug you about it,” he says. “You can’t just leave these guys alone. Not when they violate your privacy like this.”

“They’ve always violated it,” I say, fighting to keep my voice calm. There’s no point to having an impervious façade if I’m going to start shouting.

He doesn’t care about my struggle, though. “Well, in this case they couldn’t have done it without somebody feeding them the photos.”

“Any guest could’ve done that.” Gabriella could’ve done it. And now that he’s brought it up, I’m sure it was her.

He must sense my silent accusation. His face starts to turn red. “Not one of mine.”

Is he kidding? “Of course it was yours! Who else would want to leak photos making me look like a complete bitch except Gabriella?” Staying above this drama is impossible now. I want to bury my face in a pillow and scream into it to vent my frustration.

“Gabriella—? What? She has nothing to do with this.”

I raise a hand, palm out. I can’t do this right now. “Stop defending her. You’re making this worse.”

“And you stop jumping to conclusions before I can even tell you what I found.”

The pain in my head is getting worse. The nerve behind my forehead is pulsing. Am I going to pop a vein in my skull?

He continues, “It was sent through an anonymous Gmail account, and whoever did it used your home Wi-Fi.”

It takes a moment before the meaning sinks in. “My home Wi-Fi?”

“Yes. So it couldn’t have been Gabriella. Obviously. She doesn’t have the password, and she isn’t savvy enough to crack the network’s security.”

“All right. That leaves you, me, Bianca and Matthias, but Matthias was off. And there’s no way Bianca did anything like that.”

“Regardless, somebody was on the network.”

For the briefest moment, I wonder if he did it to put Gabriella in a sympathetic light, then dismiss the idea. Not even Roderick would sink to that level, and I can’t imagine Sebastian doing it.

But he might’ve gone to the Hae Min Group behind my back for her, not caring about the effect on me or the milestones I’ve set. He took all the Sebastian Peery collaboration docs to review, so he has to have seen the marketing plans and launch timeline.

“Did you contact people at Hae Min and ask them to use Gabriella for the launch?” The question slips from my lips before I can catch myself. Damn it! I shouldn’t talk about this with a splitting headache and emotions running high.

He jerks back and stares at me like I took a swing at him. “What are you talking about?”

“They don’t think proceeding with the collaboration is possible if she isn’t part of the marketing campaign. Which makes no sense, because they were initially okay with using Korean celebrities to promote the products. They implied there was some outside pressure, and I didn’t do it. That leaves you.”

“I don’t give a damn what model they pick as long as it’s the right person for the job.”

Is he just explaining his position or over-protesting to hide the fact that he’s the one who did this? But he has to know the liaison from Korea would tell me everything, so why would he be lying? I can’t sort my thoughts out, and I hate it that I can’t trust him. “Maybe you think she’s the right person for the job.”

“How did you get that from what I just said?” he demands.

“By using my brain,” I shoot back, then put the empty glass I’ve been holding into the sink. I need to leave before I say or do something I’ll regret.

He takes my arm and stops me. “What’s wrong with you? Do you want to fight? Is that it?”

“No. I don’t want to talk to you right now about how important Gabriella still is.” For you.

He looks at me like I’ve sprouted mushrooms from my head. “What the hell does that even mean? You’re the one who brought her up.”

“And you’re the one who’s in love with her and keeps throwing her in my face.” A vague voice in my head whispers that the accusation is unfair—he couldn’t have done anything about the photos, including the one from earlier today at the Aylster. But the stubborn and pissed-off part of me says that it’s his fault for letting her get close to him.

“What?” He couldn’t look more horrified if I’d told him I like to snack on roadkill to add a little variety to my diet. “I’m not in love with her.”

My heart pumps harder, pulsing blood through my veins painfully, like poison. Lies, lies, lies. “Stop treating me like a fool, Sebastian. You told me you were in love with her before we got married.”

“What…” He stops. “Damn it.”

“If you want to lie, you need to remember what you’ve been saying.”

“I’m not lying. I’m not in love with her.”

“But you said you were in love… Oh my God. So you’re in love with someone else, but were dating Gabriella? That’s…” I struggle for a suitable word, but give up. It isn’t worth it, not with the headache. “Wow. You’re just as bad as all the other guys I’ve known. Actually worse, because you wouldn’t stay faithful to the woman you love, even before you were forced to marry me.”

Sebastian growls in frustration. “There was no one to stay faithful to.”

Contempt curls my lip. I try to tug my arm free, but his hold is impossible to shake off.

“Okay, look. I lied about being in love with someone when we talked about it,” he says. “I was upset and wanted to be a dick. I’m not in love with anybody, especially not Gabriella.”

Am I supposed to just nod and say, “I believe you about your previous lie”?

“I would never have married you if I were in love with another woman.”

That’s the least convincing part of what he said. My life taught me better. “But you love Sebastian Jewelry. You’d do anything to avoid handing over thirty percent of the company. Besides, the contract says you can end the marriage after five years, so all the love of your life has to do is stick around for that long.”

“My family is the one who can’t afford to give up the shares, not me. I’d never choose Sebastian Jewelry over a woman I loved.”

Would he really, though? The words coming out of his mouth sound romantic. Something I might hear in a movie. But this is real life.

“You don’t have to explain anything.” All the fight drains out of me, and my whole body goes limp. I’m too mentally drained to stay here and have this talk. I just want to take a hot shower and sleep.

But he’s still holding on to my arm. Guess he won’t let go until he hears what he wants to hear. But I don’t want to lie to him and say I believe him or that I understand. I’m not my mom, who always looked the other way.

So instead, I say, “You can see her if you want. Stop twisting around trying to justify your lies. I’ve had enough of that in my life.”

He looks at me like I’ve just slapped him in front of everyone in the city. What is he so upset about? There’s nothing unfair about what I said. Then I realize I also lied to him just now—because I’m not okay with his seeing other women, even if he’s in love with them.

I need to go to my room before I say anything else that I don’t mean.

He lets go of my arm. Before I can make my exit, he loops his hand around my long hair, threading his fingers along my skull. His mouth crashes against mine. I keep my lips closed, but his teeth scrape the tender flesh, and his tongue probes. The air in my lungs grows thin and fire blazes through me, more anger than lust. I bite his lower lip, but some sanity within me pulls me back before I cut him deep enough to make him bleed.

The bite doesn’t make him pull away. A deep growl vibrates in his chest, and he clenches my hair tighter. He ravages me, moving his tongue in like he’s trying to fuck me with it. The heat unfurling in my chest becomes more lust than anger. And it pisses me off.

I slap at his hard shoulders, but it just hurts my hands. That only fuels my frustrated wrath. I grip his hair and try to pull him away, but he’s too strong. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close, until his erection is pushing against my belly.

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, I rage as embarrassingly hot slickness pools between my legs.

Since I can’t stop him, I pour all my fury into the kiss, tightening my hand in his hair until it has to hurt. But he doesn’t retreat. His cock grows harder and thicker, and I realize he welcomes the pain I’m doling out.

He grinds against me through the clothes. “Do you think I’d be this hard if I were fucking somebody behind your back?”

His eyes are steely and dark. They warn me to choose my words wisely.

But I’m beyond being wise. Caught in the vise of his grip, I can still shrug. “You’re a man in his prime.”

“You little bitch.”

I bare my teeth in an ugly smile at his bald words. I like them better than polished lies.

“You know I’m constantly hard around you.”

My mouth dries as the tension of the day drains away. The pulse in my neck flutters. A desire for the sexual oblivion I know he can give seeps through me. If he sticks his hand under my skirt, he’s going to feel how wet I am. The raw lust twisting his face is honest. And I can’t resist it. “Congratulations. What do you want me to do about it?” It’s intended as a taunt, but the words are breathless.

“I want you to realize there’s no one else.” He places me on the kitchen island, then pushes down his shorts and underwear in one jerky motion. His cock springs out, the veins on the thick shaft pulsing. “This cock is yours.” He pushes my skirt up and rips my panties. “And this pussy is mine. My exclusive property.”

“Screw you,” I shoot back.

“Say what you like, but your body doesn’t lie.” He runs a finger down my folds and shows me the glistening liquid.

The triumph blazing his eyes doesn’t do anything to help rebuild my filter. Everything spills out, uncensored. “So what if my body’s slutty? Do you think that means anything?”

“It means you’re my slut. My wife.” He lifts me off the island, wrapping his arms around my torso, and slams into me.

All the breath gets knocked out of me. Pleasure pours over me; my legs wrap around his waist of their own volition, and I cling to him. He handles me like I weigh nothing, and he thrusts into me like he has every right to, plunders my mouth like he can’t stop. His rough movements drive me crazy. When we’re both frenzied like this, I feel reassured of his need for me—he can’t be faking it.

Whether he loves somebody or not, whether he means to be faithful or not, I have no space for any of that in my head. Lust is the most honest mutual emotion we share.

A searing climax spins all my senses. I hold him, like he’s the only anchor I have left in my life. When he comes inside me, I shudder again, digging my fingers into him.

I should be comforted—maybe even relieved—that he insists he’s faithful and demands the same in return. But the emptiness in my heart continues to gnaw at me, and I don’t know if I can ever fill it up.