Chapter 5

Dahlia's POV

Miranda Storme was bent over the arm of Vincent's chair, her expensive dress bunched around her hips, her bare skin pale in the firelight. Vincent was behind her, his jeans undone, his body pressed against hers. His hands gripped her waist as he thrust into her with a rhythm that was almost mechanical, his expression completely detached.

I should have looked away. I should have turned and run.

But I couldn't move.

"God, Vincent," Miranda moaned, her fingers gripping the leather armrest. "Yes. Right there. Don't stop."

Vincent didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the fire, his jaw tight, his movements almost angry. My stomach turned at the sight.

Suddenly, Vincent's head shifted. His eyes moved slowly and deliberately, and locked onto mine through the gap in the door.

I froze.

He knew I was there. He had known the whole time. And now he was looking at me with that cold, cruel smile with those blue eyes glittering with malice.

And then he thrust harder.

Miranda cried out, her body jerking forward. Vincent's grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh. His eyes never left mine as he drove into her with brutal intensity, each movement harder, more punishing than the last.

Miranda was moaning loudly now, completely oblivious to what was happening. She was lost in the pleasure, in the illusion that Vincent Carrington actually wanted her.

My face burned with humiliation. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I wouldn't let him see how much this hurt.

But I couldn't look away.

Vincent's pace quickened, his breathing growing heavier. His eyes were still locked on mine, that cruel smile still playing on his lips. He was enjoying this. He was enjoying watching me suffer.

Miranda was almost screaming now, her body shuddering with each thrust. "Vincent! Vincent, please! I'm so close!"

Vincent didn't acknowledge her. His focus was entirely on me. His hand came up and slapped her ass hard, and she cried out, her body arching back against him.

He was putting on a show. A sick, twisted show designed to break me.

And it was working.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could see was Vincent's face, his cold eyes, his smug smile. All I could hear was Miranda's moans, the wet sounds of their bodies slapping together, the crackling of the fire.

"I'm coming!" Miranda screamed, her body convulsing against him.

And still, Vincent didn't look away from me.

He watched me as he reached his own climax, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and predatory. He watched me as he shuddered, as he spilled himself inside her, as he finally pulled away and tucked himself back into his jeans like nothing had happened.

Miranda collapsed against the chair, panting, her body still trembling.

And Vincent smiled at me.

A slow, triumphant smile that said everything.

I finally found my footing and stumbled backward, my hand flying to my mouth. The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over, hot and uncontrollable. I turned and ran, my bare feet slapping against the cold marble floor, the sound of my own ragged sobs echoing in the empty hallway.

I didn't stop running until I reached my room. I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, my chest heaving, my whole body shaking.

What was wrong with me? Why did I care? Why did it hurt so much to see him with someone else? He's my stepbrother for Christ's sake!

I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to push the image away. But it was burned into my mind. Vincent's cruel smile. His hands on Miranda's body. The way he'd looked at me like I was nothing.

He'd wanted me to see. He'd wanted to hurt me. And it had worked.

I slid down the door and sat on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. The tears came then, hot and uncontrollable, soaking my cheeks.

I hated him. I hated him for making me feel this way. I hated him for making me care. I hated him for being everything I couldn't have.

But even as I cried, even as I tried to convince myself that I was better off without him, I knew the truth.

I was in love with Vincent Carrington. And it was destroying me.

The next morning, I couldn't look at him.

I sat at the breakfast table with my head down, pushing my eggs around my plate, trying to be invisible. Vincent was at the other end of the table, and I could feel his eyes on me. I could feel the weight of his gaze, the smug satisfaction rolling off him in waves.

"Dahlia, are you feeling alright?" Robert asked, his voice warm with concern. "You look pale.”

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "Just tired. I didn't sleep well."

"Perhaps you should rest today," my mother suggested. "You've been working so hard lately."

"Maybe," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on my plate.

Vincent made a soft sound that sounded almost a laugh and I felt my face flame. He knew. He knew exactly why I hadn't slept. He knew I'd seen everything. And he was enjoying my misery.

I pushed my plate away and stood up abruptly. "Excuse me. I think I need some air."

I walked out of the dining room before anyone could respond, my footsteps echoing down the hallway. I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I had to get away from Vincent, away from his mocking eyes, away from the memory of what I'd seen.

I ended up in the garden. It was beautiful, with carefully manicured hedges and a fountain that sparkled in the morning light just like Robert had said that other time. There was a stone bench near the rose bushes, and I sat down heavily, burying my face in my hands.

This wasn't going to work. I couldn't live like this. I couldn't share a house with Vincent Carrington and pretend everything was normal. But I could…? 

Oh fuck, I was going to lose my mind.

"Bad night's sleep?"

I jerked upright, my heart leaping into my throat.

Vincent was standing at the edge of the garden, his hands in his pockets, his expression carefully neutral. He was wearing a white button-down that was slightly wrinkled, like he hadn't bothered to change after the night before.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice sharp.

He shrugged. "Just checking on my dear stepsister. You seemed upset at breakfast."

He stepped closer, his blue eyes fixed on me as he looked down at me.