Chapter 11

*Laurie*

I forced myself to meet his gaze despite the unease I felt.

"For what?"

His smile was slow, deliberate.

"You’ll find out soon enough."

The weight of his words still clung to the air between us.

"You’ll find out soon enough."

I forced myself to keep eating, each bite turning to ash on my tongue despite how good the food was. Theron, of course, noticed. He always did.

He leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine, watching me like I was the most entertaining thing in the room.

Then, with an almost lazy smirk, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, then turned the screen toward me.

My breath caught.

It was a message.

A photo.

Rafe.

He was lying in a hospital bed.

Two tubes. An oxygen mask. An IV drip was attached to his arm. Unlike the complex wires attached to him the last time I saw him.

The room looked advanced and high-end, sterile, far better than the overcrowded hospital we had struggled to afford.

And Rafe… he looked better. His face wasn’t as pale as before. The dark circles under his eyes had lessened. Goodness! There was color in his skin.

My fingers curled against the table. My stomach twisted. Tears nearly pricked my eyes. This must be real right?

I should have felt relieved. I wanted to feel relieved. But I didn’t trust it. Not when the man sitting across from me was the one holding all the power.

Theron tapped the screen, and the image disappeared. I shot up from my seat, my chair scraping against the floor. “Where did you get that? Where is my Rafe!?”

His smugness didn’t waver as he spoke, “I told you, Cookie. Your brother is being taken care of.”

My pulse pounded in my ears. “By whom? Is he…”

Theron placed his phone face down on the table, his fingers drumming lazily against the back. “Do you really think I’d let something happen to him after I paid 50 million pounds for you?”

I flinched. I hated how easily he said it. Like I was a thing, an object, a possession. Unfortunately, that's the reality of my life but I don't want to accept it.

He let the silence stretch, feeding off my frustration before finally rising to his feet. “You ask too many questions, Cookie.”

I clenched my fists. “And you don’t answer enough.”

I was frustrated. At this point, I was trying my best not to break down in tears. His chuckle was low, dark, and almost amused. “Come,” he said, extending his hand.

I glared at it like it was venomous. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

I didn’t move. Theron sighed as if I was being difficult on purpose, then, before I could react, he closed the space between us. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, firmly but not painfully, and he pulled me to my feet.

My pulse spiked. “Theron…”

His other hand found my waist, dragging me closer, and suddenly, I was against his chest, his scent wrapping around me like an inescapable trap.

Warm spice, minty, expensive cologne, and something I couldn’t quite name.

“What are you doing?” I breathed.

He tilted his head. “Dancing.”

Dancing?

I blinked at him, too stunned to process it. But sure enough, the soft strains of a violin began playing in the distance.

Theron’s hand slid to the small of my back. “Relax,” he muttered.

I was relaxed. No – I wasn’t. Not even close. My entire body was aware of him, of every point where we touched, of how easily he controlled the space between us.

He led. I followed. A simple step, then another.

The bastard was good at this. Too good. He moved with effortless grace, his hold steady but never forceful, like he knew I’d resist if he tried too hard.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against my temple. “Afraid I’ll break you?”

I snapped my gaze up to his, anger slicing through my unease. “You don’t have that kind of power over me.”

Theron’s lips twitched, his grip tightening just slightly – a silent liar, disguised as a dance move.

“You think you can fight me,” he mused, spinning me effortlessly before pulling me back against him. “But here you are, following my lead.”

Heat flared through me. He was getting under my skin and I am failing in masking it.

I lifted my chin. “Only because I don’t want to trip over your expensive shoes.”

His chuckle was rich, dark, and infuriatingly amused.

“Of course. I believe you, Cookie.”

I hated him. I hated how easily he could get under my skin. How he made me feel things I shouldn’t.

But more than anything, I hated that he was right.

I was following his lead. And I had no idea how to stop.