CHAPTER 7 – THE HOOK

 

Chapter 7

The gala was a total shitshow.

By the time I dragged myself out of the elevator and into my penthouse foyer, my social battery wasn’t just dead—it was buried. Hours of shaking hands with vipers, dodging my family's loaded questions, and trying to shake off that weird, lingering stare from that Kris Heather guy. Seriously, who looks at someone like they’re trying to figure out how to unhinge their jaw and swallow them whole?

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My feet felt like lead, and my 10k dollars suit was suffocating me. I yanked my tie loose, not even bothering to pick it up when it hit the floor.

"House, lights on," I muttered to the empty air, scrubbing a hand over my exhausted face.

The smart-lights flickered to a dim, moody amber. I opened my eyes, ready to head straight for the shower, and my brain completely short-circuited.

I wasn't alone.

Sitting on my custom velvet sofa, legs spread wide and looking like the literal devil in a leather jacket, was Marcus Blackwood. He was casually swirling a crystal glass of my most expensive whiskey, the ice clinking loudly in the dead-quiet room.

He didn't flinch. Didn't even look surprised. He just watched me over the rim of the glass with eyes so dark they looked like violence.

"What the fuck?" The words slipped out before I could catch them. All my CEO polish evaporated in a second. "What the hell are you doing in my house? In fact, how the hell did you even get in?"

Marcus took a slow, sip of the whiskey. Then, he let out a low, rough laugh that rattled straight down my spine and pooled heavy in my gut.

"I own you, Mr. Vale," he said. His voice was a dark, gravelly command. "I don't need an invitation to check on my property." If I must add.

My mouth went dry. "Get out. Now. Before I call security."

"Call them." Marcus set the glass down. The clack of the crystal against the table sounded like a gunshot. "We both know you won't. Because you don't want them to see what you really are. And you definitely don't want them to see what I'm about to do to you."

He stood up.

My instincts screamed at me to run, to shift, to fight, but my body completely felt numb I was frozen. He walked  up to me very fast in predatory strides, backing me up until my shoulders hit the cold wall by the doorway.

He was huge up close. The heat radiating off him smelled like sandalwood, expensive alcohol, and pure, unfiltered danger.

"You look tired, Noah," Marcus murmured, stepping into my personal space until there wasn't even a breath between us. He didn't touch me yet, but his presence was a physical weight, pressing me down. "Playing the good little human boy all night for your daddy's friends. Having little chats with Kris Heather. Did you like him looking at you?"

"That's none of your—"

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Marcus’s hand shot out, his large, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around my throat. He didn't squeeze enough to hurt, just enough to let me know exactly who was in charge.

My breath hitched. A shameful, electric jolt of heat shot straight to my core.

"I asked you a question, Noah," he whispered, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of my ear. "Did you like it?"

"N-no," I stuttered, hating how weak I sounded. Hating how much I wanted his hand to tighten just a little more.

"Good." Marcus’s thumb dragged slowly over my Adam's apple, feeling the flutter of my pulse. "Because you're my mark. I was sent here to rip your throat out. So until I decide whether I'm going to snap this pretty little neck or use it for something else... nobody else gets to look at you. Understood?"

I couldn't speak. I could barely breathe. The raw dominance rolling off him was intoxicating, short-circuiting every rational thought in my head. He was an assassin. He was here to kill me.

And all I wanted was to drop to my knees.

"Say 'Understood, Marcus'," he commanded, his grip tightening just a fraction.

"Understood... Marcus," I breathed out, my eyes fluttering shut.

He let out a dark hum of approval, the vibration buzzing against my skin. He leaned back just enough to look me in the eyes, his gaze dropping to my lips.

"You're a mess, Vale," he said roughly. "Get on your knees."

My eyes snapped open. "What?"

Marcus stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes blazing with a challenge that promised absolute ruin.

"You heard me," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly, undeniable register. "Get on your knees, Noah. Let's see how much of a good boy you really are when the whole world isn't watching."

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