02- kiss of poison

Penelope's POV:

In three hours I had two breakdowns, drank a full bottle of wine, and got divorce papers drawn up.

Seraphina was adamant. “I have two billion. I can take some extra jobs, anything at all to raise more. How much do you have now?”

I tell her it's pointless, I can't take her money. But she's not listening.

Her mom's lawyer showed up minutes later and ran down everything I needed to know. I didn't tell him about the contract. I smiled and took the papers.

And I couldn't tell her everything.

That contract saved my family. It took us out of the hands of loan sharks and catapulted us into luxury. There's no telling what the Halsteads would do if I try to divorce their golden son. They'll kill me, that's for sure.

Currently, I'm back home. I lay in bed in the guest room, reading through the divorce agreements, and wondering what Charles was doing.

He was gone when I returned, same with Calypso. The house was void of any evidence of them. Our bedroom had the sheets changed, and there wasn't a whiff of her perfume in the air.

Clinical. No wonder I never suspect anything. They were pros at this.

“I've been searching all over for you,”

I scream and spin around, my heart lodging into my mouth. Charles, who was hovering above me, looks taken aback, his eyes widening a fraction.

“What has got you so occupied that you didn't hear me come in?” He asks, a boyish smile on his lips. His eyes move to the papers and I immediately shove them under the pillow and he reaches for it. “What's this?”

“It's work stuff,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. Shit! He almost saw it! “You're back early,” I say in an attempt to change the topic.

He leans down and kisses me before I could reply. “I missed you,”

My brain hangs.

He missed me? The words elicit a mixture of anger and sadness inside me. Barely four hours ago he was fuckin my sister.

Looking at his face, I realise how much of a fool he must have pegged me for. How confident he was in knowing that I'll never suspect a thing.

My teeth sink into my lower lip. He must have mistaken it for desire, because he's kissing me again.

His hands tug at the hem of my nightdress. He sucks on my lip, tasting the blood from when I bit myself too hard. He pushes me into the mattress, his weight resting over me. His erection presses into my thigh and he groans.

“I missed you so fucking much,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down my neck and to my collarbones. He inhales sharply, and his hands move under my nightdress and up my thighs.

I shiver and clench my hands into fists, only because I want to slam them into his head and scream at him to get his cheating lips away from me.

I turn away from the kiss and resist the urge to wipe my lips. “I can't. Sorry,” despite the anger booking in my heart like lava, my voice comes out a weak whisper.

He cups the side of my face and makes me look at him. His eyes are worried, and the apples of his cheeks are dusted a faint pink hue. He looks convincing. If I hadn't caught him earlier I would have thought wow, this man really fucking loves me.

“What's the matter, love?”

My heart folds in on itself like crumpled paper. I slap his hand off my face and turn away so he won't see my trembling lips and teary eyes. “I'm tired. I want to sleep.”

He smiles warmly and drops a kiss on my forehead. “Of course. You just returned from Milan. You should rest.”

I choke on a sob. He should win an oscar for his phenomenal acting. “Sure,” I mumble and lay back on the bed. I think he'll leave, but instead he snuggles close to me.

“I got something for you.” He whispers, stroking my arm. “I'll give it to you tomorrow, okay?”

A gift. One for each time he fucks Calypso. If I sell all of them, how much can I raise? Enough to get me out of this marriage?

“Thanks,”

“You're cold to me today, love.” His breath hitches as he ruts his dick into my ass. “Perhaps you should stop working, it's draining you.”

“I like working,” it's all I was raised to do. It's all I've done for 26 years.

The divorce papers seem to hum under my pillow. It's as if they're alive, begging for my attention.

The tears silently fall. I bite my tongue so I don't mistakenly make a noise.

Charles kisses the nape of my neck, his hips moving faster as he grinds my ass. “My parents want us for dinner tomorrow.” he says.

Bile rises in my throat as his breathing gets heavier. “Tomorrow is our anniversary.”

“I know love, I'm so sorry. But we really need to attend this dinner. I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

I open my mouth to reply, but I'm silenced by his hand snaking around me and grabbing my breast. A moan slips out of my lips, and I feel him smirk into my skin.

I hate how it makes my thighs clench. I hate how good it feels. I hate how he knows exactly how to touch me.

I hate him. The tears come, soaking my pillow, all while he lifts my leg, touching me and kissing my shoulder.

When he pushes up my nightgown, I don't fight him. He knows how to make me feel good, and soon I'm lost in him and forget my anger.

**

The next day I'm regretting attending the family dinner.

Charles's gift rests between my breasts. It seems he had settled on emeralds encrusted with diamonds. Classy. I noticed his mother's eyes darting to it occasionally.

“I hear you've performed exceptionally well at work,” Mrs Halstead says in a detached tone.

Her disdain for me is plain on her face. I know she never liked me. A commoner married to her golden son. Scandalous.

"Although we're not close to beating the Thalorians yet, you're doing a good job." She adds coldly.

“Yes, mom. Penelope is my eyes and ears. I can't do anything without her,” Charles says before I can reply, his hand resting on my knee. He flashes me a brilliant smile and I'm forced to smile back.

Eyes and ears. An overworked assistant is what he means to say.

“And you're treating my son well.” His father says. Charles has his eyes, but his father's are wiser and more cruel. He's never been anything but nice to me. Kind, but distant. Even now he beams at me and gestures to my plate, which I have barely taken a bite out of.

“Although we are yet to see the fruit of your marriage,” his mother says, clicking her tongue twice. She scans me from top to bottom and scoffs. “It's been two years now? When are you having kids?”

“Mom,” Charles says playfully. "You're making her shy."

“Today is our fourth anniversary, Mrs Halstead." I cut in, my annoyance spiking through the roof. "And if we weren't here enjoying your delicious wagyu, then Charles and I would have been trying for a child right now.”

Charles squeezes my knee. “Love, please, we're at the table.”

Mrs Halstead blinks in shock, her face stony. She grips her fork, the veins in her hand popping. Mr Halstead burst out laughing.

“You never fail to amuse me, child,” he raises his wine glass to me. “Darling, give them some time. We'll have grandkids soon enough,”

I smile and raise my glass. A spark of satisfaction lights in my stomach. I feel Charles's intense gaze burning the side of my head. I sip the wine and it tastes even better.

“Sir you're not allowed in here! Sir!” A loud shout shatters the tense atmosphere at the dinner table.

The Halsteads perk up. I turn to the source of the commotion. A servant walks into the dining, back first, arms raised up and face filled with dread. She's trying to stop someone from coming in, and that someone doesn't mind.

A man walks in. He grabs her shoulder and shoves her to the side. “I'm sure Mrs Halstead won't mind,” the voice that speaks is low, gravely, and full of dark appeal. My stomach flips.

A wine glass shatters.

“That fucking mutt,” Charles growls under his breath.

The servant turns to us, despair plain on her face. Then she bows and hurries off.

“Pardon my interruption,” he holds a small black kitten to his chest. “I was occupied with something.”

The man is insanely attractive. Tall, broad, and looking like a greek god come to life. He's dressed in a black suit, long black hair tied in a man bun. His dark green eyes sweep over the dining table, lingering on me a second longer. His gaze burns into me, stealing all the breath from my lungs.

He looks like temptation, danger, and lust rolled into one dark package. Who is this?

“What are you doing here?” Mrs Halstead spits, anger dripping from her voice. “You aren't welcome here anymore.”

He smirks, and I see a flash of a pointy canine. "Having a family dinner without me?" He asks. His deep, smooth voice raises goosebumps on my skin. No one has the right to sound so ridiculously sexy. "That's not very nice of you, mother."