Chapter 5_Secrets

Arthur's POV

"Is this a joke?" she spat, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and disbelief. "Just say you want my body. Don't wrap it up in some twisted fantasy about a legacy. Men like you don’t want heirs; you want toys."

I leaned back, watching the way the moonlight caught the tears she refused to let fall. "No," I said, my voice dropping to a low rumble. "It’s something I’ve desired all my life."

"Then get a wife," she shot back, her eyes flashing with a defiance that made my blood sing.

I went quiet. The word wife felt foreign. "A wife..." I dragged the word out. "I don't need a wife Elira, but I give you my word: I’ll make them pay for every drop of blood they took from you. I’ll make them bleed for hurting you."

She didn't say another word. She turned her back on me, her shoulders stiff, and walked toward the staircase. I watched her climb, the sway of her hips a silent torture, until she disappeared into the shadows of the upper floor.

I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I was holding and headed to the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of water, the plastic crinkling under my grip, and downed half of it in one go before I heading back upstairs.

The next morning, I was already downstairs about leaving, as I caught the head of security near the entrance.

"Make sure she eats," I ordered, stopping just long enough to lock eyes with him.

I stepped out into the crisp morning air and into the waiting car. We drove through the city, towards the skyscraper that bore my name—the heart of Blackthorne, as I called it.

The door to my car was opened, and I stepped into the lobby. The atmosphere changed the second my boots hit the marble. Employees scurried, greetings were whispered like prayers, and a low hum of gossip followed in my wake.

Leo, my assistant met me at the automatic electronic passway. He began rattling off my routine as he swiped his access card through the glowing scanners while I listened.

I sat back in my chair, finally alone after Leo left, but the peace didn't last. The door opened and Lena walked in—the blonde I’d had in my bed just recently. I had fucked her so hard, my body moving with a violence I couldn't control, but I never reached the end. I couldn't cum. Not with Elira’s eyes on me.

"This is the file you requested, Mr. Blackthorne," she said, her voice dropping as she leaned over the desk.

She didn't just hand it to me; she made sure I saw everything. She leaned low, her busty cleavage nearly escaping the tightness of her shirt, the fabric straining against her skin like it was about to snap. She was practically begging for me to reach out and finish what we started, her body still warm and waiting for my touch.

I kept my face straight, my eyes locked on hers without a hint of emotion. "This is work, Lena," I said coldly.

She flinched, her face flushing a deep pink as she pulled back, murmuring an apology, after realizing I wasn't in the mood for her games. I knew she had a crush on me—who wouldn't? Every woman in this building wanted a piece of me. Except Lira. And that was the only thing that felt strange.

I took the file and stared at it. Lira’s documents were all there, already carrying my name: Blackthorne. She was officially my contract surrogate wife. I didn't need to be told twice that she’d accept the deal. Anyone with that much hunger for revenge would sign their soul away.

"You've done well, Lena," I said, my mind already moving. "Transfer all the documents of my fourth company to this name."

I was going to make her big. Bigger than anyone who had ever laid a hand on her. Meetings were held, million-dollar signatures were forged, and yet, the only thing I could think about was getting back to that house.

When I finally returned home, the sun had long since set. I bypassed the study and headed straight for my room, my tie already loosened around my neck.

I pushed the door open and stopped dead.

Elira was on my bed. She was wearing a nightwear set that was barely there—thin, black silk that did nothing to hide the curve of her hips or the way her round nipples pressed against the fabric.

My throat tightened. I felt my pulse jump, a heavy throb starting in my veins as my dick fought against the confines of my trousers. The scent of her—something like vanilla and rain—filled the room, making my head swim.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice coming out as a jagged rasp.

She sat up slowly, the silk sliding over her skin with a sound that made my skin itch. "You asked for an heir in exchange for my revenge, right?" She reached for the sleeveless strap of her gown, her fingers trembling just enough to show she wasn't as brave as she looked. She dragged it down, letting the fabric fall away from her shoulder. "I will give you what you want, and you'll grant me my wish."

I walked toward her, stopping only when I was an inch away. The heat coming off her was intoxicating. "You're not serious, are you?"

She didn't say a word. Instead, she let the gown fall completely. It pooled at her feet in a dark circle, revealing every inch of her bare body. She was beautiful—pale, scarred, and perfect. The sight of her made the pleasure consume my vision, my body screaming for me to take what was being offered.

She reached out, her fingers cold as she gripped my shirt, dragging me down onto the bed with her.

I was on top of her. Her naked breasts were inches from my chest, the peaks dark and inviting, wanting to be tasted. I grabbed both of her hands, pinning them above her head against the pillows. I wanted to devour her. I wanted to bury myself in her until we both forgot our names.

"Let's get it over with," she whispered. Her breath came out like a moan, but her body told a different story.

Her hands were shaking beneath mine. Her palms were sweaty, and in the depths of those pretty eyes, I saw it—a flicker of pure, unadulterated fear. She was doing this as a transaction. She was selling the last piece of herself to buy a death sentence for her enemies.

I’ve never been a moral man. I’ve taken what I wanted, when I wanted. But I couldn't do this. I didn't want a ghost beneath me. I didn't want her to fear my touch more than she feared the grave.

I released her hands abruptly. I grabbed the edge of the duvet and yanked it over her, covering that beautiful, trembling body. I stood up, turning my back to her so she wouldn't see the state I was in.

"Dress up," I said, my voice harsh with a frustration that bordered on pain.

"Why? I want this! Why are you stopping?" she cried out, her voice cracking.

"Elira," I growled, rubbing my hand over my face. "Dress up first. We’ll talk later. You’re not in your right mind."

"You promised!" she shouted.

She was delaying, not knowing that if she stayed naked one second longer, I would lose my mind and tear every piece of her apart with a hunger I couldn't control. I waited, listening to the rustle of clothes, the silence between us growing deafening. Finally, I turned back to meet her gaze.

She was dressed, but she wasn't empty-handed. She was holding a thick, white envelope she must have pulled from my nightstand drawer. My heart skipped a beat, then plummeted into my stomach.

"I saw this in your drawer," she said, her voice steady now, but dangerously quiet. "A medical report file. Is this why you said no? Are you sick or something?"

My blood turned to ice. I prayed to a God I didn't believe in that she hadn't opened it. That she hadn't seen the results from the specialist. The file that laid it all bare: *Permanent Infertility.* I couldn't give her an heir. I couldn't give anyone an heir. The "deal" was a lie—a way to keep her under my roof, a way to keep her close until I could figure out why the hell I was so obsessed with a woman I swore not to pity. If she found out, she’d realize I had no leverage. I’d lose her before I even had her.

She began to flip out the paper from the envelope, her eyes scanning the text.

"Don't," I whispered, but it was too late. The secret was out of the bag, and I was standing naked in a different way.