Taming the Panther

Drake wasn't about to settle for my silence. Slipping his hand under my clothes, he pressed closer, sending a surge of heat straight through me. My mind raced into complete chaos. Why wasn't I pushing him away?

"Jesus—Drake, stop! Shit!" I gasped, my chest heaving as his movements grew faster and more demanding.

"Relax, kitten," he growled, his voice thick with a dark, restless hunger. "Just let me take care of you."

If I didn't shut this down now, there was no way I'd be leaving this room before morning. Forcing down the panic, I dragged a shallow breath into my lungs and caught my grip on reality. Force wouldn't work on him; I had to use something else.

I reached up and took his face in both of my hands, forcing him to look directly at me.

"Drake, look at me," I said, my eyes locking onto his with absolute honesty. "I want you. I really do. But not like this. Not as some secret distraction from Jacob, and not until I am completely free."

He froze. Frustration flickered across his dark eyes, but beneath it sat something far deeper—a genuine, fierce devotion. Slowly, he backed off, respecting the line I had drawn.

Before stepping away entirely, he pulled me into a deep, fierce kiss that stole my breath, stopping only to help me adjust my clothes. He straightened my collar, but the suffocating weight of his presence remained.

"I'll play by your rules for now, kitten," he murmured, his cool breath brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck. "But if that bastard crosses my line, you'd better prepare yourself. I'll settle the score with you in bed. And Jacob? His time is running out. The second you finish collecting his debt, you'd better be ready."

A sudden shiver rippled across my skin. Before I could process the weight of his threat, he straightened up.

"Get some rest," he said, his tone instantly shifting back to business. "We have a meeting with your half-sister's rival soon."

He turned and walked out, leaving the room in silence.

I slumped back, letting out a long breath. Slapping my cheeks, I tried to shake off the lingering warmth of his touch. Get it together, Aurelia. Are you really this easy to shake?

Images of what had almost happened kept spinning through my mind until my eyes finally grew heavy, and exhaustion took over.

When I woke an hour later, the reality of being reborn hit me all over again. I was alive. A chilling smirk played on my lips.

After quickening my pace in the bathroom to tidy up, I stepped out to find Drake waiting near the door, perfectly tailored and composed.

"You're awake," he said coolly. "Let's head out."

His tone was completely professional—almost distant. Was he pulling back because of what I had said earlier? Annoyance flickered in my chest, but I caught myself. Stop being ridiculous. This is exactly what you asked for. I pushed the petty thoughts aside, adopting the same calm demeanor.

"Let's go," I replied.

As we walked down the hall, I paused. "How are we getting there? This place is nowhere near a main transit line."

Drake's lips twitched into a quiet smirk. "Relax. I took care of it."

Right on cue, the low hum of an engine echoed from the driveway. Outside, a sleek dark van was idling near the steps.

"Uncle Max?" Drake called out as the driver stepped down. "Look at you. Still as sharp as ever."

The older man blinked, wiping at the corners of his eyes. "Drake? It really is you! When the master told me he needed over, I thought I was just picking up old files. I had no idea..." His eyes shifted toward me, narrowing slightly in recollection. "Wait... is this...?"

"Uncle Max, it's been so long," I said, offering him a warm, familiar smile. "How have you been?"

Recognition washed over his face. "Little Aurelia! Look at you... Ah, if your mother were still here, Drake, she'd be overjoyed to see the two of you together again."

A heavy silence settled over us at the mention of the past. Sensing the shift, I stepped in quickly to keep us moving. "We should probably get going. We have a busy schedule today."

The two-hour drive to the city passed in quiet reflection. Looking out the window, I thought about Drake's mother. Like mine, she had passed away when he was just eight years old. I didn't know every detail surrounding her death, but I knew the shadow it had left on him.

We finally pulled up to 42 Redchurch Street in London—a high-end, creative district lined with private galleries and studios where serious art collectors did business.

"Vivian certainly knows how to choose a location," I remarked, taking in the sleek architecture.

Inside, a refined receptionist intercepted us before we could reach the lifts. "Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment with Ms. Vivian?"

"Could you inform her that Aurelia Mercer is here?" I asked politely. "She'll know why I'm here."

The receptionist nodded, making a brief internal call. Within moments, she gestured toward the elevator. "Floor three. You may go right up."

The elevator doors opened to a spacious, sunlit studio filled with the sharp smell of oil paint and turpentine. Masterpieces in various stages of completion rested on easels throughout the room.

From behind a large canvas, a sharp voice called out. "Well, well, well. Aren't you that thief's worthless sister, Chloe? State your business."

"Give me five minutes, Vivian," I said, matching her cold tone with steady composure. "I have a proposal you'll find hard to turn down."

Vivian stepped out, wiping paint from her hands, her eyes filled with obvious disdain. "A proposal? From you? Everyone knows Chloe is the talent in your family, while you're just... background noise."

"The name is Aurelia Mercer," I corrected sharply. "The sole legitimate heir. And that 'background noise' label was nothing more than a narrative my father built to elevate his favorite daughter."

A short, dry laugh escaped Vivian's lips. "You've got more backbone than the rumors suggest. Fine. Five minutes. Convince me."

"Simple," I said, stepping closer. "I'm here to offer you an alliance to drag Chloe off her pedestal. In exchange for your help exposing her as a fraud, I will fund you the Paris showcase that was stolen from you—backed by the full weight of the Mercer estate and elite European buyers."

Drake stepped up beside me, his presence heavy and imposing. "Financial and legal resources won't be an issue. You focus on the art; we handle the rest."

Vivian looked between the two of us, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across her face. "Now that is an offer. Count me in, Ms. Mercer."

Over the next half hour, we laid out the groundwork for Paris.

"So, who's your muscle?" Vivian asked casually, glancing at Drake. "I know he isn't that boyfriend the tabloids keep pairing with Chloe."

"This is Drake Monteverde," I replied. "Head of Monteverde Legal."

"The wild prince turned attorney?" Vivian chuckled, fascinated. "Are you doing this out of professional interest, Mr. Monteverde?"

Drake didn't take the bait, merely offering a dark, knowing smile that made the heat rise back before my cheeks could flush.

"Back to the strategy," I interrupted, bringing the focus back to the table. "While Chloe prepares to accept her featured artist award in Paris, we will launch a surprise tribute reel honoring my late mother's unreleased archives—"

A phone buzzed violently on the glass table.

Caller ID: David

I picked it up, putting it on speaker just in time to hear my father's furious voice bark through the line.

"Where the hell are you?! It's past dark! Get back to the estate immediately. I've set up an emergency dinner with Valerie and Chloe to settle your mother's estate details. Do not keep us waiting!"

The line went dead.

I looked at the black screen, then turned to Drake with a cold, sharp smile. "It looks like it's time to play the dutiful daughter one last time."