04- BETRAYAL.

04- BETRAYAL.

Roxanne Flair.

The coughing fit tore through my chest, harsh and violent. I clutched the edge of the mahogany table, my vision blurring with tears as I tried to force air back into my lungs.

Directly across from me, the younger man didn't even bother to glance my way, let alone grab me a glass of water. He simply tracked a piece of salmon with his fork, his expression entirely deadpan, treating my distress like a minor background noise.

It was the elderly man sitting at the table, the man from the fucking VIP booth and the reason for my choking, who stepped in.

With a calm but commanding presence, he quickly passed a glass of ice-cold water into my trembling hands.

"Drink," he murmured softly, his voice carrying the quiet weight of someone used to being obeyed.

I took a desperate, shaking gulp. The cold liquid put out the fire in my throat, though it did absolutely nothing for the frantic, jackhammer rhythm of my heart. I wiped the moisture from my eyes and tried to steady my breathing.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice raw, looking over at him.

I glanced back over to the younger man, but he was already pushing his chair back. He quietly stood up, his posture rigid, and was completely about to excuse himself from the table when the dominant, heavy rumble of the man at the head of the table cut through the room.

"Lake."

The young man froze. He sat back down, his jaw tight and his expression returning to a complete, icy blank.

The elder patriarch turned his attention back to me, his expression calm and steady. "I apologize deeply for whatever distress or difficulty you experienced prior to your arrival here with us, dear."

I could only nod my head numbly, my hands still tightly clamped around the sweating glass of water.

Inside my mind, a frantic, desperate prayer was looping over and over: ‘Please don't let him recognize me. God, please, just let him think I'm someone else.’

And, miraculously, he was acting like he didn't. His dark eyes held mine with a smooth, unreadable calm. Maybe he truly didn't realize who I was.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself," the older man said, leaning back slightly, his broad shoulders filling the high-backed chair. "I am Alaric DeLuca. You may call me Ric."

A sudden, hot flush crept up my neck. I swore—I absolutely swore—I detected a faint, smoky trace of that dominant, slutty tone he had used when he fisted my hair in the booth last night. My stomach twisted into a tight, slick knot.

Before I could even process it, Alaric pointed over to the silent young man across from me. "And this is Lake DeLuca. My son. And your husband."

The name clicked with a sickening, heavy thud in my brain. DeLuca.

I recalled the DeLuca Corporation immediately—a massive, inescapable empire in New York City. They were a family whose multi-billionaire identity soaked through countless different industries and businesses. I had just been married into a dynasty that had absolutely no practical need for money.

I sat there, utterly paralyzed. I didn't even know if I should be grateful or not, because looking at the cold, hostile jerk across from me, and the hot patriarch who had wrecked my pussy last night as now my father-in-law, there were already a lot of things to be ungrateful for.

I forced my lips to move, flashing Lake an awkward, strained smile. But I couldn't stop my eyes from stealing frantic, sideways glances at Alaric out of the corner of my vision.

Yet, he wasn't acting like we had ever met before. The sheer normalcy of his behavior was now making me even more terrified. What was worse? The fact that my secret, degrading nightstand was my new father-in-law, or that an absolute asshole was my supposed husband?

Alaric finished his introduction, and as Lake once again made a subtle movement to excuse himself, Alaric’s voice dropped with a layer of ice.

"Do not be in such a rush today, Lake. Your wife is sitting directly before you."

Hearing that, the realization hit me like a slap. The father and son definitely had a deeply strained, volatile relationship.

‘I am completely doomed,’ I thought, staring down at the table. ‘I am caught right in the middle of whatever war this family is fighting.’

Alaric began to eat, his movements smooth and practiced. I picked up my fork, trying to mimic the motion, but I couldn't even taste the food. I watched Lake out of the corner of my eye as he kept aggressively digging his fork into his meal in complete silence.

Then, Alaric broke the quiet, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Did you encounter any difficulty when you got here last night, Roxanne ?"

My heart did a violent, fluttering leap in my chest, pounding even louder the moment I heard him speak again. Saying my name in particular.

I watched the sharp fabric of his tailored suit flex over his broad shoulders as he cut through his meal, and I instantly cussed myself quietly.

I was a disgusting, broken mess. How could I possibly be having these crazy feelings and ideas over a man old enough to be my father?

But a vicious, mocking voice snapped back in my head: But you let that same man old enough to be your father completely fuck you senseless last night. I almost choked on my food a second time.

Swallowing hard, I realized Alaric was still calmly waiting for an answer.

"N-no," I stuttered, the lingering anger from my apartment finally bubbling past my fear. "No difficulty. But... I do have a question."

I took a deep breath, looking straight at him. "Why did you think a human life was equivalent to a loan my stepdad had taken? How can you think it's okay to threaten a man's life over money, just to take his daughter like property?"

A sudden, sharp silence descended on the table.

I looked between them, expecting anger, but instead, I saw a flicker of genuine confusion cross both Alaric and Lake’s faces. Alaric set his utensils down, a small, faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Did you say the man was your stepdad?" Alaric asked, his tone perfectly calm.

To me, it felt like pure mockery. The humiliation of the entire night—the punches, the bruises, the feeling of being discarded—surged into my throat. My eyes filled with hot, angry tears. I was already getting enraged, about to go on a full rant that no matter how much loan my stepdad had taken, they weren't supposed to threaten his life or use me to settle it.

Alaric quietly smiled, his casual tone cutting me off before I could start. "It seems you are mistaken about something, Roxanne."

I blinked, my breath catching as he leaned forward slightly.

"We did not threaten anyone,"

Alaric told me, his voice entirely smooth.

"Your dad...or your supposed stepdad, was the one who did everything. He took a loan worth millions from the DeLuca Corporation banks, and he was the one who signed you over as the collateral. He explicitly offered that if he didn't pay up in two months, we should come get his daughter—to do whatever we wanted to do with you."

The words hit me like a physical blow to the stomach, knocking the remaining air entirely out of my lungs.

Kelvin hadn't been hunted down. He hadn't been forced. He had willingly walked into a bank, written my name on a line for collateral, and traded me away to protect his own skin.

Alaric saw the hot, heavy tears instantly swelling up in my eyes, and seeing my devastation, he quietly stopped talking, leaving me drowning in the brutal truth of my family's betrayal.