Chapter 5

The dining room was massive, lit by a crystal chandelier that felt more like an interrogation light than a decorative fixture.

The long mahogany table could have easily seated twenty people, but tonight, there were only three place settings.

Arthur was already seated at the head of the table, reading a leather-bound folder.

When we walked in, he didn’t even look up right away. He just pointed a long, manicured finger at the chair immediately to his right.

"Sit here, Roxy," he commanded, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.

I swallowed hard and walked over, the thick knit of my burgundy dress clinging to my thighs with every step.

I sat down, smoothing the fabric over my lap, trying to make myself look as small as possible. But when you’re built like me, taking up space is just a fact of life.

Leo pulled out the chair directly across from me and sat down, his pale blue eyes locking onto mine with a dark, amused glint.

He looked perfectly relaxed, but I could see the tight, angry line of his jaw. He knew exactly what had happened in the hallway, and he knew exactly what his father had whispered in my ear.

"Thank you for a lovely meal, Mrs. Gable," Arthur said as the housekeeper placed a steaming plate of filet mignon in front of him. He finally looked up, his icy gaze sweeping over me.

"Eat, Roxy. You’re far too thin, and I won’t have my wife’s daughter looking frail in my house."

I almost choked on my own spit. *Too thin?* I was literally spilling out of my dress, my heavy breasts resting against the edge of the table, my thick thighs pressing together under the wood.

But I just nodded, picking up my fork. "Thank you, Arthur."

For the first few minutes, the only sounds were the clinking of silverware and the quiet pouring of wine.

The food was incredible, but my stomach was tied in such a tight knot I could barely swallow.

Then, Arthur’s left hand dropped below the table.

I froze, my fork hovering halfway to my mouth. His large, heavy hand landed right on my bare thigh, just above the hem of my dress.

The heat of his palm seared right through the thin fabric, and his long fingers immediately curled around the soft, plush flesh of my inner leg.

"Is the steak to your liking?" he asked, his voice smooth and perfectly polite, as if he wasn’t currently gripping my thigh like it was his personal stress ball.

"Yes," I squeaked out, my voice an octave higher than normal. "It’s delicious."

His thumb started to move. He traced slow, deliberate circles on my sensitive skin, inching just a fraction higher with every pass.

A hot, embarrassing flush of arousal pooled low in my belly, making my nipples pebble against the tight knit of my dress.

I squeezed my thighs together, trying to trap his hand, but he just chuckled softly, a dark, vibrating sound that I felt in my chest.

"Relax, sweetheart," he murmured, taking a slow sip of his red wine. "You’re tense."

Across the table, Leo’s fork scraped loudly against his porcelain plate.

He didn’t look up, but his knuckles were white where he was gripping his silverware. He could see the flush on my cheeks.

He could see the way my chest was heaving.

He knew exactly what his father was doing to me under the table, and the sheer, helpless jealousy radiating off him was almost enough to make me dizzy.

"It seems we’re missing one tonight," Arthur said casually, cutting into his meat. He didn't even glance at Leo. "My eldest son, Damian, decided to skip dinner. He’s handling some... delicate security matters downtown."

My heart literally skipped a beat.

*Damian.*

My mind instantly flashed back to the dark, smoky VIP suite at the club.

The tattooed, leather-clad guy who had wrecked me just twelve hours ago. *Security matters downtown?* Was the guy from last night in trouble? Was he hurt? A sudden, sharp spike of worry hit me, completely overriding my panic about Arthur’s hand.

"Damian is always late," Leo said, his voice tight and clipped. He finally looked up, his pale eyes glaring at his father.

"He doesn't respect the schedule, Arthur. Maybe he’s too busy playing in the gutters to remember how to act like a Sterling."

Arthur’s hand on my thigh suddenly clamped down, his fingers digging into my soft flesh hard enough to make me gasp.

The casual, polite mask didn't slip, but his eyes turned pitch black.

"Damian is my son, Leo," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a deadly, quiet register that made the air in the room feel freezing.

"And he does his job. Unlike you, who spends his days playing CEO in a suit he hasn't earned. Don't speak about your brother when you're sitting at my table."

Leo’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might shatter.

He looked away, staring down at his plate, his chest rising and falling with heavy, angry breaths.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I sat there, trapped between a step-father who was slowly sliding his hand up my inner thigh, and a step-brother who was looking at me like he wanted to burn the house down.

Arthur’s fingers brushed against the damp lace of my panties right below the table.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound, my toes curling in my heels. He was doing this on purpose.

He was marking me, showing his son exactly who I belonged to, right in the middle of a family dinner.

"Finish your wine, Roxy," Arthur said smoothly, finally pulling his hand out from under the table and picking up his own glass.

He looked at me, a wicked, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "You’re going to need your energy. After dinner, you’re coming to my study. We need to discuss your new... curfew."

Leo’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock and fury. "Father, she’s an adult. You can’t just lock her in her room."

Arthur took a slow sip of his wine, his icy eyes locking onto his son. "I can do whatever the hell I want in my house, Leo. And since she’s living under my roof, eating my food, and wearing my clothes... she follows my rules." He turned his gaze back to me, his voice softening into that terrifying, possessive purr. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

I looked at Leo’s furious face, then back at Arthur’s dominant, unyielding stare.

My body was still humming with the dirty, taboo friction from under the table, my mind a chaotic mess of fear and arousal.

"Yes, Arthur," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He smiled, a dark, satisfied curve of his lips. "Good girl."