Chapter 19: The Limousine Confrontation

[ DAVID'S POV ]

Julian’s last words kept playing on a loop in my head, loud and dirty, echoing over and over in my mind long after he turned his back and disappeared into the crowd. Are you sure she belongs to you, David? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like your little bird is already looking for a way out of the cage. Every time I remembered his voice, the anger in my chest got tighter until I could barely breathe.

I stood perfectly still by the champagne fountain for a long minute, my jaw clamped so tight it hurt my head. I wanted nothing more than to grab Samantha and pull her away right then, but the cold truth forced me to stop. We were standing in a room full of hundreds of rich people, business partners, and reporters. One bad move, one angry action, and the news would ruin the Kingsley name by morning. I couldn't hurt her or make a scene in front of so many people. I had to wait. Every bit of the anger burning inside me had to stay hidden until we were totally alone.

So, I put the fake mask back on.

I didn't grab her waist or pull her roughly through the room. Instead, I just stepped up next to her, gave Julian a cold nod as he walked away, and acted like a calm, powerful husband.

For the next twenty long minutes, I kept her close to my side as the party finally came to an end. The guests were all leaving, walking toward the big exit doors. I walked right next to her, passing by groups of rich men and politicians, nodding and smiling while my chest burned. Every fake smile I gave to an investor felt like a knife twisting in my stomach. Samantha walked next to me like a shadow, moving quietly and saying nothing, showing no warmth at all. To everyone else, we just looked like a calm, successful couple going home after a long night.

"Your car is at the front, Mr. Kingsley," the security guy whispered, opening a path through the big glass doors.

The front driveway was a total mess. Tons of reporters, photographers, and bloggers were lined up behind the metal rails, waiting to get the last pictures of the night. The moment we stepped outside, the dark night exploded into a bright wall of white light.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

The cameras went completely crazy. The reporters started shouting over each other, throwing loud, angry questions about our wedding and the family business.

"David! Over here! Give us a smile!"

"Samantha! Look this way!"

I didn't stop walking. I kept my head up, my face locked in the perfect, loving husband expression I had practiced a thousand times. I raised my hand, waving at the press, acting like the luckiest man alive. I opened the door of the waiting black limousine myself, letting her slide into the back seat first, holding my hand over her head to shield her from the flashing lights for the cameras.

But the exact second the heavy limousine door clicked shut, the fake show broke into pieces.

The thick glass instantly shut out the shouting press and the bright lights, leaving the inside of the car in a dark, heavy silence. The glass window separating us from the driver was rolled all the way up, completely blocking him out and trapping the two of us in the small leather space. The engine started up, and the big car smoothly pulled away from the sidewalk, speeding fast into the dark city streets.

We hadn't even gone past the first block before the fight broke wide open. The control I had forced myself to keep at the party snapped completely.

"What the hell did he say to you?" I snapped, the fake smile dropping off my face so fast it hurt. I turned in my seat to face her, the anger I had been holding in for the last hour exploding out of me. "What did Julian Vance say to you by that fountain, Samantha?"

Samantha didn't even turn her head to look at me. She just sat there against the opposite door, her eyes looking out the dark window, watching the streetlights flash past in long, yellow lines. Her silence only made the fire in my stomach burn hotter.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" I yelled, my voice loud against the tight leather seats. "He was whispering in your ear. I saw him. I saw the way he looked at you, and I saw what he did. Don't play dumb with me. What did he put in your hand? What are the two of you doing?"

"Nothing, David," she said, her voice completely quiet, flat, and totally empty of any feeling. She didn't even blink. "We weren't doing anything."

"You're a liar!" The word ripped out of my throat, rough and full of pure, angry jealousy. The picture of Julian’s lips touching her ear flashed through my mind again, blinding me with a sudden, violent wave of anger. The thought of his hands on her, of him offering her a way out, drove me crazy. "He was touching you. He was stepping into my space, talking about leaving doors open for you. You think I didn't hear him? You think I'm blind to what's happening right under my nose?"

My movements were sudden, rough, and driven by pure adrenaline. I lunged across the small space between the seats, my big body completely blocking hers. Before she could even move or raise her hands to stop me, I pushed her deep into the corner of the leather seat.

I grabbed both of her wrists in my tight grip, ignoring the rest of the champagne that spilled out of her glass onto the floor, and pinned them flat against the dark leather right beside her head.

I leaned down until I was inches away from her face, my chest moving up and down as I breathed the same tight air. My eyes were completely red, strained from the heavy pressure of the anger boiling inside my head. I wanted to panic. I wanted to see fear, tears, anything to show me that she was still alive in there, anything to prove that Julian hadn't completely gotten to her.

"What were you doing with my rival?" I demanded, my voice dropping into a low, scary growl close to her skin. "Tell me the truth, Samantha. What the hell were you plotting with Julian Vance?"

I stared down at her, my heart beating violently in my ears, waiting for her to explode or fight back.

But she didn't. Samantha didn't fight back. She didn't twist her wrists against my heavy fingers, and she didn't try to kick me off her. Her body stayed completely loose under mine, sinking right into the expensive leather cushion.

She slowly turned her head, moving her eyes away from the window to look straight into my face. But her eyes were totally empty. It was like looking into two dead glass windows. There was no fire in them, no anger, no fear. There was absolutely nothing left inside her. She looked right through my red eyes, watching my angry face as if I were a total stranger, a ghost, or a piece of furniture.

The car shook a little as it sped through the dark night, the quiet sound of the tires the only noise filling the tight space between our faces. My knuckles turned completely white from holding her down so hard, but she didn't even move from the pain.

Slowly, her dry lips opened. She didn't shout at me. She didn't even raise her voice to match my anger. Instead, she just let out a cold, soft breath, the words falling out of her mouth like heavy rocks into the tiny space separating our lips.

"You told me I don't exist," she whispered, her voice completely dead, flat, and empty of any human warmth. "Why do you care who speaks to a ghost?"