She takes a deep, shaky breath, and lets it out.
“Okay. I’ll stay. But you’ll regret it.”
She’s right, I will regret it, but she doesn’t understand why.
Chapter 5
Marie
I wake in my boss’s extra bedroom with its attached bathroom and all its amenities like I’m in some kind of hotel or like he’s used to having overnight guests at the last minute.
How the hell can my life get any worse?
At least the door is closed and locked.
I roll onto my side and stare at my phone. I haven’t turned it on since shutting it down in a fit of fury the night before and I don’t want to, not right now. The sheets are butter soft and the bed is like a cloud, and the clock says it’s a little past seven. I slept later than I wanted to, but I’m so damn warm and comfortable, and I don’t want to face the world.
Everything out there is bleak, and it’s only going to get worse.
The backlash has been fast and severe. Half the people commenting on Bella Baby’s feed think I’m a liar, and the other half think I should be murdered real slow for airing something so ugly about a “great man” like William.
It makes me sick.
Losing most of my so-called “friends” wasn’t a big surprise. As soon as my engagement to William was announced, suddenly everyone wanted to hang out and invite me to parties. I swear, I got like fifty invitations to different events that first week alone, and they kept coming. It was like suddenly, just because I was engaged to a Crawford, I was worth something.
I’ll admit it was exciting at first. I enjoyed the attention and liked having something to do. But soon it became obvious I didn’t matter beyond arm-candy for William, because half the time he didn’t come with me to the events, and nobody gave a damn when I was there without him. It was like my entire life revolved around William and the Crawford family, and I was only an afterthought.
No, losing those leeches is fine. Whatever, I’ll survive. My social calendar will be quieter, but I’ll figure out who my real friends are.
It’s my father’s rage that’s killing me.
He hates me. Really, I think he wants to kill me as much as William does. The rage-texts he sent are horrifying, even for a man that spent my whole life dictating where I went and what I did. He’s always been controlling, but this is another level of intense, and I don’t know what I’m going to do when I leave this place and walk-of-shame out into the world.
I close my eyes and think back to that moment by the fire and the way Ansell looked at me. He had his usual coldness, his chilly intensity, but the fire was closer to the surface. His hands were strong, and rough, and warm, and his body felt so good when he pulled me against him, and his thick, hard cock twitched against my stomach and I swear I thought he was going to tear me in half with that thing, and some part of me wanted him to.
Then the way he looked at me, and the way he spoke to me. Like he thought it was sexy that I was a crying mess.
I don’t know how to feel about it. I mean, obviously, it’s psychotic—
But I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
The intensity of his stare and his pure, animalistic need to dominate me. To take me, kiss hurt, maybe even hurt me more before giving me the release I need. A man like Ansell will destroy me if I let him, and he’ll enjoy every moment of my demise.
I’m not sure who’s worse, William or Ansell.
But the answer’s obvious.
William will kill me from rage.
Ansell will kill me from pleasure.
I’d rather die coming than strangled.
It’s not a real choice. That was only one strange moment of weakness between us. He found me attractive and acted on that need, and I was vulnerable enough to go along with it. We both know it was wrong and it definitely won’t happen again. I mean, Ansell isn’t stupid—why would he get involved with someone like me, now of all times?
He’d practically invite the Crawford family to burn him to the ground.
I get up and clean myself off the best I can even though I’m stuck wearing the same clothes from the night before. I want to shower, but there’s no towel, probably to discourage guests from staying too long. I smile to myself—Ansell’s a bachelor and always will be.
Any ideas I might have about getting entangled with that man are pure, sick, twisted fantasy.
Besides, he terrifies me. The rumors about him are horrible, and if even half of them are true, he’s as dangerous as the Crawfords. Possibly even worse. I shiver at thought of kissing that man, that gangster and psychopath, and do my best to put a good face on.