Chapter 11 Samantha
SAMANTHA
Three days of avoiding eye contact should qualify me for an Olympic sport.
I’ve perfected the art of entering rooms only after checking who’s already there. Mastered the timing of meals so I’m either early or late, never overlapping with all three of them at once. My book collection has tripled because the library is my safest hiding spot.
But I can’t hide from my phone.
Robert: Haven’t heard from you in days. What’s happening?
I stare at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
What’s happening? Well, Robert, I’ve slept with my ex-boyfriend’s father in his office, and then his brother in the pool house, and I’m currently having a minor existential crisis about whether I’m the worst person alive or just spectacularly bad at revenge plots.
Me: Everything’s fine. The blizzard has everyone snowed in. The gala is tonight.
Robert: The gala is perfect. You’ll meet their business associates. Pay attention to conversations. Names, deals, anything useful.
Me: I will.
I won’t. Or I will, but not for the reasons he thinks.
Robert: Have you learned anything about their operations? The money movements I asked about?
My fingers freeze. I should tell him about the encrypted messages I’ve seen on Donovan’s laptop.
But I don’t.
Me: Nothing concrete yet. I’ll keep looking.
When did I start lying to Robert? When did I start protecting the people I’m supposed to be destroying?
I toss my phone onto the bed and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
Who even am I anymore?
A knock at my door saves me from spiraling further.
“Come in.”
One of the housekeeping staff enters, carrying a garment bag. “Mr. Hale asked me to bring this for you. For tonight’s gala.” She hangs it on the closet door and leaves before I can ask which Mr. Hale sent it.
I unzip the bag slowly.
The dress is stunning. Deep bloodred silk that catches the light. Simple cut, and full, elegant without trying too hard.
There’s a note pinned to the hanger in handwriting I recognize as Grant’s.
You’ll need something appropriate for tonight. - G
I run my fingers over the silk and try not to think about how he knew my exact size.
White lights are everywhere at the main resort. Garlands wrapped around every surface. A massive Christmas tree in the lobby that has to be twenty feet tall. Tables draped in cream linens, crystal everywhere, staff in formal uniforms moving through the crowd with champagne.
The guests are wealthy, polished, and the kind of people who winter in Aspen and summer in the Hamptons.
I spot Grant across the room, deep in conversation with two men in tuxedos. He looks devastating in all black, with his silver hair perfectly styled, commanding attention without even trying.
As if sensing my stare, he looks up. Our eyes meet across the crowd.
He excuses himself from his conversation and walks toward me with that confident stride that makes people move out of his way without him having to ask.
“Samantha.” His voice is warm. “You look incredible.”
“The dress is beautiful. Thank you.”
“It suits you.” He offers his arm. “Come. There are people you should meet.”
I take his arm, and I’m hyperaware of the warmth of his body through the fabric of his jacket.
He guides me through the crowd, stopping at different clusters of guests. Each time, he introduces me the same way. “This is Samantha Allen. She’s under Hale protection.”
Not my son’s ex-girlfriend. Not a guest.
Under Hale protection.
The phrase carries weight I don’t fully understand, but I see the effect it has on people. They smile, straighten, and treat me with immediate respect.
One woman in diamonds actually looks impressed. “How lovely. Grant doesn’t extend protection often.”
“Samantha is special,” Grant says simply, and his hand finds the small of my back.
We move through the party like that. His hand never leaves me as he introduces me to business associates, rival families, and people whose names I recognize from Forbes lists.
Donovan appears at some point, looking sharp in a charcoal suit. He joins our conversation circle seamlessly, and when Grant steps away to speak with someone else, Donovan slides into his place.
“Having fun?” he asks, voice low.
“I’m surviving.”
“You’re doing better than surviving. Half the room can’t stop staring at you.”
“That’s the dress.”
“No. No.” His hand brushes mine, quick and deliberate. “It’s all you, Samantha.”
Before I can respond, Kai materializes with two champagne flutes. “Thought you might need this.” He hands me one, grinning. “You look like you’re at a funeral instead of a party.”
“I’m just not used to this.” I gesture vaguely at the opulence.
“Stick with me. I’ll make it interesting.” He winks, and I catch Donovan rolling his eyes.
The three of them rotate around me throughout the evening. Never all at once, but there’s always one of them nearby. Touching my arm. Refilling my champagne. Making sure I’m never alone in the crowd.
Around ten, the party is in full swing. A live band plays jazz standards. People are dancing. The champagne is flowing freely.
Kai appears at my elbow. “Dance with me.”
“I don’t really—”
“It wasn’t a question.” He takes my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor.
We sway to the music, his hand on my waist, mine on his shoulder. He’s a better dancer than I expected. Smooth. Confident.
“You’ve been avoiding us,” he says.
“I’ve been giving you space.”
“We don’t want space.” His hand slides lower on my back. “We want you.”
My breath catches. “Kai—”
“Come with me.” He’s moving, pulling me off the dance floor, through the crowd, down a hallway I didn’t know existed.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere private.”
He stops at a door marked with a discreet placard that just says “Crimson.” He pushes it open and pulls me inside.
The room is intimate with deep red walls. Velvet furniture. Mood lighting that makes everything feel like a dream.
A private room. For exactly this kind of thing.
“Welcome to the Crimson Room,” he says, voice low. “We like to be prepared.”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
He steps in, crowding me against the wall, palms flat on either side of my head.
“Kai, we can’t—”
“Why not?” He backs me against the wall, hands on either side of my head. “Give me one good reason.”
I should have dozens. This is his family’s resort. There are hundreds of guests outside. Anyone could walk in.
But with him this close, smelling like expensive cologne and danger, I can’t think of a single one.
“Still with me, gorgeous?”
I nod. Barely.
He kisses me slow and filthy, tongue sliding against mine until my knees feel weak. Then he sinks down, hands dragging the silk of my dress up my thighs, bunching it at my waist.
Cool air hits my skin. Lace panties. Thigh-high stockings. He exhales like he’s been starving. “Fuck, look at you.”
One of my legs gets hooked over his shoulder. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of my thigh, then drags his tongue over the lace covering me.
I whimper.
He hooks the lace aside with his teeth and licks me bare, one long, flat stroke that makes my hips jerk.
“Oh, God, Kai—”
Another lick. Slower. Deliberate.
“You taste better than I dreamed,” he murmurs against me. “Been thinking about this since the first night you walked in here.”
He circles my clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing, then sucks gently. My hands fly to his hair.
“Kai…please…”
“Please what, baby?” He looks up, eyes wicked. “Tell me.”
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He groans like I just handed him a gift and dives back in. Tongue flicking fast, lips sealing around my clit, sucking in perfect rhythm. Every time I try to rock against him, he pins my hips to the wall, so I have to take exactly what he gives.
I hear voices in the hallway, heels clicking past the door, muffled laughter, and it only makes me wetter.
His hands slide under my ass, lifting me slightly so he can get deeper. The flat of his tongue presses hard, relentless.
“Come on my tongue,” he growls against me. “Be a good girl for me.”
The words snap something inside me.
“Kai—fuck—I’m—”
I come hard, thighs shaking around his head, a broken cry ripping out of me. I slap a hand over my mouth at the last second, but it’s too late. The sound still echoes.
He doesn’t stop. He licks me through every aftershock until I’m trembling, oversensitive, begging in breathless little gasps. Only then does he stand, slow and smug, mouth shiny with me. He kisses me deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
I reach for his belt, desperate, fingers fumbling.
He catches my wrists, pins them above my head with one hand, grinning like the devil. “Not yet,” he says. “I want you desperate for it.”
He drops to his knees again just long enough to slide my lace panties down my legs. He stands, tucks them into his pocket, and pats the fabric with a wink. “These are mine now. You’re going back out there bare under this dress. Every step you take, you’ll feel me.”
My breath hitches. “You’re evil.”
“You love it.”
He smooths my dress down, fixes a stray hair, then opens the door and checks the hallway.
When he turns back, his hand settles low on my back, fingers brushing the curve of my ass. “Walk slow, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I want you dripping down your thighs while you smile at all those boring rich people.”
I step into the hallway on shaky legs, the cool silk of the dress sliding against bare skin, and I know I’m completely fucked.
In the best possible way.
We make our way back to the main party. I’m trying to look normal, composed, like I wasn’t just falling apart in a private room.
But the second we enter, I see Grant. He’s standing near the bar with Donovan, and his eyes find mine immediately. There’s heat there.
He knows.
He crosses the room in long strides, and before I can process what’s happening, he pulls me into a hug.
It’s not a casual hug. It’s intimate. His arms wrap around me fully, pulling me flush against his body. I can feel every inch of him, including the hardness pressing against my lower stomach.
Oh God.
“Having fun?” he murmurs against my hair.
I can barely breathe. “Yes.”
“Good.” His hands slide down my back, dangerously low, before he finally releases me.
I’m still trying to recover when Donovan appears.
“My turn.” He leans in, and I think he’s going for my cheek. But his lips land so close to the corner of my mouth that it’s almost a kiss.
He pulls back with a slight smile, his hand lingering on my waist.
I’m dizzy. Overwhelmed. Completely out of my depth.
The three of them are doing this. Here. In front of everyone.
Grant’s possessive hug. Donovan’s almost-kiss. Kai’s hand hasn’t left my back since we returned.
This isn’t normal. This isn’t how people behave.
But looking around the room, I realize no one seems shocked. A few knowing smiles. Some raised eyebrows. But no gasps. No scandalized whispers.
Like this is exactly what people expect from the Hale men.
By midnight, when guests start filtering back to their rooms, I’m exhausted and completely overwhelmed.
Grant finds me near the Christmas tree. “You should get some rest.”
“I should.”
“The dress looks even better than I imagined.” His fingers brush my jaw. “Sleep well, Samantha.” He walks away, leaving me standing there.
Donovan passes by moments later, close enough to whisper, “Sweet dreams.”
Kai is last, grinning as he heads toward the exit. He pats his pocket where my panties are hidden and winks.
I make my way back to my room on shaky legs.
Once I’m alone, I sink onto the bed and try to process everything.
They’re not hiding it. Whatever this is—this thing developing between the four of us—they’re not treating it like a secret.
I pull out my phone and stare at Robert’s last message.
I delete the message thread and turn off my phone instead of telling him everything.