Chapter 5
FIVE
HANNAH
Am I in heaven?
My feet slow, the door closing behind me as the music from the party muffles.
My eyes dart around the space for Rye, but he’s nowhere in sight. What I see is much better.
Fabric hangs from gold rods around the spacious room, another chandelier making the colours dazzle. Cashmere, velvet, silk, chiffon. My fingers graze a sheet of leather, my eyes on the half-finished outfits on mannequins.
We all know Rye’s mom is a globally recognized fashion designer, but her home studio is usually off-limits. Michelle Nam is known for blending culture with high fashion in a way that’s both dark and classy. Even unfinished, I can tell they’re masterpieces.
A dreamy sigh escapes me as I plop onto the vintage chaise in the centre of the room.
Is this where Michelle does all her thinking or where she dreams up incredible pieces?
Something lifts in my chest as I put myself in her position.
Flying to Paris and Milan is fun for shopping, but to actually show my work at Fashion Week would be surreal.
I didn’t climb The Hill’s social ladder for nothing, and this reminds me of that.
My muscles sink into the cushion as I think about landing that internship tomorrow. I have to focus. It was only a matter of time before someone tried to take my crown. Would I really be queen if someone didn’t try treason? This is just a little blip. A hiccup. It’s no big deal.
“You’re out of place, Kitten.”
A bolt of lightning strikes my core when his voice fills the room, his tone soaked in boredom and smooth pretension.
I should leave. I should ignore him. But he sounds so frickin’ smug.
“And you’re out of your tiny man-mind.” Pushing off the chaise, I rise to my feet.
“You don’t belong in here.” Turning to his voice, my mouth dries. His shirt’s open, his chiselled chest glistening under the lights. Glass of dark liquor in hand, he leans against the granite desk in that blasé way he’s known for. “Then again, you don’t belong anywhere anymore, do you?”
My jaw tightens. “I’m leaving.” Walking towards the door, I remind myself that it’s the best move. “Before I catch an STI.”
“You of all people shouldn’t slut-shame, Hannah. Not when I know what you can do with that mouth.” Fucker.
“You proud of yourself, Rowen?” Turning around, my throat tightens.
Locking eyes with Rye is like locking eyes with a dragon.
His deep eyes with the darkest of blue make you feel like you’re the only person on this planet.
It’s so striking it’s unnerving. “Proud of stealing my friends for your sad little orgy? You couldn’t find your own? ”
“Friends?” he chuckles, his fingers trailing along the desk.
“What friends?” My eyes follow the flow of his hand, his fingers landing on a long gold tool with a sharp edge next to his mother’s nameplate.
He puts his finger on the tip before he eases off the desk, taking it with him.
A letter opener. The hell does he have that for?
“You mean your posse?” He takes a few more steps towards me, lifting his glass to his lips.
“Oh, Kitten, they’re not your friends. You know that. ”
“You jealous I have more women bowing to me than you do?”
“The only person I want on their knees is you.” Another pang hits my chest as I watch him take another sip of his drink.
A drop escapes his mouth, rolling down his chin before he wipes it away with the back of his hand.
“You really think they care about you or your pathetic attempts at pretending to be a good person?”
With another step back, I hit the door. Gripping my lighter, my eyes move to the letter opener in his hand. And that makes his smirk widen.
“You really think you’re still relevant?” I scoff, hoping it wipes that smirk clear off his face. “You’re not. No matter how many cliche parties you throw.”
“You’re in my house, Hannah.” He points the end of the opener at my neck, my breath hitching. With another step, he towers over me, alcohol and tobacco coming off his breath. “As for The Hill? You kissed that goodbye the day you detonated that bomb.”
“God, you’re so dramatic.” He makes me laugh, but the way he crowds my space makes me nervous. Men don’t make me nervous. “You can’t take what’s mine.”
“Can’t I?” A gasp escapes me as cold metal grazes my thigh, a contrast to the heat swirling on my skin. “It’s only fair.”
“What are you doing?” I hate that my breath shakes, that feeling from the gallery rolling back. My body stills as he drags the pointed edge up further and further. He leans back with a smirk, and when my eyes meet his, it’s harder to look away.
“What’s wrong?” he chuckles, low and rolling. “Noticing who holds the power here?” The pointed edge trails the edge of my thong, the metal warming against the heat of my centre. “Here’s a hint. It’s not you.”
“Leave Ryung alone.”
But why can’t I move?
“Want to know what I’m really noticing?” My voice still shakes as he hooks the pointed edge under the strap of my thong. I grip my lighter tighter, ignoring the swirl in my gut. “How obsessed with me you are.”
“I meant what I said.” His forehead lands against mine, his skin hot, and I’m so aware of where that letter opener sits, it’s hard to breathe.
My thighs squeeze together, fighting the urge to push my hips forward.
“You belong to me.” Those eyes lock on mine again, and I see just how big his pupils are, how deep those dark circles under his eyes sit.
He pushes my hair behind my ear, a gesture that should feel sweet, but there’s a warning with it.
“You’re mine to play with. Mine to torment.
” His lips move closer, his breath tickling my mouth. “Mine to ruin.”
My grip on my lighter gets so tight the jewels burn against my skin. “I’m not yours.” Flicking the lighter, I move my head enough to fit the flame right between our lips.
His head jolts back, the flame casting a shadow on his devilish face.
“Don’t lie to yourself, Hannah, it’ll only make it worse.
” He pulls on the fabric of my panties with the edge of the opener, a shiver rolling through me when the cold tip lands right against my clit.
My hips jolt forward before I force them to still.
“Tell me, is your cunt as wet as it was when you ruined my life?”
A shockwave rolls through me before I find enough space to push my hand to the side. An inch away from a delicate, black veil sitting on a mannequin head. “Want me to ruin it again?”
The letter opener falls to the floor before his hand comes around my throat. “I dare you,” he growls.
I keep my finger on the fork of the lighter, the flame still alive. “I’ve fucked you before, I’ll fuck you harder, Rye.”
His grip tightens around my throat, a lightness in my chest. “I promise you, no one can fuck you harder than me.”
A spark fires through me, jerking my body enough to let the flame of the lighter kiss the fabric.
Whoosh!
“Hannah!” Rye lurches for the fabric, but he’s too late, a burst of orange crawling across the veil.
The mannequin topples to the ground, right on the whiskey spilling from his broken glass.
Flames burst out in front of me, and holy fuck... did I just do that? Did I just ruin a Michelle Nam piece? My stomach twists, but a smile pulls at my lips when I see the panic on Rye’s face.
He turns around just in time to see me smirk and, in one quick motion, he pins me against the door, the opener back in his hand.
The cold edge comes to my throat, that feeling tickling up my spine when I see the rage in his eyes. I still have power over him, and I proved it.
“You keep playing with fire,” he says, his voice rumbling. “You want to get burnt?”
The smell of burning fabric takes over the scent of his tainted breath. “I’m just giving you something to think about the next time you have me cornered.”
Orange grows brighter around us, the air thicker.
Crackle! SMASH!
Something falls next to my heel, a squeal leaving me as my eyes widen, but he doesn’t move.
“Get the hell off me,” I demand, smoke tickling my throat as a blaze of fire climbs up another piece of fabric.
We need to fix this. We need to get out of here. But he won’t budge.
Flames dance in his eyes, his gaze remaining on me. “I should let you fucking burn.”