4. Addy
Chapter four
Addy
T he sound of clinking glasses and laughter fill the air as Preston and I approach the bar nearest my father. He doesn't bother asking me what I want to drink, just orders a champagne cocktail for me without a second thought or even a glance in my direction.
I roll my eyes at his presumptuousness and lean against the bar, scanning the room for any sign of escape. But it's packed and there's no way I could slip away unnoticed.
Preston seems content to stay by my side, unfortunately, engaging in small talk with other guests who approach us. I tune them out, not wanting to participate in their meaningless conversations about business deals and political nonsense.
I'm almost relieved when Wesley finally arrives, storming up to us with an angry scowl on his annoyingly handsome face.
"What the hell is he thinking inviting those heathens here?" he rants, gesturing towards William and his companions.
Preston raises an eyebrow at Wesley's outburst before shrugging indifferently. "Probably trying to gain some influence or profit from their connections. We all endure less than desirable company on occasion to further our agendas."
I nearly roll my eyes. Preston speaks as if he has any idea how business deals work. Daddy Montgomery's money is the only reason the sniveling snot can even manage to pass his classes. His people skills are lacking even more than his intelligence. I’d find more stimulating conversation with a rock.
Wesley shakes his head in disgust before turning to me, his eyes hardening as they meet mine. With a lecherous perusal of my body from head to toe that sends a shiver down my spine, he sneers.
"Well, if you'll excuse me," he says curtly before walking away towards his own group of friends.
Preston scowls after him before turning back to me with a smug grin. "Let's find somewhere quiet to...talk."
I can't help but feel a surge of anger at Preston's audacity. "Talk?" I scoff, my voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that what you call it?"
The prospect of escaping the suffocating atmosphere of this pretentious gathering holds undeniable appeal. The company, though, makes me more likely to dive into a pool of gathering sharks.
Bloodied.
Preston's grin falters for a moment, his eyes narrowing. He leans closer, the sour stench of his breath making me gag. "Well, darling, talking can be quite...stimulating."
I plaster a fake smile on my face, playing along with Preston's charade. "Of course," I reply, my voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.
"I thought so."
As we navigate our way past clusters of cream puffs engaged in their own self-absorption, Preston's hand lingers on the small of my back, exerting a possessive touch that has my stomach churning.
The clamor of the ballroom muffles into nothingness as Preston's grip tightens on my hip, an unmistakable indication that he wants to talk—or rather consume me whole—away from prying eyes. I feel the cold seep through the threads of my dress as he pulls me into a shadowed alcove where moonbeams dare not reach.
"Addy," his voice slurs with an arrogance that makes my skin crawl.
Preston's clammy lips trail a wet path down my neck, his hands roving with an entitlement that churns my stomach. I can taste the bile rising in my throat as he paws at me, each touch feeling like it leaves a lingering smear on my skin.
The musky scent of sweat mixes with the sharp tang of alcohol on Preston's breath as I fight for composure, my back pressing against the cold wall. The darkness of the corner is a shroud, but not nearly enough to hide me from the predatory gleam in his eyes.
"Is something wrong?" I manage, weaving indifference into my tone.
"Nothing's wrong, babe." He leans closer, and I tilt my head away, but not fast enough. His wet lips smear against mine, a kiss more akin to being marked than cherished. The smell of his cologne, strong and cloying, envelopes me, and I have to fight the urge to gag.
"Please, Preston," I whisper, summoning the will to push back against him without seeming too repulsed. "Not here. If my parents see us..."
He chuckles, a low, ominous sound that resonates in the tight space between us. "You're cute when you play hard to get."
I force a laugh, hollow and brittle. "I'm not playing," I say, hoping he'll mistake the tremor in my voice for coquetry.
I try to steady my breathing, focusing on the rough texture of his tuxedo jacket beneath my hands. His breath is hot on my neck as he shifts his attention from my lips, leaving a trail of unwanted kisses that feel like bruises blooming on my skin. I clench my jaw, the champagne I indulged in threatening to come back up.
"Relax," he murmurs, his hands wandering with a possessiveness that leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable.
"Can we not do this now?" I plead quietly, trying to keep my voice steady while my insides churn with panic.
"Addy," he says, his voice a low drawl that slithers over my nerves like barbed wire. "I'm getting tired of waiting. You're mine. Your daddy is going to sign those papers, we both know it. When are you gonna stop teasing and give it up?"
His question lands like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. I swallow hard, trying to will away the tremor in my limbs. "Preston... after the wedding. That's when."
"Is that so?" He leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear as he speaks, making me cringe inwardly. "Because if you make me wait any longer, sweetheart, I might just take what's owed to me, whether you're ready or not."
I stiffen at the threat, cold dread pooling deep in my stomach. "It won't come to that," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, but still holding firm. "After the wedding."
"Come on, Addy," his voice is a slurred whisper, thick with expectation and something darker. "You can't keep me waiting forever."
He pulls back slightly, studying my face with an intensity that makes me want to shrink away. But I stand my ground, refusing to let him see how much he truly scares me.
"Like I said, after the wedding," I manage, my voice coming out steadier than I feel. The words are a shield, albeit a flimsy one, but the only defense I have left.
A low chuckle bubbles up from his throat, and his grip tightens, fingers pinching harshly. He's close enough that I can feel the rhythm of his heart, a steady drumbeat that seems to mock my own frantic pulse.
"Fine," he sneers, "but don't think I'm a patient man, Adelaide. You owe me."
The threat in his tone is unmistakable, and fear slices through me, sharp and cold. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing myself anywhere but here. He dives back in, capturing my lips before I have a moment to take a breath.
I angle my head away, trying to escape the sensation of his mouth against my flesh. My hands are pressed flat against his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket—desperate for some anchor in the nauseating storm he’s stirring within me.
My thoughts spiral into a vortex of despair. 'After the wedding,' I had said, but the very notion of such a day dawning sends icy fingers of fear clawing up my spine. William and Preston's father have been locked in negotiations like two medieval lords bartering over livestock for over a year now; each discussion about dowries and alliances chipping away at my sense of autonomy, reducing me to nothing more than property to be exchanged.
I press my hands against the cool brick, grounding myself, as I will the future to remain unwritten. With every fiber of my being, I hope against hope that the wedding, that final seal on my fate, will never come to pass. In that darkened corner, under the weight of Preston's expectations, I silently vow to cling to whatever scraps of self-determination I can muster.
"Remember, Adelaide," Preston says into my skin, confident and unchallenged, "you're mine."
His words echo mockingly in the shadows as I shudder with a chill that isn't entirely due to the night air. I know that in this twisted game of power and possession, my moves are limited, but I won't yield so easily. Not yet. Not without a fight.
I turn my eyes to the ceiling, trying desperately to stay still and just let this happen when suddenly, a flicker of movement catches my attention.
My gaze snaps open, and across the hallway, through the sea of shadow and light, I find Draven Roberts. His ice-blue eyes lock onto mine, his expression unreadable. But even from this distance, the intensity in his stare is palpable, cutting through the haze of my dread and stopping my heart cold in my chest.
"Addy," Preston's hot breath fans across my skin.
I can't read his thoughts, couldn't hope to untangle the web of ink and aura that make up the enigma of Draven Roberts. Yet, in that moment, his gaze offers a silent reprieve from the suffocating hold Preston has on me.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you," Preston growls, yanking my chin toward him, but I resist, keeping my eyes on the intruder.
"Ice Princess," Dre's voice cuts through the heavy bass of my heart.
Preston's head whips around, finally realizing we aren't alone.
"Draven," I reply, my voice much steadier than expected. We've never spoken, never been this close before. He raises a sharp eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning into the wall beside him.
"Everything's fine, Dre," I lie, the words brittle and forced.
"Doesn't look fine from here," he calls back, his stance casual, yet there’s a tension in his shoulders that speaks of coiled strength.
Preston releases me abruptly, throwing me a disgusted look as if I've spoiled his fun. "Roberts," he spits out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before turning to face off with the angel of death.