Chapter 29
Alex
The next few days drifted by in a blur of neon lights, sticky floors, and stale beer—the gruelling limbo shifts between Christmas and New Year’s Eve.
Ever since Carrie had left on Boxing Day, a hollow ache had settled in my chest. The contrast between the intense domesticity of Christmas and being back in the trenches of the bar with Mia felt like a physical withdrawal.
"I'm serious, Mia," I groaned, ducking behind the bar for a second of peace while a group of rowdy guys chanted for tequila. "If one more person asks me for a 'festive discount,' I might actually throttle them."
Mia laughed, popping the caps off four ciders. "Welcome to the New Year’s rush, babe. Only five more hours until they turn into even bigger pricks." She nudged my elbow. “And only a few hours until you jump straight into the car of a certain doctor."
My cheeks heated up. "Shut up. I’m still going to murder you for suggesting that... that word. You have no idea what you started."
"Oh, I think I do," Mia smirked, glancing down. "You’ve been touching that pendant every thirty seconds. You're obsessed."
I couldn't even defend myself. The tequila chant grew louder, forcing me back to the till. Mia kept a steady supply of hidden vodka shots coming to take the edge off the screaming crowd, loosening my joints and blurring the neon chaos into a hazy playground.
With the students gone, the bar was packed with affluent locals.
The vodka made me feel reckless and untouchable.
I caught the eye of a sharp-featured brunette in her late forties; when I held her gaze, she blushed and bit her lip.
A surge of intoxicating power hit me—I could have walked home with half the room that night if I had wanted to.
But I didn’t. Every flirtatious smile just reinforced the fact that I already belonged to someone far more dangerous.
Near last orders, a curvy blonde leaned over the counter, smelling of heavy jasmine. Her eyes dropped to the dark silver pendant at my throat before flicking back to mine. "Busy night, sweetheart?" she purred.
"You have no idea," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I slid her a gin and tonic. "On the house. Happy New Year."
Behind me, Mia let out an exasperated hiss. "Really, Alex? Giving away stock because she has a nice rack? I’m telling Dr. Vixen."
"Dr. Carter knows I’m a good girl," I laughed, though my thumb subconsciously traced the engraving on the back of the metal. My darling. The thrill of the flirtation was nothing compared to the cold, hard weight of that silver.
When the clock struck twelve, the bar erupted. Mia planted a loud, vodka-flavoured kiss on my lips, grinning like a maniac. "Happy New Year, you absolute slag!"
By the time the heavy oak doors finally thudded shut and the harsh overhead lights flickered on, the magic vanished, replaced by the grim reality of sticky floors and broken glass.
We cleaned in record time, desperate to clock out.
My hands were shaking with anticipation; I knew that black Mercedes was idling outside.
"Have fun, Alex," Mia teased as we stepped out into the biting midnight air. "Try not to let her 'discipline' you too hard for giving out free drinks."
The sleek shape of the car waited in the shadows. The door clicked open, and Carrie stepped out into the orange glow of the streetlamp, her long coat fluttering. Her eyes found mine instantly—cold, laser-focused, and cutting through my midnight haze.
I was halfway to her when a hand caught my arm. "Hey, bartender."
I froze. It was the blonde from earlier, swaying slightly. Behind me, I felt Mia go rigid.
"I never got your name," the woman coaxed, sliding her hand up to my shoulder, her fingers dangerously close to the necklace hidden beneath my coat. "And I definitely didn't get to thank you properly for that drink. Your ride can wait five minutes, can't he? Is that your boss?"
"Alex."
Carrie’s voice sliced through the air like a blade. It wasn't loud, but it possessed a clinical authority that struck the street dead silent. She walked toward us, her heels clicking rhythmically on the pavement—a slow, predatory march. Mia immediately took a massive step back.
Carrie stopped three feet away, ignoring the blonde entirely. Her eyes were fixed on mine, dark and unreadable. "Get in the car," she said quietly.
Too drunk to sense the danger, the blonde took a stumbling step forward, cutting off my path and pressing her body flush against mine. "Don't be like that, darling," she slurred against my ear. "I think you and I have much better ways to ring in the New Year."
My heart thrashed violently. I threw my hands up, palms out, desperately trying to create space without touching her back. "No—stop," I rasped, keeping my eyes pinned on Carrie, pleading.
Carrie stood perfectly still, but her gloved fingers flexed. Her jaw was set so tight a muscle leaped in her cheek as her gaze dropped to the woman’s hands resting right over the silver pendant.
The blonde giggled, oblivious. "You smell like vodka and trouble."
"Get. Your hands. Off her."
Carrie’s voice was a low, vibrating growl. It wasn't the voice of an academic; it was the voice of a woman whose property was being touched by a stranger.
The blonde blanched, finally sobered by the sheer coldness of the tone.
Carrie stepped into her personal space, looming tall and infinitely terrifying.
"She belongs to me. If you so much as breathe in her direction again, I will make sure your New Year begins in a very unpleasant manner. Do you understand?"
The woman scrambled back into the shadows with her friends. Mia was already halfway down the street, practically sprinting away. I was left standing there, my breath hitching.
Carrie turned her gaze back to me. It was burning with a dark, possessive fury. "In the car. Now."
The passenger door slammed shut like a gunshot. Carrie rounded the bonnet, shed her long coat with terrifying efficiency, and slid into the driver's seat. She looked powerful, lethal, and utterly pissed off in her deep red silk blouse and high-waisted trousers.
"Carrie, I swear, I didn't—"
"Not a word, Alex."
I shut my mouth instantly. The silence during the drive to the estate was suffocating. I smelled like cheap vodka and a stranger's perfume, and I knew she could smell it too.
When we pulled into the garage, Carrie killed the engine; with long strides she rounded to my door and opened it. "Out," she said quietly.
I followed her into the house. In total silence, she unzipped my coat, peeled it off my shoulders, and hung it up. She stood tall, smoothing her blouse, her gaze locking onto mine like ice. "Go into the lounge. Sit on the sofa. Do not move until I come in.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I sat ramrod straight on the edge of the cushions, my hands buried in my lap to hide their shaking. Carrie entered, dragging the heavy mahogany coffee table directly in front of me to sit on the edge of it. She set down a glass of peaty whiskey with a sharp clack.
"You’re a flirt, Alex," she said, her voice a low, smooth vibration. "I know how beautiful you are, and I am not naive enough to think other women won't try to claim a piece of what belongs to me."
I opened my mouth, but she lifted a single finger, silencing me.
"However, we had an understanding. You wear my silver.
You sleep in my bed. If you allow a stranger to touch your skin while you are under my protection—it is you who pays the price.
" She reached out, her thumb catching my jaw to force my eyes to hers.
"Mommy is very unhappy, Alex. And I think you know exactly what happens when I’m disappointed. "
My breath hitched as her hand slid down, tightening around the pendant. "Tell me. Who do you belong to?"
"I... I belong to you," I stammered.
Her grip shifted to my throat—firming just enough to make me acutely aware of her strength.
"Not good enough, Alex. Your conviction is weak.
" She leaned in close, her lips brushing my ear.
"Walk upstairs. My bedroom. If you utter a single word without being spoken to, you won't survive the night. Tell me you understand."
"I understand," I whispered quickly.
She let go, leaving me cold, and drained her whiskey.
The walk upstairs felt like a march to an execution. When the bedroom door clicked shut, the lock turned with a definitive snap. Carrie walked around me, unbuttoning her silk cuffs with fluid, calm movements. She tossed them onto the dresser and turned her dark gaze down the length of my body.
"Strip," she murmured. "Everything but the necklace. I want to see exactly what that woman thought she had the right to touch."
With trembling fingers, I undressed, leaving only the dark silver pendant against my collarbone. Carrie slowly began to circle me like a jeweller examining a flawed diamond, her hands tucked into her pockets.
"The shoulder," she whispered from behind, her breath warm on my neck.
"She had her hand here, didn't she? Claiming space she didn't earn.
Feeling the curves that belong to me." She stepped back around to the front, hooking a finger under the silver chain, pulling it taut so I had to look up.
"Do you have any idea how much I want to ruin you for letting her put her filthy hands on my darling?
Stay silent. I haven't decided which part of you I'm going to reclaim first."
The shift was instantaneous. Her hand left the necklace and pushed my shoulder, commanding me back onto the sprawling bed. I fell back onto the silk duvet.
"Stay," she snapped.
I watched, paralysed, as she opened a velvet-lined drawer and pulled out a coil of supple, jet-black rope. My stomach did a violent somersault.
"Shuffle back. All the way to the headboard, Alex. Now."
Carrie climbed onto the bed with the grace of a panther, letting the rope glide across my collarbone and down over my stomach. Then, her voice changed, layering the possessive fury with a profound, quiet sincerity.