Chapter Seventeen
Lilac
I stomp up the grand lobby stairs as soon as I stride through the revolving doors of North Bridge Bank.
I figured out who the CEO is—Mr. Harrison—and, of course, he’s part of the American Billionaire Club.
He’s the man who froze my account, and even though I can’t divorce Irvin, I can at least reason with him to fix my account so I have access to my money once more.
The lobby is white, suffocating, and clean. My sneakers squeak across the tiles as I continue to the front desk. My all-black dress suit hugs my small frame, and I push back my shoulders.
Two security guards in dark suits stand behind the front desk, and they both flash me a smile.
I rest my hand on the marble counter and clear my throat. “I’m here to see Mr. Harrison.”
They look at each other. “Ma’am, you can call—”
I straighten my spine.
“My husband, Irvin Ashford, sent me here to meet with Mr. Harrison. I have an appointment,” I lie straight through my teeth.
The guard on the left eyes me suspiciously.
“May I see your ID?”
I show it to him. The other guard, the one with dark hair and chocolate eyes, dials a number, letting Mr. Harrison know about the appointment.
My heart gallops in my chest. My black-painted nails tap against the counter. I bite my bottom lip. My eyes study the guard’s movements as he places the phone back on the hook.
He points in the right direction. “Go to the private elevators and hit the button marked P.”
Exhaling loudly, I put my ID back in my purse and rush in that direction.
My foot taps on the floor once the steel doors shut, and I head up.
What would I say to Mr. Harrison? Should I blackmail him? I need to get away from Irvin so I can plot my escape from this hellhole of a marriage.
The elevator dings open, and I step out, strolling past the receptionist, who greets me with a warm smile.
I burst into his office, which overlooks North Haven. The view is pretty; from here, I can see the university, the town’s clock towers, the decayed buildings, and the newer buildings made of fiber.
Harrison clears his throat, and I turn to look at him.
He’s handsome, with piercing blue eyes and dark hair streaked with white.
His expensive beige suit hugs his muscular body.
I try not to stare, but he’s beautiful for an older man.
He has to be at least fifteen years older than me—around mid-thirties.
He leans against his industrial desk, crossing one Tom Ford loafer over the other. This man reeks of power.
His eyes narrow, and his shoulders stiffen.
“Can I help you?” His tone is smooth.
My pulse thrums light and fast. I hold out my hand.
“I’m Irvin Ashford’s wife.”
He stares at my hand, so I withdraw. Jerk. His pretty eyes study me from head to toe, then he frowns.
“Let me guess—you’re here for me to unfreeze your account?”
“You’re smart,” I snap. “Unfreeze my funds, or I’m calling the cops.”
Mr. Harrison laughs, and it pisses me off.
“I can’t do that. Irvin gave me strict orders not to unfreeze it.”
“How much is he paying you?” I question.
He exhales sharply, his fingers tapping on the desk. His eyes venture to the floor-to-ceiling windows, then back at me.
“Enough. I’m part of the American Billionaire Club, and technically, I need him if I want to stay in the club.”
I roll my eyes. “He won’t let me go. I need to get out of here.”
He shakes his head. “There isn’t anything I can do about it.”
My eyes gloss over. I swallow thickly. This is the only way I can get some sort of freedom back. If I don’t, then he’ll continue to have complete control over my life.
“Please. I need to get away from him. He tricked me into this marriage.”
Mr. Harrison stands taller, pushing his shoulders back.
“No. I know what he did. This is what the men do in the club—we take what we want.”
I ball my fists.
“This is bullshit. You can’t do this, it is against the law,” I say softly.
“I can, and I will.” Mr. Harrison strides to the glass door and opens it. “I have a meeting in ten minutes, and you have to leave.”
Once I’m in my car, I rest my head against the steering wheel. Tears fall freely down my face. I feel defeated, hopeless, and no one can help me. I tap the push-start button, and the car hums to life.
Sheets of rain beat on the roof as I ride in silence, drowning in my thoughts.
The plan was to get my account unfrozen so when I manipulate Irvin into letting me leave, I’d have money.
Also, I need to ask Lyrical—can married people in the club live apart?
I haven’t even thought about that. Not only am I up against Irvin, but the board members of the American Billionaire Club.
I’m truly alone in this mess I helped create.
Once I’m at my condo, I find Irvin leaning against the arched doorway, speaking to a man dressed in a jumpsuit with a clipboard tucked under his arm. Men carrying large boxes walk out of the condo.
What the fuck is going on now?
I stomp up to Irvin. He glances down at me.
I study his dark goatee and the ink covering his face.
His forest-green eyes are predatory, and he has this magnetic pull I used to adore.
Now I hate it—I hate him. Lunatic. His black long-sleeve shirt hugs his muscular upper body, and I try not to stare.
His presence dominates the room, and it pisses me off even more.
Why the fuck does he have this hold on me?
His lean fingers stroke my flushed cheek. He will not pull me back into his orbit. I’m not falling for this shit.
“Where are you going with my stuff?”
His pupils widen as he beams with a smile.
“We’re moving to a beach home.”
I shake my head. “Why?”
“Because we need something secluded and private.”
I don’t believe him. I think he’s trying to have even more control over my life.
“You went behind my back and spoke to Harrison about getting your account unfrozen.” He smirks, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.
Heat surges under my skin. Is he fucking serious?
“So? I need my own money,” I snap. “So, we’re moving because I went behind your back?” I grit my teeth.
He strokes my cheek, and I step back from him.
I stomp my foot. I’ve had enough of his shit.
“We’re not moving because of that. I have every right to ask to get my account unfrozen, because the key word is mine. I’m not moving with you. You need to get the fuck out of my place! At this point, I don’t care if you stop paying my bills! I’d rather be homeless than be under you!”
I want to wipe that smug look off his fucking face.
He strokes his fingers through my lavender hair. “I’ll never leave you alone.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. He won’t stop until I’m fully stuck in his gilded cage of a marriage.
“I said fucking no, Irvin.”
I try to push past him, but he grabs me by the arms.
“It’s cute that you think you have an option.”
He scoops me into his arms like a newborn baby and carries me out of the building. I bite my lip hard, trying not to lash out at him. I don’t protest or fight because I don’t want to cause a scene. I don’t want to give the college students more to gossip about.
He places me into the beige leather seat, and I don’t argue.
I need to find a way to get away from him, but I also know that if I don’t behave, he’ll just shorten his invisible leash on me.
We drive for a good fifteen minutes to the other side of campus.
These beach homes are for the elite. The mansion that he lived in is the best—only students whose parents are running the American Billionaire Club stay there.
I Googled it, and no information is available on the club, but there have been a lot of articles about Irvin and the rest of the Gods’ families.
He drives through the campus gates and away from the university, and I watch as campus gets smaller and smaller in the side-view mirror.
“You said we’re going to live in a beach home on campus.”
He places his hand on my knee. I push it away.
“I didn’t say that. I said we’re moving into a beach home.”
His words piss me off. I tap my foot on the floorboard. My anxiety crawls up my throat.
We eventually arrive at a mansion that looks like it’s from the eighteenth century.
It holds character, and my breath hitches at the vines molded to the gray cobblestones.
The floor-to-ceiling windows shine and give me the heebie-jeebies.
The smell of seaweed in the air burns my nostrils.
The thought of living here makes me feel as if I have a hand on my throat.
Irvin grabs my hand as I watch workers carry boxes into the mansion.
Once we’re inside, I glance up at the black chandelier. The place is already decorated. The silence in the air is eerie, icy. The gray walls close in on me, and I remove my jacket. Light rain tapping against the windows matches the beat of my heart. Why would Irvin want to live in a spooky place?
“When did you buy this?”
He shakes his head. “This belonged to my mother before she passed away. Now it’s our home.”
This will never be my home, but I keep the thought to myself. It doesn’t do me any good to argue with a lunatic.
I glance around the living room. Antique-colored furniture sits in the middle near the brick-style fireplace.
“Irvin, I don’t want to live here. Take me back to my condo.”
He grips my chin. “No, princess. You’re mine, and you’re stuck with me for the rest of our lives.”
My vision blurs with tears. Realization hits me like a ton of bricks—there is no hope for this marriage, and there isn’t anyone to help me. I’m forever stuck with this lunatic.