Chapter 9 #2
Hayden Herron
Present Day
The butler is a fucking idiot.
I land, expecting everything to be exactly as I left it.
Controlled environment with her tiny ass seated in my mansion that could host hundreds.
You would think that would be enough to satiate the spoiled brat.
But the moment my car phone rings and I hear the overly polite tone of his voice, I know.
Something is wrong.
"Miss Huntington-Russell has stepped out for the evening," the butler says casually. As if he hasn't just fucked up the one thing I told him to do.
Stepped out, as if she had merely gone for a pleasant stroll in the gardens and not left her fucking prison of an estate.
Bullshit.
My fingers tighten around the phone. The butler had one job. One. Keep Martine exactly where I left her. And now she's just gone?
She worked him. I already know how. She tilted her head, widened those eyes, and softened her voice. Played at her innocence, as if she weren’t a manipulator at her core. And he, weak, spineless, pathetic, let her go.
I don't even need to ask where.
Archibald’s estate. The party. The only place she'd be reckless enough, arrogant enough, stupid enough to test me like this.
I inhale slowly, forcing my grip to loosen before I snap the phone in half. The driver watches me in the rearview mirror, silent, awaiting instructions. He's smart enough to sense that whatever was just said is sitting very poorly with me.
"We're not going home," I say, my voice deceptively even. "Take me to the Franklin Estate."
The driver nods, and the car pivots sharply.
I sit back, jaw clenched so tightly it aches.
She wanted this.
She wanted to be caught.
Fine. She's about to get exactly what she asked for.
The estate is already alive when I arrive. Golden light spills from the high windows, and music filters through the crisp night air. It's the kind of party where money, power, and recklessness blur together into a decadent haze.
Martine has no fucking business being here.
Not without me.
She has no idea how truly dangerous it is for her. Or worse, she does, and simply doesn't care.
The moment I step through the doors, the atmosphere shifts. People instinctively part in my path. The staff doesn't even consider stopping me.
I cut through the crowd, scanning the room.
And then I see her.
Draped in some slip of a dress, candlelight caressing every inch of bare skin, a glass of champagne in her delicate fucking hand as she tilts her head back in laughter.
Archibald is standing too close, and she looks practically fucking naked. I’ve never been the caveman type. I always believed a woman’s body is her own business, and I’ve met few who hold my attention long enough to care. That was before I met Martine.
His hand hovers near her hip.
I see red.
I move before I think, before reason can intervene, if reason ever could. I cross the room swiftly, grabbing Archibald's hand and wrenching it away from her before my fingers close around her wrist.
The laughter dies. Her body stiffens.
She turns slowly, eyes locking onto mine, and there it is. The satisfaction is clear as day.
No surprise. No fear.
She wanted this reaction from me, the greedy girl.
My grip tightens, not enough to bruise, not yet, but enough to remind her exactly who she belongs to.
Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to speak. I don’t give her the chance. I lean in, my voice low and edged with fury.
"Did you think I wouldn’t fucking find out?"
She exhales slowly, her lips curling in a way that is both dangerous and alluring. “Of course not. I knew you would."
Archie clears his throat like he’s considering stepping in.
He shouldn’t, but as close as we are, I know he might.
I flick my gaze toward him, throwing him a look he knows all too well. He steps back a bit with a nod.
I return my attention to Martine. "We’re leaving."
She tilts her head as if considering it. "I just got here."
"And now you’re leaving."
Her smile is sharp. "I don’t recall giving you control over my social calendar."
I lean in, fingers sliding from her wrist to her waist, my grip firm. "When I took you, I took control over everything. So let me remind you."
She inhales sharply, her pupils dilating just a fraction. That electric tension crackles between us. "And what if I don’t want to leave?"
I don’t answer.
I just move.
Before she can react, I grab her, lift her, and throw her over my shoulder like she weighs nothing. This seems to be a ritual of ours.
A sharp gasp escapes her, followed by a breathy, disbelieving laugh. Her fists press against my back. "Hayden! Put me down!"
"No."
"You can’t just—"
"I can," my voice is dark, amused, deadly. "And I just did."
The room watches. Eyes wide. Whispers ripple through the party like wildfire. But no one stops me.
No one would dare.
Martine writhes in my hold, but it’s a half-hearted fight. She’s enjoying this. She loves pushing me, testing me, seeing just how far I’ll go before I break.
"You’re causing a scene," she huffs.
I slap the back of her thigh, once. A warning. "I thought that's what you wanted, darling."
She stills, just for a second.
Then, under her breath, "Bastard."
I smirk. "Keep talking, darling. It won’t end well for you."
Her sharp exhale tells me everything. She’s furious. Good.
I don’t stop until we’re outside, down the grand steps. The driver has already opened the door. I shove her inside, climbing in right after.
The door shuts us into silence.
She shifts, smoothing her dress, fixing her hair with slow, deliberate movements. Then she turns to me, chin lifting in defiance. "Happy now?"
I don’t answer.
I study her. The flush on her cheeks. The wildness in her eyes. The way her breath still comes just a little too fast.
Then, slowly, I reach out.
My fingers trail along her jaw, soft at first. Then I grip, firm, commanding, forcing her gaze to stay locked on mine.
"Not even close."
Martine Lilian Huntington-Russell
I just need a break.
The walls are closing in on me, suffocating in their silence, in their expectations. Hayden left, which should have been a relief, but it only makes me restless. The mansion is too quiet without his presence, without the push and pull of our battles.
I should be worried about what that means—my longing for his return. Shouldn’t I be consumed with a desire to escape? Yet all I can think about is Hayden's whereabouts, stuck in a mood that's longing for his control.
So instead of allowing myself to pine for a captor who thinks of me as less than the dirt beneath his shoe, I’m going to find my way out.
It isn’t difficult. Men like the ones in this house, those trained to obey and keep things in order, all have weaknesses. The butler is no exception.
I soften my voice, let my lashes lower just so as I sigh, "I just need to get some air. Just for a little while."
He hesitates because, of course, he’s worried that if I have Hayden’s permission, I just need to convince him I’m free without it. He’s good at his job, but he’s not strong enough to resist me when I want something.
I press, leaning in, giving him my best impression of sweet and vulnerable. "Call the car around, will you?"
I should have known from the start that this was all it would take. That my escape wasn’t as difficult as it was made out to be, I only needed to be brave enough to ask the right person in the house.
I was certain Hayden would have strictly told the house staff I wasn’t to leave, but clearly, he didn’t realize how easily his staff could be coerced. All’s well anyway, it’s not as if I'm leaving, I’m simply slipping away for a bit, and may even return home before he’s back.
I know exactly where I’m going before I even step into the idling car.
Archibald’s estate.
He’s throwing a party I’d already agreed to weeks ago.
A back-to-school mixer I wouldn’t usually be tempted to attend.
The perfect place to lose myself in a sea of people whom I don’t know and don’t care about.
A place where I could drink champagne, pretend I was normal, and pretend none of this mattered.
But today I'm going there for another reason.
There are things Hayden won’t tell me, things I’m not supposed to know.
About my family. About why I was supposed to belong to Archibald in the first place.
About why that deal had been made and why it had been broken.
I only have to convince Archie to tell me.
I have to hope that our history means more to him than some sworn promises to the Brotherhood.
I arrive at the estate, slipping into the party like I never left. And in a way, I didn’t. These people, these families, they were my world. Still are, in some ways.
But I’ve been gone and removed from it for a week. Taken out of circulation the moment Hayden decided I was his.
I move through the crowd, champagne in hand, my dress tight against my skin. I chose a long, cream Calvin Klein gown that fits like it was made for me.
Because it was.
The whole wardrobe had been stocked before I arrived.
Every piece in my size, every label I love, like someone had studied my closet back at Eulogia down to the hangers.
And while some pieces are vintage, they somehow still fit like a glove.
I even found a fur coat with the initials HH on the inside. Possibly his mother's?
It’s creepy, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also a little thrilling.
I let myself smile, let myself appear at ease. But my focus was already set.
Archie isn’t hard to find. He holds court like he was born to it, laid back, legs spread, a line of coke on the table in front of him, half-finished drink in one hand.
He’s the kind of man who’s always in control, even when he’s three vices deep. Eyes sharp, expression unreadable.
And when his gaze meets mine, something flickers there.
Not amusement. Not curiosity.
Concern.