Chapter 9
nine
. . .
Calvin
She's a fucking vision in blue silk. The dress I picked out hugs every curve, modest enough for a corporate event but tight enough that every man in the room knows exactly what they can't have.
What's mine. Two weeks since I first brought Wren into my world, and the sight of her still hits me like a physical blow to the chest. She's across the ballroom, charming a group of investors' wives with that genuine smile that first caught my attention.
She doesn't realize her power. Doesn't understand that in a room full of plastic surgery and designer labels, her natural beauty and sincerity shine like a beacon.
My beacon. My little bird, about to be permanently caged.
I sip my scotch, tracking her movements through the crowd.
The annual Mercer Industries Gala is the social event of the business calendar, five hundred of the most influential people in the city gathered in one room to congratulate themselves on their philanthropy while making backroom deals over champagne.
Usually, I find these events tedious. Tonight, I'm vibrating with anticipation.
The weight of the ring box in my pocket is a constant reminder of my purpose.
I'd planned to wait—to take Wren home tonight, lay her out on our bed, and propose while buried deep inside her.
But watching her now, seeing the way other men's eyes linger on her despite the possessive way I've kept her at my side all evening, I'm reconsidering.
Why wait? Why not stake my claim now, in front of everyone? Let the world see who owns Wren Calloway.
She excuses herself from the group of wives, heading toward the bar. I intercept her halfway, my hand finding the small of her back. She startles, then relaxes when she sees it's me.
"Having fun, little bird?" I ask, bending to speak directly into her ear.
Her cheeks flush that delicious pink I can't get enough of. "Everyone's being so nice," she says, sounding genuinely surprised. "Mrs. Hamilton invited me to join her charity committee."
I smile, knowing exactly why Elaine Hamilton is suddenly so welcoming. The old bat wants access to me through Wren. Everyone in this room has figured out that Wren is my weakness, my obsession. They just haven't realized yet that she's also my strength.
"You're charming them all," I tell her, my hand sliding possessively lower. "Just like you charmed me."
She laughs, the sound light and musical. "I spilled champagne on you and panicked. Not exactly charm."
"It worked, didn't it?" I guide her toward a quiet corner, away from prying ears. "I have something for you."
Her eyes light up. "Another gift? Calvin, you've already given me so much—"
"Nothing compared to what I'm about to give you," I interrupt, my decision crystallizing. No more waiting. No more hiding. "And nothing compared to what I'm about to ask of you."
Confusion flickers across her face. "What do you mean?"
I take her hand in mine, marveling as always at how small and delicate her fingers are compared to mine. How perfectly we fit together despite our differences. "Do you trust me?"
She doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
One word. So simple. So fucking powerful coming from her lips.
"Then come with me."
I lead her toward the stage where the band is playing some bland jazz number, my mind racing ahead.
This isn't how I planned it. I had a whole speech prepared for later, private words meant for her ears alone.
But standing here, surrounded by the elite of society, I'm seized by an overwhelming need to show everyone exactly who Wren belongs to.
The band falters as I stride onto the stage, pulling Wren alongside me. Confused murmurs ripple through the crowd as I gesture for the musicians to stop.
"Calvin, what are you doing?" Wren whispers, her eyes wide with alarm.
I ignore her question, taking the microphone from its stand. "Good evening," my voice booms through the speakers, silencing the room instantly. Five hundred faces turn toward us, expressions ranging from curiosity to shock. "I'll keep this brief. Most of you know I'm not one for public displays."
A nervous chuckle runs through the crowd. I'm known for my privacy, my aloofness. This is wildly out of character.
"Two weeks ago, my life changed forever." My eyes find Wren's, holding her gaze as I speak. "I met someone who redefined everything I thought I knew about myself. About what I want. About what I'm willing to do to keep what's mine."
The room is so silent you could hear a pin drop. Wren's face has drained of color, her pulse visibly hammering in her throat. She knows what's coming. She just doesn't know I'm doing it here, now.
I release her hand only long enough to reach into my pocket, retrieving the small velvet box. A collective gasp rises from the audience as I drop to one knee in front of her. In front of everyone.
"Wren Calloway," I say, no longer speaking into the microphone but loud enough that the front rows can hear, "from the moment I saw you, I knew you were mine. My little bird. My perfect match. My obsession."
Tears gather in her eyes, spilling over as I open the box to reveal the ring—a flawless five-carat diamond set in platinum, simple yet unmistakably expensive. Unmistakably mine.
"I'm not asking you to be my wife," I continue, watching confusion flicker across her face.
"That's too small a word for what I want from you.
I want all of you, Wren. Every breath. Every thought.
Every moment of your life from this day forward.
" I take the ring from its velvet nest. "I want to protect you, keep you forever.
I want to build an empire with you by my side.
I want to wake up to your face every morning until I die.
" I take her trembling left hand in mine.
"This isn't a question. This is a statement of fact.
You are mine, and I am yours, and I want the whole fucking world to know it. "
I slide the ring onto her finger, where it glitters under the ballroom lights. It fits perfectly, of course. I made sure of that, having measured her finger while she slept.
Somewhere in the crowd, a woman gasps. Someone else whispers furiously. I don't give a single fuck about any of them. All that matters is the look on Wren's face—shock giving way to wonder, to joy.
"Calvin," she whispers, and my name on her lips is still the sweetest sound I've ever heard.
I rise to my feet, towering over her, claiming her space. "Say yes," I command, loud enough for the front rows to hear. "Tell them all who you belong to."
Her eyes never leave mine as she speaks, clear and confident. "Yes. I'm yours, Calvin. Only yours."
The possessive beast inside me roars with triumph.
I grab her, one hand at the small of her back, the other tangling in her hair, and crush my mouth to hers.
It's not a gentle kiss. It's not appropriate for public consumption.
It's raw and dominant and claiming, my tongue pushing past her lips, marking her as mine in front of the most influential people in the city.
When I finally release her, she's breathless, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. Perfect. I turn back to the microphone, addressing the stunned audience.
"As you can see, I've found my match," I announce, arm still possessively around Wren's waist. "Some of you may disapprove.
Some of you may gossip. I don't care. Anyone who has a problem with Wren as my partner—in business and in life—can find the door.
And find another company to do business with. "
The threat hangs in the air for a moment before, remarkably, applause breaks out.
Led by old man Henderson, my longest-standing investor, it spreads through the room like wildfire.
Not everyone joins in—I note the sour faces, the shocked expressions, mentally cataloging who will need to be dealt with later—but enough do that Wren relaxes slightly against me.
I guide her off the stage, ignoring the surge of people trying to approach us. My security team forms a barrier, giving us a clear path toward the exit. I have no intention of staying now that I've accomplished my goal.
"What about the rest of the gala?" Wren asks as I usher her into the waiting limo. "Don't you have to stay? Make speeches?"
I slide in beside her, signaling the driver to go. "Fuck the gala. I've done what I came to do."
She looks down at the ring glittering on her finger, then back at me with those wide blue eyes that still make my chest ache. "You didn't actually ask me a question, you know."
I smirk, pulling her onto my lap so she's straddling me. "That's because it wasn't a question, little bird. It was a declaration."
Her hands rest on my chest, the diamond catching the light as the limo pulls away from the curb. "You could have done this privately. Why in front of everyone?"
I cup her face between my palms, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Because I wanted everyone to see. To know. That you're mine. That I've claimed you." My thumbs stroke her cheekbones. "And because I wanted to burn all your bridges. Make it impossible for you to ever go back to your old life."
The honesty should frighten her. Instead, I see understanding dawn in her eyes, followed by something deeper. Acceptance. Surrender.
"You've planned everything from the beginning, haven't you?" she asks softly. "Every step. Every moment."
"From the second I saw you," I confirm. "And I'll continue planning our lives together until my last breath." My hands slide down to her waist, gripping firmly. "But right now, all I'm planning is how many times I'm going to make you come tonight while I fill you with my seed."
She shivers at my words, her pupils dilating. Two weeks of constant fucking have taught me exactly how to push her buttons, how to make her wet with just my voice.
"People will talk," she whispers as my hands find the zipper of her dress. "About us. About me. The age gap, how fast it's happened..."