Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Victor
This was my second time stepping into this apartment.
Last time I'd been pressed for time. But now, with dear Miss Gray busy showing off at my manor, slipping drugs to my useless son, I had all the time in the world to take a nice, thorough look around her private territory.
Honestly, the place surprised me. Given her background, it looked almost embarrassingly modest.
But the style? That was something else entirely.
Out in the world, Evelyn always played the polished socialite. This apartment? Completely different story.
Her couch was bright orange. An abstract painting hung on the wall—bold, clashing colors that I couldn't make sense of even after staring at it for a solid minute. But those colliding hues, and Evelyn's signature in the corner, somehow lifted my mood.
A few fashion magazines lay scattered across the coffee table, next to a half-eaten bag of sea salt caramel popcorn. A Polaroid photo was stuck to the fridge with a magnet—Evelyn and a blonde girl making ridiculous faces at the camera, hair a tangled mess, nothing ladylike about it.
Interesting.
Evelyn played her part flawlessly in public. But here, in her own space, she was someone else entirely.
And that, goddammit, hooked my curiosity. Made me want to peel away every last layer of that facade and see exactly what she was hiding beneath that icy shell.
I wandered over to her closet and pulled open the door.
Inside, everything was divided neatly in half: work clothes on one side, casual on the other. I glanced over both, then dropped my gaze and pulled open the bottom drawer—the more interesting territory. Her underwear drawer.
Nothing but basic cotton. Black, white, nude—the three most boring colors in human history.
This woman's taste in underwear was criminally dull. Especially considering I'd already experienced firsthand just how incredible the body beneath those stiff suits was. Wrapping it in plain cotton felt like a criminal waste.
But then, buried at the very back of the drawer, a shoebox—clearly meant to hide something—caught my attention.
I lifted the lid.
Inside lay a pink silicone toy. Not large, but specifically designed—the tip curved in a very deliberate way. Spotlessly clean, obviously well cared for by its owner.
Beneath the box was a folded receipt. The date—last Christmas. Bought herself this as a Christmas present? Seemed our uptight lawyer was far more desperate and interesting than she let on.
I picked up the sleek little device and turned back to sink into that bright orange couch.
The silicone felt surprisingly soft in my hand.
My mind started running footage—all those long, lonely nights, Evelyn curled up on this couch, face flushed, breathing ragged and uneven, using this little toy to futilely satisfy that needy body of hers.
Just those few mental images had my cock straining against my pants. Evelyn caused this. She should be the one to fix it. Only fair.
Time crawled by. I sat on the couch, forcing down the raging fire in my groin, waiting for this clever little fox to walk through the door and straight into my trap.
I didn't wait long.
Metal jingled outside the door. Then the lock turned impatiently.
Evelyn's hair stuck to her damp forehead. She kicked off her heels and walked barefoot toward the living room.
I sat on her couch, expressionless, watching her. The apartment was dark except for the neon glow filtering in from outside. She didn't immediately reach for the light switch. Instead, she moved toward the center of the living room on muscle memory.
Then she stopped. Probably because she'd spotted me sitting in the shadows.
Even in the dim light, I caught every shift in her expression. After a brief flash of shock, her eyes locked onto my right hand—where I held that pink silicone toy between two fingers, turning it lazily.
Fear instantly escalated to fury.
Evelyn strode to the glass coffee table, yanked a photograph from her purse, and slammed it down on the surface. The photo slid across the smooth glass and stopped right in front of me.
"I'd rather you were holding a gun." Evelyn's voice shook with anger. "Victor, your sick sense of humor is truly something else."
I didn't want to push her further. After all, we still had plenty to settle between us. So I tossed the pink toy onto the table beside the photo. Tilted my head at her. "Why would I point a gun at a sexy girl who's obsessed with me?"
Evelyn's chest heaved violently. She leaned forward sharply, reaching to grab the items on the table.
The instant her fingers neared the surface, I shot forward and locked my hand around her wrist.
I used enough force to make her cry out. She lost her balance and dropped hard to her knees beside the table. I tightened my grip and pinned her wrist flat against the glass.
"Let's drop the stupid lies." I stared into her eyes, my voice dangerously low. "Now. Look me in the eye and tell me—what the hell were you really looking for when you drugged Julian and broke into my private study?"
Evelyn struggled once, but I held her completely still. She gave up and lifted her pale, defiant face to meet my gaze.
"I wanted something to destroy Julian with." She stared right back at me, voice steady. "That idiot betrayed me. I can't swallow that. I know all his financial transactions run through your study. I wanted leverage to ruin him. That's it. That's my entire reason."
What an excellent liar. Didn't even blink.
"Evelyn, mistaking my patience for weakness is a terrible idea."
I released her wrist, stood, and grabbed her arm, hauling her up from the floor. Before she could steady herself, I gripped her shoulders and shoved her hard toward that bright orange couch.
She crashed into the soft cushions with a muffled grunt.
I ignored her, turned, and strode to the entryway to lock the apartment door.
Then I slowly unbuttoned my suit jacket, stripped it off, and tossed it onto a dining chair.
I rolled up my shirtsleeves methodically as I walked back toward the couch.
"You just challenged me with another lie." I watched her body retreat across the couch. "And I hate being treated like a fool. You're about to pay for that stupid story you just told."
Evelyn's breathing quickened. She backed up to the edge of the couch, hand fumbling beneath the cushions.
The second I reached the front of the coffee table, she whipped out a switchblade from under the seat. The sharp blade pointed straight at my abdomen.
"Don't come closer." Evelyn gripped the handle with both hands. The tip trembled slightly in the air, but her eyes held a vicious edge. "Victor, I'm saying this one more time. Don't come near me. This knife is sharp. I don't mind opening a hole in your gut."
I stopped and looked down at the blade, then at her knuckles, white with tension. An indescribable thrill ignited in my blood.
She was perfect like this—showing her fangs. I was certain she'd spent considerable time studying my preferences. Otherwise, how could she know exactly what I wanted?
Without hesitation, I took a large step forward, straight toward the blade.
The move startled her. Instinctively, she tried to pull back. But I was faster. My left hand shot out and seized her wrist, twisting it outward hard.
Evelyn cried out. Her fingers lost their grip. The switchblade fell from her palm. I extended my right hand and caught the handle cleanly mid-air.
I reversed the grip, raised the knife high, and drove it down hard toward her chest.
"Ah!" Evelyn screamed, squeezing her eyes shut in despair.
The blade grazed her shoulder and caught the tie at the back of her silk dress.
I flicked my wrist. The knife sliced through cleanly.
The soft sound of tearing fabric filled the living room.
Then the expensive dress lost its support, sliding down her smooth shoulders to pool at her waist, exposing the pale expanse of her back.
I admired my work briefly, then tossed the knife onto the floor.
Evelyn opened her eyes, trembling, gasping for air. She crossed her arms frantically over her chest, trying to cover the fallen fabric.
I looked down at her from above.
"If you keep feeding me those idiotic lies, I promise the next thing getting cut open won't be the dress." My voice was ice-cold. "Evelyn, don't test my patience. Tell me the truth."
Evelyn bit her lower lip and raised her head. Those eyes held no trace of the fear or pleading I'd expected.
"Telling the truth won't change a damn thing." Her voice was hoarse but eerily calm. "Victor, we both know you're a goddamn bastard. Since the outcome's the same no matter what I say, why the hell should I satisfy your curiosity?"
My cock was painfully hard.
This was exactly how I loved her—fierce, unyielding. If I'd originally planned just to teach her a lesson, now I wanted to completely shatter her composure. Wanted to see that resilient body open entirely to me under extreme stimulation. I was going to possess this woman completely.
I turned and walked to the coffee table, picking up the black leather lingerie set I'd placed at the edge earlier. It was covered with metal clasps and intricate straps—something I'd prepared in advance.
I threw the lingerie at Evelyn's feet.
"Take off those rags. Put on what's on the floor." I turned to face her, loosening my tie and tossing it onto the couch. "Your judgment's spot-on. Since you already know tonight's outcome can't be changed, accept reality."
I picked up a lighter and lit the dark red candle on the dining table. The faint flame flickered in the dim living room, casting everything in a dangerous glow.
I watched the tense line of her jaw, tightened in resistance, and closed my eyes briefly. My pants were already stretched to their limit. If she kept looking at me like that, I swear she'd end up crying hard.