All Because I Kissed a Stranger

“Congratulations, Catherine. You've just become my fiancée.”

A sultry smile curved Hunter Thorne's lips as he watched me with his predatory gaze. He was the future Don Cartelli, the purest embodiment of danger, and I was about to become his wife.

How was I supposed to know that the hot stranger I kissed in the club was one of the most fearsome men in New York?! Once I realized my mistake, I chose to stay away from him. My fate, however, had other plans…

When my quiet little world began to fall apart, this notorious Mafia boss became my only salvation. I needed money and protection, and he needed a wife. This was supposed to be a simple deal, but nothing is ever simple with Hunter Thorne.

He's the devil incarnated, and I've just entered his hell. This devil craves my body, heart, and soul… and I'm seconds away from surrendering every last piece of me.

Truth or Dare

CATHERINE

I stared at the three giggling idiots in front of me and kept asking myself how in the world I ended up in this situation. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be sitting in this white-leather booth in the VIP zone of the wealthy-snob-only club. I shouldn't be drinking stuff that cost more than half of my usual paycheck. And I certainly shouldn't wear that stupid pink, glittering veil on my head, like a goddamn Barbie bride!

“Your turn to spin, Portia!” Naomi gestured at my half-sister with her drink, spilling more than a few drops on the table.

“God save me,” I murmured, taking a cautious sip from my glass.

Devilishly grinning, Portia placed the bottle on the table and spun it. I exhaled slowly, leaning against the seat. I still couldn't believe that my father made me come here, made me pretend I was happy for her, and that I was grateful she picked me as one of her bridesmaids. As if the fact that she was going to marry my ex-boyfriend—the guy I'd once wanted to marry and have kids with—didn't fucking matter...

The bottle stopped, pointing at Coco. The girl cackled, causing her blond curls to bounce. “Truth!” she exclaimed.

My sister straightened up in her seat, brushing the glitter-covered brown strand of her hair behind her shoulder. Her hazel eyes locked on her bestie. “Did you or did you not sleep with the basketball team in our sophomore year?”

Surely, I had no idea who that guy was, but apparently, Coco knew him—perhaps knew him all too well—since she gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth.

“You did!” Naomi pointed her finger at her, snorting. “You little slut!”

“I did not!” Coco shook her head before adding, “We certainly did not sleep…”

I rolled my eyes and rose to my feet. Portia's head instantly snapped in my direction. “I didn't allow you to leave.” Her eyes fixed on me, a cruel smirk dancing on her lips. “Get your fat ass back on the seat,” she snarled and her friends snickered.

I held her stare, half-considering throwing my drink at her. “Ladies' room,” I gritted out, grabbing my purse. “I wanted to go to the ladies' room.”

Portia raised her chin and glanced at Naomi and Coco. “What do you think, girls? Should I let my little slave go?” Then she let out a theatrical sigh, turned to me, and dismissively waved her hand. “You have five minutes.”

My violent urges rose, but I clamped them down and strained through my teeth, “How merciful of you.”

I didn't waste my time, knowing my dear sister might easily increase the level of her bitchiness. I stepped out of the booth and headed to the narrow corridor dimly illuminated by blue lights. I maneuvered between more than a dozen booze-reeking New York's young representatives of the rich and famous before I reached the right door. I nearly whimpered in relief when I realized the room was empty.

I closed the door, thanking every higher power for a moment of peace. The ladies' room was far from soundproof, but at least the thumping of the bass here seemed a bit less vicious than outside.

I stepped toward the sink and sprinkled my face with cold water. “You can do this, Catherine,” I muttered to myself. “It's just a stupid bachelorette party.”

Drawing a slow breath, I examined myself in the mirror. Luckily, my red wavy strands were still in place and didn't flatten on top of my head—despite that stupid little veil. Thanks to some high-end mascara my friend, Fifi, had given me, my lashes were longer than usual, making my round, green eyes seem twice as large. Precautiously, I added a thin layer of a sassy red tint to my lips—another small element of my armor. Yep, I needed everything I had in my arsenal to survive this night.

I didn't look that bad, though. I might have been wearing a slightly trashy red dress I'd bought three years ago, but I dared say I still looked more chic than my half-sister and her two besties wearing sparkling pink dresses with nearly see-through tops.

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. “Catherine Duncan, you need to calm the fuck down,” I murmured. “Play your role for a while and it'll all be just fine.”

I would have never taken my father's offer if I hadn't been desperate. I needed money to pay for my mom's treatment. The insurance money had run out first. A few months later, I'd sold our apartment and moved to the small room above my workshop. I'd thought that would be enough… but then my mom had a stroke and fell into a coma. Only then did I call the rich asshole that happened to be my father and made this ridiculous deal with him.

I blew out another slow breath and fixed my eyes on my reflection. “Don't be a coward,” I murmured. Then I rolled back my shoulders and pulled a few of my auburn waves behind my ear. A heartbeat passed, and I strode out of the ladies' room, heading back to the white-leather booth. With a faint smile on my lips, I slid into my seat and faced the three harpies.

Portia folded her arms across her sparkling chest. “It took you longer than five minutes,” she hissed.

I shrugged. “I needed to fix my makeup.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Then she spun the bottle again.

I watched the bottle slow down as its neck rolled toward me and stopped... Shit.

Coco and Naomi snickered while Portia clasped her hands together, her red-tinted lips stretching into a devilish grin. “Truth or dare?” my sister purred.

Neither was a good option, but I had to choose something. Had I chosen the truth, she would have surely asked about something connected to my mom. She and Regina, Portia's mother, always sought ways to humiliate her. I couldn't let that happen. She could mock me as much as she wanted to, but I would never let her insult my mom.

“Dare,” I strained through my teeth.

Portia burst into laughter, which the two bimbos instantly echoed. “How courageous of you!”

I gave her a look. “Just say what you want me to do.”

A cold smirk tugged at her lips as she looked around the club. Then her eyes returned to me. “I want you to kiss the hottest guy in this club.”

Chills ran down my spine. I might have looked like a party girl, but I sure as hell wasn't one. I had never even initiated a flirt with a guy, and now I was supposed to walk over and kiss a stranger?!

“Go on.” Portia chuckled. “There's plenty to choose from.”

“I'd pick the guy over there.” Naomie pointed at the tall, bulky guy with tattoos covering his overly muscled arms.

Portia glanced at him before shifting her gaze to me. Her brows rose. “What do you think?”

I cleared my throat. “Not my type,” I muttered.

“How about the one of those by the bar?” Coco giggled, locking her eyes on the two men standing there.

I bit my lip. Damn. The blond guy in a navy suit was fine, but a mere look at the brunette next to him caused me to clench my thighs.

“I think we have a winner,” Portia announced. “Kiss the black-haired one.”

My hands fisted. I was well aware that this game could end badly. This place was filled with assholes—rich assholes at that. What if this guy turned out to be one of them? What if he demanded an apology for tainting his precious lips? Or worse! What if he took the kiss as a sexual assault and then filed a lawsuit against me?!

“What are you waiting for?” Naomie nudged my arm. “Go there and kiss him.”

I ground my teeth. I seriously wished I could just tell them to go fuck themselves. Unfortunately, I had to play nice and pretend I was having a good time.

Sucking a sharp breath, I rose from my seat and locked my eyes on the target. Back straightened, I slowly walked to the bar. God… That dark-haired guy looked like an embodiment of sin. His black three-piece suit embraced every mouthwatering part of him. I could easily imagine those firm muscles hidden underneath the layers of carefully tailored fabric. I wouldn't be surprised if “Sex God” were his middle name. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if this was his first name either…

He turned to his blond-haired friend, a smirk tugging at his full lips. I drew a shaky breath. I was less than three steps away from the bar. My heart began to hammer. It was now or never. “Don't be a coward, Catherine,” I muttered under my breath.

I took another step forward and patted his shoulder. He was even taller than I thought he was. He turned toward me, and my breath hitched. With his strong, intimidating frame, he easily towered over me. His stormy-gray eyes locked on mine, curiosity blossoming in his expression.

“Yes?” His voice sounded nearly like a physical caress—velvet brushing over my most sensitive skin. Shit… I was in serious trouble, wasn't I?

I grabbed his tie, forcing him to lower his head an inch or two. I climbed to my toes and pressed my lips against his. His scent hit my nostrils—a very definition of temptation and decadence. Unable to resist, I brushed the seam of his lips with the tip of my tongue. Something in his eyes flared, something feral.

I barely noticed his arms snaking around my waist, pressing me against him. A smug smirk appeared as he slightly pulled back, surveying every inch of my face. “Naughty, aren't we?” he murmured.

I stopped breathing. That stillness between us lasted a heartbeat before his lips collided with mine.

Hot Stranger

My reason evaporated. All the fears, shyness, and restraints were gone too. The only thing that remained was him, his tongue dancing along with mine, his hands running up and down my back, the warmth and firmness of his body...

There was no logical explanation for why my hands slid up his broad shoulders and circled his neck. I didn't think I had ever been more daring, more reckless, more utterly insane. I was vaguely aware that we were in the club, that others were watching, but I couldn't make myself care. Not when his fingertips traced a line down my spine. Not when his tongue precisely stroked all the right nerves. Not when a powerful surge of heat made me realize no one had ever kissed me this way.

I might have moaned softly against his lips. He might have responded with a breathy chuckle. My toes curled, despite the uncomfortable stilettos I wore. I didn't want this to end. I wanted more. I needed more—

A wave of realization came like an icy wind, coating my skin. This had to stop. I had to stop this. Struggling, I pressed my palms against his chest, instantly marveling at its firmness. Then I pushed him slightly, freeing myself from his embrace.

I stepped back, realizing my knees had become weak. My breaths were uneven, fast, and shallow. My whole body shivered, barely handling the mix of emotions I felt. Finally, I mustered enough courage to meet his gaze. Big mistake.

He looked at me like he owned me, like I had just become his. For some nonsensical reason, a part of me would gladly accept his ownership. That was when I knew for certain it was time to get the hell away from him.

I had to say something… but what? Was there a guide with helpful phrases to use after you kiss a guy you didn't know? My mouth opened, but it took me a few heartbeats before any sound came out. “Um… thank you,” was all I managed.

“Anytime, firecracker.” His lips formed a seductive smile before he added, “I'll gladly taste you again.”

A nearly hysterical chuckle escaped me before I managed to clamp my mouth shut. Run. I had to run, but my legs didn't move. My hot brunette watched me with some feral kind of amusement while I stood before him like an absolute idiot. Finally, I gave him a curt nod as a way of goodbye, turned around, and walked back to Portia's booth. My heart kept thundering. My body seemed feverish. And the ache between my thighs increased with every step I took. I might have heard his breathy laugh behind my back, but I wisely swallowed the urge to turn around and check.

It was a struggle to keep my back straightened and my steps steady as I headed to my seat. I promised myself I would walk there with my chin held high. I braced myself for all kinds of spiteful remarks, but when I reached my seat, I met the exact opposite—silence.

My sister and her besties seemed pale. Portia's hands fisted, her eyes gleaming in anger. Had she expected my task to end differently? Well, too bad. She would have to swallow her disappointment.

I stopped in front of her and held her stare. “No sneers or insults this time?” I waited a few heartbeats, watching Portia work her jaw. She said nothing, and neither did her dumb besties. A small victory. I slid back to my seat and grabbed my ridiculously expensive drink. I sure as hell needed one.

A dry chuckle sounded. I turned to the source and met Portia's icy glare. “I should have known this task would be too easy for you. You're a natural-born slut, after all.” She leaned forward, fixing her eyes on me as she added, “Just like your mother.”

I snapped. “Don't you dare insult my mother!”

“Or what?” She leaned back in her seat, sneering.

I was on the verge of exploding, but she knew as well as I did that one word from her to our father could jeopardize all my efforts. I clenched my teeth so hard, I was surprised they didn't crack before muttering, “Don't insult my mother… please.”

Portia let out a cold chuckle and sipped from her drink. I was certain she was thinking about new ways to humiliate me when Naomie interjected, “That guy is insanely hot, though.”

“Yeah,” Portia sighed before glancing at me with disdain. “Too bad he has a crappy taste.”

I ground my teeth and lowered my eyes to my drink. Suddenly I felt an odd shiver rushing down my spine. Uncontrollably, my gaze drifted to the bar, to my hot stranger, and my heart nearly stopped as our eyes met. I gulped, quickly returning to the staring contest with my drink.

“This hottie is looking our way!” Coco squealed.

“Really?” Portia instantly straightened up in her seat and pushed her chest forward.

“Maybe he now wants a kiss from someone better.” Naomie chuckled, playfully smacking Portia's arm.

Somehow, I couldn't resist looking at the bar again. My hot brunette was talking to his blond friend. I definitely shouldn't be staring, but some utterly insane part of me wanted nothing more than to march back to that bar and kiss him again.

“Hey!” Coco raised her hand, drawing everyone's attention. “I think I know who he is!” She giggled.

My sister's brows rose. “Who?”

A wide grin exploded across Coco's face. “That's Hunter Thorne!”

Naomie gasped. “No way! This billionaire?!”

“I heard he's looking for a wife,” Coco added, her eyes on the billionaire.

Portia snorted and winked at her friends. “Maybe one of you should give it a try then.”

“I think I might.” Naomie smirked and rose from her seat. “Watch and learn.” She sneered at me before smoothing her pink dress.

A sour taste filled my mouth—jealousy. Why was I even jealous? I didn't even know that guy. Shoving away my irrational feelings, I gulped down my drink and watched Naomie glide toward the bar like some master seductress.

She prowled forward, her eyes on the target. I might have held my breath as she stopped and placed her hands on her hips. Would I feel disappointed if he found her attractive? Then again, why wouldn't he find her attractive? Naomie totally qualified for the drop-dead gorgeous category.

Naomie's lips moved, although I couldn't hear what she said. Apparently, Hunter Thorne found her words unimpressive, not even sparing the slender blonde a glance. Clearly annoyed, Naomie inched closer, but before she could reach the billionaire, his friend stepped in front of her and pointed at something underneath the lapel of his jacket.

Naomie stumbled back, her face turning pale. Then she spun around and walked back to our booth. The little devil inside me began to celebrate. I couldn't quite comprehend what the hell had just happened, but I surely enjoyed the outcome.

“Was that a gun?” I heard Coco mutter as Naomie stopped by our seats, trembling.

Portia huffed, rising to her feet. “How dare he threaten my friend! Does he know who my father is?! I'll show that guy—”

“Don't go there.” Naomie grabbed her friend. “It's… not that important.” She nervously tugged her golden hair behind her ear. “B-besides, this club is boring. Let's go elsewhere.”

Portia pursed her lips but then finished her drink and grabbed her bag. “Fine. Let's go.” She started walking to the exit. Naomie and Coco quickly followed suit. Sighing, I unclipped the stupid pink veil from my head and put it on the table.

“Cat, get over here!” Portia barked, frowning at me as she looked over her shoulder.

I rolled my eyes, swallowing a long line of curses. I truly hoped she would get drunk quickly and we could end this pathetic night. I pivoted to the nearest exit and started to push through the crowd. My lips still deliciously tingled from the kiss. The reckless part of me wanted to stay here just for a chance to meet this man's searing gaze again, but the rational part of me quickened my steps, leading me out of the club.

Guys like Hunter Thorne meant trouble, and I had enough problems in my life. I would feel lucky if I never met him again.

The Gut Feeling

HUNTER

My eyes drifted to the empty booth in the right sector of my club, and my lips curved into a faint smirk. Women had always been a way to disarm the rising tension within me—a pleasant but momentary distraction. I rarely cared for their names. I had never bothered to remember who they were or even what they looked like… But not this firecracker. Her image had already imprinted in my mind.

A delightful blend of fear and excitement—that was what I'd seen in her big emerald eyes. The taste of her was like the most powerful drug. Had I died from overdosing her, I would have died a happy man.

“She left,” Rowan grunted as he caught me staring at the booth again. “She wouldn't if you didn't ignore that other one.”

I turned to him and gave him a meaningful look. I had been around dumb sluts and gold-diggers for far too long not to recognize one even from a distance. That blonde in the pink dress easily met both categories.

Rowan chuckled and ran his fingers through his blond hair. “You could have stopped that redhead, you know? If you wanted to fuck her that badly, you could just—”

“What? Kidnap her?” I huffed out a laugh and shook my head before grabbing my glass of whiskey from the bar. “Why the fuck would I do that? There's just something about it that makes me… curious.”

Rowan nearly choked on his drink. “Curious? About damn time.” He smirked and raised his brows. I decided not to dignify that with any response. He studied me for a moment, then went on, “That would be progress considering you need to marry soon.”

A sinister smirk tugged at my lips. “I want a full report on her by morning.”

He held my stare. “Wait… you truly consider her, do you?” He studied me for a few more seconds before groaning, “Fuck…”

“I have a hunch she'll move straight to the top of my list.”

Rowan blew out a breath. “And you think she'll just agree?”

I huffed out a chuckle. “It's all about finding the right leverage.”

His lips twisted into a wry grimace. “And in her case?”

“Don't know yet.” I put my empty glass on the bar. “Give me that report on her, and I'll know exactly which buttons to push.”

“I begin to feel sorry for the girl,” he grunted.

“I want that report on my desk by seven,” I said, pushing from the bar and heading to the exit.

“You are aware that it's nearly three in the morning?” he called out.

I glanced over my shoulder and smirked. “Then you'd better hurry.”

***

I probably should have postponed all of today's meetings and gotten more sleep. Choosing the sofa in my office instead of a comfortable bed wasn't wise either. I was used to sleeping less than four hours a day, but with all the attacks happening recently and the insane amount of work, I had exhaustion written all over me. I needed one peaceful day to recover, but I had a feeling that wouldn't happen soon.

My muscles screamed in protest as I rose from the sofa and walked to the bathroom to take a quick shower. I stripped off my yesterday's suit and stepped into the cabin, hoping that a cool stream of water would help me focus. I needed to secure my position as the head of Cartelli soon. For all those Italian fuckers, the status meant everything, and until I was officially proclaimed the head, my status was worth shit. Even my wealth and manpower were secondary.

Of course, I should have known there would be a catch in my grandfather's will. The great Massimo Cartelli wouldn't leave his empire for his half-blooded grandson to rule without writing down at least a few fucked-up rules. So far, I met all his requirements… except for one: I needed to marry. According to that point of the will, I would get the title and remaining assets on my thirtieth birthday, which I should celebrate with a wife by my side.

Sometimes, I wondered if Massimo didn't write that rule so that my uncle had a chance to screw me over. While assassinating me might be bothersome for him, making sure I didn't inherit the money and the status seemed a lot easier. I wouldn't be surprised if I found out the recent attacks on my clubs were a part of his plan, a way to keep me too occupied to find a wife and then protect her.

I turned off the water and grabbed a towel, hurriedly wiping myself before entering my walk-in closet. I finished buttoning my dress shirt when I heard the door to my office open and close. I grabbed a tie and walked over to my desk just to see Rowan striding toward me and tossing documents on my desk.

“Here's your damn report,” he growled.

I glanced at the redhead's picture on the front page and smirked. “Get yourself an espresso.” I pointed at the machine in the corner, behind my three-piece suite. “It works better than sleep.”

“Screw you, Hunter,” he grunted, and I chuckled.

He was the only one who dared talk to me this way. We had been friends for nearly two decades. He was one of the few people I trusted and the only one I valued enough to appoint as my second.

As he walked over to the machine, I sat behind my desk and went through the report. “Catherine Duncan,” I breathed out as if needing to taste her name on my tongue. My dick twitched in response.

“She's an outsider.” Rowan gave me a wry smile, waiting for his cup to fill. “Nothing to do with our world.”

I shot him a look. “I can read, you know?”

“Just saying.” He shrugged. “Doubt she'll live long if you drag her into this.”

I turned another page and breathed out a chuckle. “She'll live.”

Rowan scratched his chin. “She's not a Mafia Princess. She may not have a clue—”

“I told you I don't want another fucking Princess,” I growled.

Rowan grabbed his coffee cup and walked to my desk. “You are aware that by ‘marrying’ your grandfather meant someone of pure Italian blood.”

“Then he should have stated that fact clearly in his will. He didn't, which means I can marry whoever I want,” I argued, but then sighed and rubbed my temples. “Look, it's not that I've already decided.”

He studied me. “You won't form any alliances if you choose her,” he convinced.

“I went that road once, remember? We both know how that ‘alliance’ worked out,” I strained through my teeth.

Rowan stared at me for a moment, then let out a sigh. He walked to the sofa, finished his espresso, and slumped down, an empty cup in hand. “Just feel like I need to mention… the old Duncan's company is on the verge of bankruptcy. He'll probably sell his daughter to the highest bidder,” he mused.

“I have no intention of dealing with Ralph Duncan,” I told him, sitting in an armchair in front of him.

Rowan put down his empty cup on the table. “You may not have other options.”

“I'll make her come to me,” I said simply.

His brows climbed up his forehead. “Seriously? That's your plan?”

A wicked grin stretched across my face as I pulled out my phone, called my secretary, and put her on the speaker. “Livia? The other day, you said something about the wedding in Duncan's mansion.”

“Yes, Mr. Thorne,” her raspy voice sounded. “You received an invitation to Ms. Portia Duncan and Mr. Calvin Rollins's wedding. The ceremony will be held this Saturday.”

Rowan's mouth dropped open, making my grin even wider as I told her, “Call them and confirm my presence.”

My Prison

CATHERINE

The banging on the door forcefully dragged me out of my sweet unawareness. I opened my eyes and regretted it in an instant. My head throbbed like it was about to explode. Or maybe it had already exploded, but I had yet to acknowledge the fact I was dying. It certainly felt like I was about to die from that freaking headache. This was my price for trying to survive the night with Portia. Now someone decided to torture me even more, taking away my much-needed sleep.

“Ms. Catherine! Master told us to wake you up immediately!” The maid's voice boomed through the door. “The reporters will be here in less than an hour. We won't go away unless we know you're up!”

They had to be fucking kidding me! Cursing under my breath, I crawled out from under the warm duvet and swayed my way to the door. The banging on my door continued, perfectly matching the pounding inside my head. I wouldn't mind swallowing a ton of aspirin for breakfast.

“I'm up,” I growled, opening the door and glaring daggers at the two women standing in the corridor. My room had no lock—courtesy of Regina Duncan, Portia's mother. The damn maids might have just walked in and found a less aggressive way to wake me up, but they chose to bang on my door instead. Typical.

The older one, Christine, looked me up and down and clicked her tongue. “I suggest you take a shower. Young Miss Duncan shouldn't look and smell like trash.”

Nothing like insults as a way of greeting. But after living in this house for two weeks, I had gotten used to this treatment.

“Thank you for reminding me, Christine. Oh, what I would do without you.” I gave her a sarcasm-dripping smile and dropped down in a mock-up curtsy. It cost me another head-throb, but in my current state, I could either do that or flip her a bird.

Her lips peeled back, and I was certain she was about to explode, but then Mary, the other maid, said, “Master Duncan orders you to behave. The reporters will interview you first. Master Duncan wants you to say a few good words about the company. Then the family photo shoot will begin. Master Duncan wants at least one good happy family photo.” Then they turned around and walked away.

I closed the door and began to process what they said. Happy family my ass. Everyone knew this was only for the publicity. Father's damn company was in crisis, and he thought I would fix it for him. A bunch of kids ended up in the hospital after eating Duncan Foods & Snacks' famous potato chips. Someone advised him that presenting his family might help the case in the eyes of the public, and the fact that I, his daughter, was slowly gaining popularity as an artist, somehow made me the best remedy for the crisis.

He needed me, and I needed his money, so I'd agreed to smile in front of reporters and lie. I had done three interviews already. I should have known he would always want more…

“Keep it up. A few more interviews like that, and I'll save your dying mother,” I had heard him say the last time. Then he'd smiled cruelly and added, “Smile for the cameras, Catherine. That's what I pay you for.”

Fucking bastard. He had yet to pay a single cent, but he knew I would do whatever he wanted. He knew I wouldn't risk it. So again, cursing under my breath, I walked to the bathroom and started preparing for yet another shitshow.

***

The morning events drained the final ounce of my energy. I couldn't wait until I was back in my room and placed my pounding head on the pillow. I passed the long corridor swaying on my feet and stumbling. With the vicious pounding in my head, I was half-surprised I hadn't thrown up in the middle of that damn photoshoot. Yet, I survived and even my tyrant of a father seemed pleased.

I was only a few feet from my room when Portia stepped in front of me, blocking my way. “You're not allowed to leave your room today,” she stated, folding her arms across her chest.

My brows rose. “And why is that?”

She inched closer, glaring at me. “Calvin and his parents will be here in an hour. I don't want you anywhere near him.”

A humorless laugh escaped me. “And why would I want to be anywhere near him or his parents?”

She let out a dramatic sigh. “You can stop pretending. He told me how you begged him to stay, and you cannot stand the fact he chose me.”

Rage hummed in my veins. I had never begged Calvin to stay. I only hadn't been fast enough to realize that asshole hadn't deserved me. Slowly, I inhaled through my nose and stretched my lips into a dry smile. “Rest assured, I will avoid the entire Rollins family like a plague.”

I sidestepped her and started walking toward my room, but she grabbed my wrist, pulling me to a halt. “I'm warning you, Catherine,” she snarled. “Stay away from Calvin, or I will tell Father not to give you a cent.”

I jerked my hand away, freeing myself from her grip. Then I stepped back and gave her a mocking bow. “As you wish, sister. He is all yours. Besides, I think you and he are a perfect match.” I turned around and restarted my steps.

“Stay away from Calvin or you'll regret it!” I heard her voice boom through the corridor.

She didn't seem to realize how ridiculous her threats were. I didn't respond or even glance over my shoulder. I just entered my room and closed the door behind me.

***

Two hours later, someone delivered a package from Portia—a black dress cover with my bridesmaid gown inside it. Drawing a deep breath, I placed it on the bed and unzipped it, revealing the delicate fabric. Pink—no surprise there. Not that I had anything against the color... it was the cut of the dress that bothered me. Its top was a heart-shaped bustier, enforced by an underwire. The skirt was nothing more than several layers of see-through material with slits, exposing bare legs with almost every step or turn.

As I surveyed the gown closely, I quickly found another problem: the size. It would surely accommodate Portia's nearly flat chest, but stuffing my breast into this bustier might become quite a challenge.

Muttering a curse, I pulled my T-shirt over my head and peeled off my jeans. Then I unclasped my sports bra and grabbed the pink gown. It took me ten minutes to put it on and tie the bustier without anyone's help.

Then I stepped in front of the mirror and groaned. This was a disaster. My boobs looked like they could pop out at any moment, and the rest of the dress left little for imagination.

“You look hot.”

Gasping, I turned around and saw Calvin. My ex-boyfriend was leaning against the door frame, his icy-blue eyes fixed on me. He looked almost the same as six months ago. Just like then, his light-brown hair was slightly ruffled, and those eyes sparkled with amusement. He wore a half-unbuttoned black shirt and blue jeans—nothing that could indicate millions of dollars in his family's bank account.

“What are you doing here?” I breathed out, nervously grabbing my shirt and using it to cover my cleavage.

A soft chuckle escaped him. “Is it so weird to visit my future sister-in-law?”

“It's weird and disturbing to enter anyone's room without knocking.” I glared at him. “I was getting dressed. I might have been naked, and you—”

“I've seen you naked before, remember?” A smug smirk appeared as he slowly closed the door and prowled toward me. “I'd say you look as hot as when we were together.” He ran his tongue over his lips, humming in appreciation.

My stomach roiled. “What do you want, Calvin?”

“What do I want?” he purred, his eyes roaming down to a hint of my naked thigh exposed by the slit of the skirt. “What do you think I want?”

I stepped back, reaching the wall. “How the hell should I know?” I hissed.

He inched closer, his eyes still exploring every inch of me. “You. I want you, and I know you want me, too.” Those blue eyes darkened, something feral surfacing in his expression. “With you living here in this mansion, it's like fate bringing us back together. Now I'm going to make you mine again.”

All Stays In the Family

A hysterical laugh broke through my throat. “You're insane! You're going to marry my sister, for fuck's sake!”

His brows rose, his lips curving into a cold smirk. “So? You know I don't care about Portia. She will be my wife in name, but nothing else. The one I want in my bed is you.”

My mouth opened, but I struggled to come up with any response. I had already learned how cold and calculated he was, but this? Every word he said filled me with sheer disgust.

“Think about it, Cat,” he went on. “This can be a perfect arrangement. We can still be together.”

Fury heated the blood in my veins. “Together? What makes you think I could ever become your mistress?” I strained through my teeth. “You broke up with me. You humiliated me. Why do you think I would let you touch me again?”

“I didn't have a choice back then!” he growled, and I stiffened, repressing a flinch. “You know how my mother is. I could have never married someone like you... It doesn't mean I didn't love you.” He took another step forward. “I might still love you…”

His hands extended toward me, but I leaped to the side, barely escaping his grasp. “Love?” I gritted out. “You don't even know what that word means!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don't be foolish, Cat. I want to offer you an easy life. Don't be an idiot and just accept my offer.”

I studied him for a few heartbeats and realized he truly believed that becoming his private whore would have been the best I could get from life. I began to wonder if those months I had been in love with him had happened due to my temporary insanity. My free hand fisted. Rage built up within me, threatening to erupt.

“I have a better offer for you, Calvin.” I locked my eyes on his. “Get the fuck out of my room before I use one of my heels to castrate you.”

His gaze traveled to my nude stilettos, and he shook his head. “We both know you don't like violence, Cat.”

I ground my teeth. “Doesn't mean I can't make an exception.” I bent down and grabbed my shoe, pointing its sharp heel at him. “I'll count to three. One. Two—”

He burst into cold laughter before turning around and slowly walking to the door. “You never seize to surprise me, Cat. Maybe that's why sex with you was never boring.” He grabbed the door handle but then halted and looked over his shoulder. “You should stick to that, you know? A lot of rich men I know would pay decent money for a fine piece of ass like—”

My hand moved on its own, sending the shoe flying. The heel hit the door, a few inches away from where he stood.

He cursed and jumped away. “You crazy bitch!”

I quickly reached for my other shoe. “I warned you. You didn't listen.” I squeezed the shoe in my trembling hand. “Now get out of my room,” I snarled.

His lips peeled back, his hands fisting. “You will regret this, Cat. I'll make you pay for this. Mark my words, you will pay.” He yanked the door open and stormed out.

I spent another minute or two holding the shoe in my hand and staring at the door. A part of me knew he might come back, seeking vengeance. I didn't doubt he meant everything he said. Sick fucker.

Finally, I drew a deep breath and walked to the door. Then I carefully closed it and pulled the chair to block the handle. I didn't let anyone in until the next morning.

***

I wished this day was over even before the whole shitshow truly started. Unsurprisingly, as Portia's “favorite” bridesmaid—a polite word to call her slave—I was running around bringing the soon-to-be bride everything from a glass of sparkling water with a single, perfectly square-shaped ice cube to the special velvet cushion she couldn't live without but left in the hair salon, ten miles away from the residence.

I was actually glad for the latter assignment since it gave me an excuse to leave this mess for a while. Unfortunately, as soon as I returned, velvet cushion in hand, I ran into Regina. The woman's lips curved downward, her hands folding across her chest. “Where the hell have you been?” she hissed, her hazel eyes flaring with rage.

“Your precious daughter wanted a cushion.” I waved the velvety thing in front of her. “Now would you excuse me…” I pushed past her, but she grabbed my arm, pulling me to a halt.

“Catherine, just don't you dare ruin this day for her.” Her grip on my arm tightened. “It will be best if you smile at the ceremony and then disappear.”

I suppressed a chuckle and nodded. “That's the plan.”

She narrowed her eyes on me. “Many important people will come today, important and dangerous. Even the future Don Cartelli confirmed his presence. Don't you dare come anywhere near him. If you even remotely disrespect him, it can easily affect the whole family.”

Did she honestly think I was an idiot? I might not know who this future Don Cartelli was, but I knew whom my father did business with. All those bulky men who frequently visited my father's office didn't exactly hide their specific tattoos or the fact they carried guns to their meetings. I highly doubted that anything they discussed at those meetings was legal.

“I don't have a death wish.” I locked my eyes on hers. “I swear I won't cause any trouble.”

Regina held my gaze for a moment before barking out, “Better behave, brat.”

She released my hand and strode away. An older, crankier version of her daughter. Thankfully, today, she was mostly busy preparing herself for the ceremony. Had she lingered in her daughter's dressing room leaving me to deal with both of them at once, I might have resorted to violence.

Finally, Portia put on her over-four-hundred-thousand-dollar-worth wedding gown and was ready to walk down the aisle. I quickly got dressed in the pink bridesmaid gown I had spent several hours readjusting and followed her through the long corridor leading to the garden, where the ceremony was about to take place.

The next forty-five minutes were a blur. I vaguely recall Calvin's lustful gaze on me, the priest's blessings, the vows, Regina weeping in the front row, or my father silencing her. Then I was dragged to a photo shoot—everything to present the married couple and the rest of the “happy” family.

Fortunately, my part had finished quickly. Then I just stood on the side, watching those who actually enjoyed being here. I saw my father—the quite handsome, blue-eyed brunette—embrace his favorite daughter. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. The picture seemed so genuine something in my chest clenched.

I knew I would never get a smile like that from him. I told myself I didn't want to. I hated that man. And yet, a silly part of me envied Portia. As screwed-up family as the Duncans were, at least they were a family. My only family, my mom, was currently in a coma, and she might never—

No, I wouldn't let myself think about it. I would get her the treatment she needed. The doctor said there was a chance—she had a chance—and I would stick to it.

The official part was over, and I could finally hide among the guests. Fifi, as a young heiress of the Melott Hotels Group, was also somewhere around, but I had yet to find her. Her presence here was my only consolation and a chance to survive this hellish day.

Since I couldn't find Fifi, I needed the next best thing this wedding party could offer: a drink. I grabbed a glass from one of the cocktail bars and strode off, searching for the least-occupied area of the venue. I walked down the sandy path and found a quiet spot where three smaller tables were set between the hedge walls. Perfect.

“Hey! You're Catherine, right?” a deep voice called.

I turned around and saw a tall, bulky man with a combed back, brown hair and dark eyes. He smirked and stepped closer. Only then did I notice a tattoo peeking out from beneath his partially unbuttoned white shirt—thorny vines crawling up to his neck along with a few words written in Latin.

“I'm Giulio, and you look like you can use some male company,” he went on, his eyes drifting down to my cleavage.

My jaw clenched. I might have fixed the popping-out-boobs problem, but it wasn't like I could make my breasts disappear, especially not in that freaking dress. “I'm good, thank you.” I gave him a flat smile. “I don't particularly enjoy male company. I was just looking for my girlfriend, and—”

“Not what I heard.” A wicked grin stretched across his face. “I heard you're rather desperate for a good cock.”

Everything within me froze. Calvin. I just knew that son of a bitch had sent him. I stepped back and looked around. Empty. No one in sight. Where had everyone gone all of a sudden?! I might have been looking for a more secluded place, but come on!

He glanced lower and dragged his teeth over his lower lip. “Is that pussy aching for me already?”

I took another step back, leaving my drink on the nearest table—empty table. “I told you I'm not interested. Leave me the fuck alone,” I hissed.

A cold chuckle escaped him. “You'll change your mind in a moment.” He lunged at me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me further into the hedge maze.

“Help!” I screamed, kicking him and scratching his hand, struggling to free myself from his grip. “Somebody, help me!”

He only laughed. “I always enjoy it more when they fight.”

My stomach turned into lead. His grip on me tightened. My shoes slipped off my feet as he dragged me further away from anyone who could see us, who could hear my cries...

Suddenly, the grip loosened, and I was pushed to the side. I regained my balance and straightened up just in time to see a dark-haired man punching Giulio before twisting his arm back. A sickening crack came, followed by Giulio's cry. Did that man just break his arm?!

My attacker went down to the ground, whimpering. I could barely breathe as I slowly shifted my gaze from Giulio to the one who saved me.

“Oh… fuck,” I breathed out, my eyes widening.

Hunter Thorne. He looked even more stunning now than when I'd seen him in the club. He stepped toward me, a sultry smile parting his lips. “You're welcome, firecracker.”