Betrayed By Fiancé, Claimed By His Uncle

The sound of his voice snapped the last string of Clare's composure.

Tears spilled over her eyelashes, burning her flushed cheeks. She gripped the phone with both hands.

"Elysium," she choked out. Her throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. "VIP lounge. Help me."

There was a fraction of a second of silence on the line.

"Stay."

Just one word. Then the line went dead.

Clare let the phone fall to the carpet. She didn't know if he was actually coming. She didn't know if he even cared.

She forced her heavy body off the sofa. She needed to lock the door. She dragged her feet across the thick rug, her vision tilting dangerously to the left.

Before her fingers could touch the brass lock, the handle turned.

The door pushed open.

Brianna stood there. Behind her were two men. They smelled of stale beer, cheap cologne, and violence.

"Clare, honey, what's wrong?" Brianna asked. Her voice was back to that sickening, sugary pitch. "These gentlemen are friends of mine. They said they can give you a ride home."

The two men stepped into the room. Their eyes raked over Clare's flushed skin and trembling legs. One of them licked his lips.

Clare backed away. Her spine hit the edge of a mahogany table.

She stared at Brianna. The drug made her dizzy, but her hatred was crystal clear. "You did this."

Brianna's fake smile vanished. Her face twisted into a sneer. "So what if I did? You perfect little princesses need to know what hell feels like."

The larger of the two men stepped forward. He reached out a thick, dirty hand toward Clare's bare arm. "Don't be scared, sweetheart. We're going to take real good care of you."

Clare opened her mouth to scream.

A deafening crash shattered the air.

The heavy velvet door didn't just open. It was kicked off its hinges. It slammed into the wall with the force of a bomb.

Aurthur Bolton stepped into the room.

He wore a perfectly tailored black Savile Row coat. Behind him stood four men in dark suits, their faces devoid of any human emotion.

Aurthur's presence sucked all the oxygen out of the room. His jaw was locked. His dark eyes swept over the two thugs like they were already dead.

The thugs froze. The larger one puffed out his chest, trying to hide his sudden terror. "Who the fuck are you? Mind your own business."

Aurthur didn't speak. He didn't even blink.

He simply raised one finger.

Two of his bodyguards moved. They were a blur of calculated violence. In less than three seconds, both thugs were face-down on the carpet. The sickening crunch of a dislocated shoulder echoed in the room. One of the men screamed in agony.

Brianna shrieked. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed against the wall, her face drained of all blood.

Aurthur ignored the bodies on the floor. He ignored Brianna.

He walked straight toward the corner where Clare was trembling.

Eight years had carved his face into something harder, colder, and infinitely more dangerous. The sheer physical pressure of his gaze made Clare's lungs stutter.

He stopped right in front of her. He crouched down.

Without a word, he stripped off his expensive coat.

He wrapped it around Clare's shoulders. The heavy wool was still warm from his body. It smelled sharply of cedar and clean winter air.

His hands gripped the lapels, pulling the coat tight across her chest, hiding her exposed skin from the world. The movement was aggressive. It left no room for argument.

Clare's mind was a chaotic mess of chemicals and terror. But the moment his scent hit her, a violent shiver ripped through her spine.

Aurthur slid one arm behind her back and the other under her knees. He stood up, lifting her effortlessly against his chest.

Her head fell against his shoulder. She could hear the slow, steady, terrifying thud of his heartbeat.

He carried her toward the door. He didn't look down at the men groaning on the floor.

As he passed Brianna, he didn't stop walking. He simply turned his head slightly toward the lead bodyguard.

"Call the police," Aurthur's voice was like crushed ice. "Defamation. Aggravated assault. Attempted rape. Have the Bolton family legal team take over immediately."

Brianna let out a strangled gasp. "The Bolton family..." She slumped completely to the floor, her eyes wide with absolute despair.

Aurthur carried Clare out of the club. The cold night air hit her face, but she was burning up inside his coat.

A black Maybach was idling at the curb.

The driver threw the rear door open. Aurthur placed her gently onto the leather seat, then slid in right beside her.

He looked at the driver in the rearview mirror.

"Dr. Evans' private clinic," Aurthur ordered. "Now."

The heavy door slammed shut. The chaos of the street was instantly silenced. The Maybach glided smoothly into the dark Manhattan night.