The Coldhearted Billionaire's Violent Possession

The blinding light of the chandelier felt like a physical blow.

Gisele stared into Constantine's gray eyes. They were a storm of suppressed, dark desire and naked, razor-sharp disgust.

She snatched her hands back from his chest as if his suit jacket had caught fire. Her shoulder blades hit the cold glass behind her with a dull thud. Her lungs refused to expand.

"I-I thought-" Her voice broke. The pathetic stutter sounded ridiculous in the heavy silence of the room.

Constantine didn't step back. He stayed exactly where he was, his tall frame caging her against the window. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands and smoothed the lapels of his suit where her fingers had just wrinkled them. Every slow movement of his long fingers was a calculated display of power.

He took a half-step closer. The toe of his polished leather shoe tapped against hers.

"You thought what, Miss Cooper?" Constantine's voice was a low, lethal drawl. It scraped against her nerves like sandpaper. "That climbing into the wrong bed in the dark would secure your little architectural funding?"

The sheer cruelty of the accusation hit her like a slap. Heat rushed to Gisele's cheeks, burning away the cold terror. Her hands balled into fists at her sides.

"I thought you were Channing," she forced the words out, her voice shaking with humiliation. She tried to duck under his arm to escape.

Constantine's hand shot out. He didn't grab her, but he slammed his palm flat against the glass right next to her head, blocking her path.

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. "You are a parasite," he whispered, his eyes dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to her eyes. "But I didn't realize you were desperate enough to offer yourself to the highest bidder."

Tears of pure, acidic frustration pricked the corners of Gisele's eyes. She hated him. She hated the way he looked at her like she was dirt on his shoes.

Before she could scream at him, the heavy brass handle of the study door rattled violently.

The metal clicked.

Gisele's stomach plummeted to the floor. If Channing walked in and saw her trapped between his brother's arms, her only source of money for her mother's surgery would be gone forever.

She looked up at Constantine. Her eyes were wide, shining with unshed tears. It was a look of pure, unadulterated begging.

Constantine stared at her terrified face. A muscle in his jaw feathered. The sight of her looking so desperate to protect her relationship with his useless brother sent a spike of irrational, violent rage straight through his chest.

The door swung open.

In a fraction of a second, Constantine dropped his arm and took a smooth step backward. He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, his posture instantly transforming into that of an untouchable, bored billionaire.

Channing strode into the room, his phone glued to his ear. "The entire grid is a joke," he was complaining loudly. He lowered the phone and stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes darted from his older brother to Gisele.

Gisele was pressed against the glass, her chest heaving, her face flushed red, and her lips slightly swollen. The air in the room was thick, heavy with a heat that hadn't yet dissipated.

Channing frowned, his eyes narrowing. "What is going on in here?"

Gisele opened her mouth, but her throat was completely dry. No words came out.

Constantine spoke first. His voice was flat, bored, and completely devoid of the dark heat from seconds ago.

"Your girlfriend," Constantine said, not even looking at Gisele, "was wandering the private halls like a lost stray. She stumbled in here looking for you."

The insult was precise and brutal. It stripped Gisele of any dignity, but it perfectly explained her flushed, panicked state.

Channing's suspicion vanished instantly. He didn't look at Gisele with concern. He looked at her with intense annoyance.

"Gisele, what the hell is wrong with you?" Channing snapped, walking over and grabbing her by the wrist. His grip was tight, almost painful. "You don't just barge into my private study, especially not when Constantine's using it. Have some class."

The words felt like a physical punch to her gut. Her boyfriend wasn't defending her. He was apologizing to the man who had just verbally degraded her.

Constantine watched Channing pull her away from the window. His eyes locked onto Channing's hand wrapped around Gisele's delicate wrist. A dark, ugly emotion flared in Constantine's chest, making his breathing shallow, but his face remained a mask of stone.

"Get her out of here," Constantine ordered coldly, turning his back to them and walking toward his mahogany desk. "I have a crisis in the European markets to handle. I don't have time for this."

Channing immediately let go of his arrogant posture. He nodded quickly, a subservient dog eager to please the master of his trust fund.

"Come on," Channing muttered, yanking Gisele toward the door.

As she was dragged out of the room, Gisele couldn't stop herself. She looked back over her shoulder.

Constantine wasn't looking at his desk. He was standing perfectly still, his hands gripping the edge of the wood so hard his knuckles were stark white. His dark gray eyes were fixed dead on her. It wasn't a look of dismissal. It was the look of a predator watching its prey being temporarily dragged away by someone else.

A violent shiver ran down Gisele's spine.

The heavy oak door slammed shut, cutting off his gaze.

Gisele stumbled in her heels as Channing pulled her down the hallway. Her wrist throbbed.

"Channing, wait," she gasped, digging her heels into the carpet to stop him. "I need to talk to you. The hospital called. My mother's bill-"

Channing let go of her hand with a frustrated sigh. He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Jesus, Gisele. Not now. The power outage ruined my night, Constantine is pissed, and I have a headache. Don't ruin my mood with your depressing problems right now."

He turned and walked down the stairs, leaving her standing alone in the cold hallway.