The Coldhearted Billionaire's Violent Possession

The second-floor private lounge was a sanctuary of extreme wealth. Dark mahogany paneled the walls, and the air smelled of expensive cigars and aged leather. Gisele pushed the heavy door open. Channing was sprawled across a massive silk sofa, his tie undone, intensely focused on a video game playing on an eighty-inch screen. He didn't even look up when she walked in. "Close the door," he muttered, mashing the buttons on his controller. "The noise from downstairs is giving me a migraine." Gisele closed the door quietly. She walked over to the edge of the sofa, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her stomach was tied in painful knots. "Channing," she started, her voice soft. "I need to talk to you about the hospital. The billing department called again. If I don't have the transfer by tomorrow-" "Gisele, please," Channing groaned, pausing the game and throwing his head back against the cushions. "I told you I'm not in the mood. Go to the bar and pour me a whiskey. Three cubes of ice. Make yourself useful." The dismissal was a slap to the face. Gisele's fingernails dug into her palms. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him her mother was dying, but she swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She needed his money. She turned and walked to the crystal bar cart in the corner. She picked up the heavy decanter, her hands shaking slightly, and poured the amber liquid over the ice. The glass door leading to the private terrace suddenly slid open. A gust of cold night air blew into the room, bringing with it the sharp scent of cedarwood. Gisele's hand jerked. The crystal tongs hit the side of the glass with a sharp clink. Her entire body went rigid. Constantine walked into the room. He held a thick leather folder in one hand. He didn't even glance at Gisele. He walked straight to the single leather armchair at the head of the room-the seat of power-and sat down, crossing his long legs. He opened the folder and began reading. The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The air became heavy, suffocating. Channing immediately sat up straight, tossing the game controller onto the rug. He smoothed his hair, his lazy demeanor vanishing into nervous energy. Gisele picked up the whiskey glass. She walked over to Channing and handed it to him. "Thank you," Channing said quickly, taking a sip. He looked at his brother. "Constantine, do you want a drink?" Constantine didn't look up from his papers. "Sparkling water. No ice." Channing snapped his fingers at Gisele, pointing to the bar. "You heard him. Go." Gisele's jaw clenched. She was his girlfriend, not the hired help. But with Constantine sitting there, radiating cold authority, she didn't dare cause a scene. She turned back to the bar and poured a glass of sparkling water. "And pick up my controller," Channing ordered from the sofa. Gisele walked back. She set the water down on the glass coffee table in front of Constantine. Then, she bent down to pick up the controller from the rug. Her dress had a slightly low neckline. As she bent over, she felt a sudden, intense prickle of heat on the back of her neck. She glanced up. Constantine wasn't looking at his papers anymore. His dark gray eyes were fixed directly on her. His gaze was heavy, dark, and burning with a suppressed, violent energy. He was watching her bend over for his brother. Gisele snatched the controller and stood up quickly, her face burning with a mixture of shame and a strange, terrifying heat. Constantine slowly shifted his gaze to the glass of water she had placed in front of him. He stared at it for a long moment. Then, his jaw ticked. "There is a fingerprint on the rim of this glass," Constantine said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. Gisele froze. "I... I held it by the base." Constantine finally looked up at her. His eyes were devoid of any warmth. "Take it back. Wash your hands. Bring me a clean glass. I don't drink from dirty things." The insult was so blatant, so intentionally cruel, that Gisele felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach plummeted. Channing let out a short, nervous laugh. "Jesus, Gisele. You're so clumsy. Go wash it. Try to act like you've been in a nice house before." Gisele stared at Channing. Her boyfriend. The man who was supposed to protect her. He was laughing at her humiliation to score points with his brother. A cold, dead feeling began to spread through Gisele's chest. She picked up the glass without a word. She walked into the small attached kitchenette and turned on the sink. The sound of the water running covered the sound of her ragged breathing. She gripped the edges of the marble counter, her knuckles turning white. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears of pure, unadulterated rage. She saw the dishwasher, but knew that wouldn't be good enough. Her eyes scanned the pristine glass-fronted cabinets. Deep in the back of a lower cupboard, she found what she was looking for: a cardboard box of new crystal tumblers, still sealed from the manufacturer. She ripped the tape with her fingernail, pulled one out, its surface cold and untouched, and poured the sparkling water. She walked back out and placed it gently on the table. Constantine watched her face. He saw the dead, hollow look in her eyes. A muscle in his jaw feathered violently. He thought she was enduring this humiliation because she loved Channing. The thought made his blood boil with a toxic, irrational jealousy. Channing tugged at his collar. "Gisele, come here. My tie is choking me. Fix it." Gisele stood perfectly still for a second. Then, moving like a robot, she walked over to Channing. She stood between his knees. She looked down, her fingers reaching out to untie the silk knot. Constantine's hands gripped the leather folder. The leather creaked under the immense pressure of his fingers. He watched her soft hands touch his brother's chest. SLAM. Constantine slammed the heavy folder shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room. Channing jumped, violently shoving Gisele away from him. Gisele stumbled backward, her heel catching on the rug. She fell hard onto her knees, the impact sending a sharp jolt of pain up her legs. Constantine stood up. His towering frame dominated the room. He looked down at Gisele on the floor, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, destructive fury. "This is a private family lounge," Constantine snarled, his voice vibrating with rage. He looked at Channing. "Not a cheap motel room for you to grope your hired company. Get her out of my sight before I have security throw her out." The words were a brutal, fatal blow. Channing's face went pale. He looked at his furious brother, then down at Gisele. "You heard him," Channing spat at her, his voice dripping with venom to save his own ego. "Get out, Gisele. You're embarrassing me." Gisele slowly stood up. Her knees ached. But the pain in her body was nothing compared to the absolute, freezing clarity in her mind. She didn't cry. She didn't argue. She looked at Channing. She saw him for exactly what he was: a weak, pathetic coward. Then she looked at Constantine. She met his furious, burning gaze with eyes that were completely dead. She turned around and walked out of the room. She closed the heavy mahogany door behind her, sealing the two monsters inside.