C6 I Can't Forgive You!

"You're insane!" I shoved at him, but he was immovable.

Wesley scrutinized me with an intense, searching look for a long stretch before finally releasing the grip he had on my neck.

My phone rang from within my coat pocket—it was Dahlia.

Rubbing my sore neck, I answered, "I'm stuck outside; I can't get in. Can you bring me the key?"

"Totally slipped my mind about the membership rule. Sorry, sweetheart, I'll be right there."

Call ended, I looked up to find Wesley had vanished.

Dahlia came running out, "It's still early. Want to go inside and hang out for a bit?"

I declined. In my current state, the last thing I felt like doing was playing around. I took the key, gave her a wave, and headed for the nearest bus stop.

I hadn't gone far when a black Bentley eased to a stop beside me on the road. The window lowered to reveal Wesley's chiseled face. "Get in!"

I was on the verge of refusal when the image of Layla exiting the car with him flashed through my mind. Compelled, I pulled open the passenger door and climbed in.

He asked for my address and then fell silent.

As he drove, his attention never wavered from the road ahead. The city's neon lights streaked past, casting an otherworldly glow on his striking features, adding to his enigmatic allure.

Logic warned me against a man like him, but the thought of Layla banished all fear.

I was determined not to overlook anyone connected to those three; each one represented an opportunity for me to strike.

"Smitten with me?" His voice, laced with amusement, shattered the quiet.

I suddenly realized my gaze had been fixed on him the entire ride, lost in thought.

"Sure, lots of women fall for you. We do live in an age that worships looks," I retorted with a scoff.

His fingers rhythmically drummed on the steering wheel. Instead of responding, he countered, "And what about you?"

I answered with a cold laugh.

He extended his hand toward me.

I recoiled instantly, my heart pounding with alarm. "What are you doing?"

His reach was long, forcing me to press myself against the car door.

His hand remained firmly clasped around my cheek, his deep voice seductively murmuring, "Your face isn't half bad. Admit you're captivated by me, and I might just consider extending our little arrangement."

His fingertips bore the faintest calluses, and his palm radiated warmth.

Such a touch could easily become addictive, and sensing the peril, I brusquely swatted his hand away. "There's nothing between us to extend, so cut the crap!"

Abruptly, the car screeched to a halt. Caught off guard, my face slammed against the windshield, the pain so intense it felt like my bones ached.

Before I could even register the throbbing in my face, my elbow was yanked by an immense force, shoving me back into the seat as a large and heavy body loomed over me.

His hand snaked towards my coat. "Are office affairs none of your concern? Or are you always this promiscuous?"

The pain made me gasp, but his words, dripping with scorn, fueled my rage. I lashed out, slapping him hard across the face.

The sound was sharp, the impact forceful.

He froze for a second, his deep eyes wide with shock and disbelief; he was likely unaccustomed to such treatment, having been coddled since childhood.

The Haineville family, a lineage of privilege, was known for their servants receiving personal attention from supermarket managers for a simple grocery run.

And he, the true scion of the Haineville family, was undoubtedly used to being treated with utmost reverence.

My own shock was palpable, my mind still reeling when he suddenly silenced me.

He pinned me down like an enraged beast, immobilizing me completely. His lips ravaged mine with the ferocity of a tempest, his dominance both arrogant and brutal.