Chapter 2

Christen's pulse hammered against Kile's thumb where it pressed into her jawline. Her body acted on pure survival instinct. She tried to pull back, to put distance between herself and the danger radiating from him.

Kile's fingers tightened just enough to stop her. He held her in place, forcing her to maintain the awkward, upward angle.

Her brain scrambled for an exit. She forced the corners of her mouth up, stretching her lips into the polite, empty smile she used at charity galas.

"Mr. Barrett," she managed to say, her voice tight.

Kile released her jaw. As he pulled his hand back, the rough pad of his thumb dragged slowly across her skin. The brief friction sent a violent shiver down her spine.

He leaned back against the leather upholstery, picking up his crystal glass of whiskey. He took a slow sip, his dark eyes tracking her every movement with predatory amusement.

Christen felt her skin crawl under his stare. She grabbed her clutch from the table, her knuckles white. She needed to leave. Now.

"Brendon seems to be quite busy tonight," Kile said. His voice was a lazy drawl, but the words hit like a physical blow.

Christen froze. Her muscles locked up.

The humiliation burned through the lingering fear. She slammed her clutch back onto the table and sat back down. She met his gaze, her eyes blazing with reckless defiance.

She leaned forward, letting the neckline of her dress dip slightly.

"Are you afraid of the Jimenez family, Mr. Barrett?" she asked, her tone dripping with fake sweetness and real provocation.

Kile let out a harsh, dismissive scoff. It was the sound of a man who found the very concept of fear insulting.

He suddenly leaned forward. The space between them vanished. His face was inches from hers, his broad chest trapping her against the back of the booth. The sheer physical presence of him sucked the oxygen out of her lungs.

He lowered his voice, the sound vibrating directly against her ear.

"We both know your marriage is nothing but a cheap stage play, Christen."

A cold sweat broke out across the back of her neck. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. He knew. He knew exactly what was happening upstairs.

She gathered the last shreds of her dignity. She pushed her shoulders back and glared at him.

"You clearly don't know how to respect a woman," she said, her voice shaking with suppressed rage.

She stood up abruptly, the edge of the table digging into her thighs.

Kile didn't try to stop her this time. He just watched her with the calm, patient eyes of a hunter watching a trapped animal struggle.

Christen turned and walked away fast. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor. She didn't stop until she reached the hotel lobby, hiding behind a massive Roman pillar. She leaned her back against the cool marble, dragging air into her burning lungs.

She smoothed down her skirt. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She locked the perfect, unbothered wife mask back onto her face.

She walked toward the elevators, intending to go straight down to the underground garage and leave.

The silver doors slid open.

Brendon and Kaelynn were standing inside. They were laughing. They looked immaculate, as if they hadn't just destroyed her life ten minutes ago.

Christen's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke. The urge to swing her heavy clutch directly into Kaelynn's smiling face was a physical ache in her arm.

Kaelynn stepped forward and linked her arm through Christen's.

"Where have you been? We've been looking everywhere for you," Kaelynn whined, her voice laced with fake concern.

Christen's eyes dropped to the side of Kaelynn's neck. Right below her collarbone, a fresh, red mark stained her skin.

A wave of nausea hit Christen so hard she almost gagged.

She pulled her arm out of Kaelynn's grasp, her movements stiff.

"I had too much champagne. I was in the restroom," Christen said. Her voice sounded hollow, like it belonged to someone else.

Brendon stepped closer. He reached out, his hand aiming for the curve of her waist to play the role of the doting husband.

Christen flinched. She took a sharp half-step backward, completely avoiding his touch.

The air in the elevator instantly turned heavy.

Brendon's hand hung in the air. His eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation and suspicion crossing his face. Kaelynn shifted uncomfortably, offering a nervous laugh to fill the silence.

The elevator pinged, arriving at the garage level.

"I have a migraine. I'm taking a car home," Christen said. She didn't wait for an answer. She walked out of the elevator, leaving them staring at her back.