Chapter 3 The Claim

The silence that followed Duke's declaration was not a vacuum of sound, but a heavy, pulsating void-a space filled with the collective shock of the city's elite. Every gaze was torn between the Thorne heir, frozen halfway up the grand staircase, and the dark, dominating figure who had just materialized in the ballroom doorway.

Duke was not merely tall; he was an imposing force, radiating an aggressive confidence that made Jason's well-practiced corporate arrogance look like a flimsy stage act. He wore his custom-tailored suit like armor, and his face-sharp, angular, and terrifyingly familiar-was fixed on me with singular intensity.

I was trapped on the mezzanine, the rejected heir suddenly the object of a two-man power play.

Jason, regaining his footing, slammed his palm against the mahogany banister. "Security! Get this man out of here!" he roared, his voice thick with a wounded fury that superseded his usual cool control.

Duke didn't flinch. He walked slowly, deliberately, into the center of the ballroom, his gaze never once leaving mine. "Your security is slow, Thorne," he observed, his voice echoing with an unnerving calm. "Much like your decisions."

Stephanie, pale and shaking on the stage, finally found her voice. "Who is this? Jason, handle this! This is our night!"

But Jason wasn't listening. He was staring at Duke with dawning recognition-the kind of look two apex predators share before a kill.

"Duke International," Jason spat, the name heavy with resentment. "You have no business here. Our merger negotiations are dead."

"Not the mergers I'm interested in," Duke corrected, his lips curving into a predatory smile that chilled me to the bone. That smile was the same one I'd seen three years ago, just moments before the kiss. He stepped past the tables, brushing aside a startled investor as if he were an inconvenience. He approached the staircase, stopping at the bottom step.

He looked up at Jason, who was now descending quickly, driven by a primal jealousy I had never seen before.

"The business I have here, Thorne," Duke said, his voice dropping to a seductive, challenging growl, "is with her."

He nodded toward me.

Jason reached the floor and planted himself firmly between Duke and the staircase, cutting off all access. "She is nothing to you. She is family," Jason asserted, his blue eyes flashing.

"Family that you cast out," Duke countered, taking a provocative step closer. "Family that you loudly, publicly rejected-not once, but twice, tonight alone."

The crowd was rapt, whispering excitedly. The Thorne Gala had officially become a spectator sport, an auction for the adopted daughter.

My hands clenched the railing, my nails digging into my palms. I hated that my future was being decided by two powerful men arguing over a deal. I had fled this life to escape this very feeling of being an asset, a commodity.

I leaned over the railing, finding my voice despite the frantic hammering of my heart. "I am not property!"

Duke looked up at me then, his dark eyes sparkling. He paused for a moment, an appreciative tilt to his head, as if admiring a difficult work of art.

"No, you are not property, Jasmine," he agreed. "You are an opportunity. A diamond you didn't have the sense to hold onto." He gestured toward Jason. "And unlike him, I see the worth in things he discards."

He pulled a small, velvet box-not an engagement ring box-from his inner jacket pocket and flipped it open. Inside, nestled on the velvet, was a simple, silver cuff bracelet, elegant and understated, but clearly bespoke.

"Three years ago, you walked into my life, broken and running," Duke announced, raising his voice so the whole ballroom could hear the claim. "You shared a moment that I haven't forgotten. And while he wasted time on corporate pretense," he nodded toward a seething Jason, "I secured your success. Your small venture? The one you are leaving to run off with?"

He smirked.

"Duke International acquired a majority stake in your startup last month."

The announcement was a detonation in the ballroom. My breath hitched. My little company-my freedom-was under his control?

Duke, ignoring the chaos he had created, looked straight at me. "Your lease is paid, your loan is settled. You are still free, Jasmine. But now, you report to me."

He looked back at Jason, a triumphant, challenging glint in his eye. "She is no longer the CEO's rejected heir, Thorne. She is mine."

He extended the open box toward the mezzanine, waiting for me to descend and accept his claim.

Jason lunged forward, his self-control finally shattering. He roared, not in corporate fury, but in raw, animalistic jealousy. He shoved Duke back violently, the force of the hit sending Duke staggering.

"You lay a hand on my family again, and I will destroy your company, Duke!" Jason snarled.

Duke merely steadied himself, a dark smile playing on his lips. He glanced past Jason's shoulder at the ballroom doors, which suddenly slammed open again.

This time, a squad of silent, black-clad men-Duke's private security-marched into the room, forming an impenetrable barrier between the exits and the stage.

Duke looked back at Jason, his tone dropping from taunt to threat. "You may have rejected her, Thorne. But I have claimed her. And when a king claims his territory, he doesn't leave until the blood runs clean."

King? The word felt foreign and chilling, completely out of place in this modern, corporate setting, yet spoken with such deadly seriousness that it felt terrifyingly real.

As Jason stood paralyzed, staring at the aggressive forces now surrounding his home, Duke took the final step, placing his hand on the banister of the staircase. He looked up at me, his eyes demanding my descent.

"Come home, Jasmine. The deal is closed."

The choice was terrifying: the furious rejection of Jason, or the dark, dominating claim of a man who spoke in riddles of power. And he was waiting.