Pampered By My Obsessive Tycoon Husband

A heavy pressure crushed Chloe's chest.

The cloying scent of cheap cologne, sharp and invasive, filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn.

Her eyes fluttered open. The dim hotel room swam from a blur into focus. She was on a massive bed, the sheets twisted around her legs.

Zane Sterling loomed over her, a predatory grin splitting his face as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. One of his hands pinned her shoulder to the mattress, the weight of him suffocating.

In an instant, a torrent of memories flooded her mind-the agonizing pain, the cold laughter of Zane and Iesha, the final, desperate gasp for air in a dark, damp basement. The images were so vivid, so real, that her pupils contracted in sheer terror.

She wasn't dead.

This was three years ago. The night Zane Sterling tried to frame her for cheating, the night that shattered her marriage to Jax.

She had been reborn.

Zane leaned down, his foul breath washing over her face. "Don't fight it, Chloe. Just a few pictures, and Jax will throw you out like the trash you are. Then, you'll be all mine."

His lips descended toward hers.

The fear in Chloe's eyes vanished, replaced by a chilling, arctic cold.

Her right leg snapped up, her knee driving with brutal precision into the soft, vulnerable flesh of his groin.

A sound, something between a scream and a pig's squeal, tore from Zane's throat. He doubled over, his hands flying to his crotch, his body curling into a tight ball of agony.

Chloe didn't hesitate. She shoved him with her foot, sending him tumbling off the bed. Her bare feet hit the plush, cold carpet.

"You bitch!" Zane gasped, his face contorted with disbelief and rage. He lunged, trying to grab her ankle.

She was already moving. She spun around, her hand closing around the heavy crystal ashtray on the mahogany nightstand. The weight of it felt solid, real.

She turned back, bent at the waist, and brought the ashtray down with all her strength against the side of his head.

The crack of impact was sickeningly loud.

Blood bloomed instantly, dark and viscous, streaming down his cheek. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he staggered backward, dazed.

Chloe grabbed the collar of his expensive shirt, the fabric bunching in her fist. She started dragging his dead weight across the room, toward the suite's bathroom. He was heavy, but adrenaline surged through her veins, a hot, powerful current.

He struggled feebly, his hands clawing at her arm, but her grip was like iron.

She kicked open the bathroom's glass door. The harsh, white light of the vanity bulbs flooded the space, stark and unforgiving.

With a final, guttural cry, she shoved him forward, forcing his head down into the toilet bowl. The water splashed, cold and shocking.

His hands flailed, slapping wildly against the porcelain rim. Muffled gurgles escaped his throat.

Chloe held him there, her face a mask of detached fury. Ten seconds. She counted them in her head, savoring the sound of his panic, the sight of his struggle.

She yanked his head back out of the water. He sputtered and coughed, water and snot streaming from his face.

She leaned close, her voice a venomous whisper in his ear. "This is just the beginning, Zane. For what you and Iesha did to me, I will make you pay."

Suddenly, a deafening boom echoed from the front of the suite. The solid wood door to the hallway had been blown off its hinges.

Chloe's head snapped up. She instantly released Zane, who collapsed to the tiled floor in a heap. Her mind raced, processing, calculating. She quickly smoothed down the front of her silk dress.

Heavy, frantic footsteps pounded through the living room, coming straight for them.

Jax Irwin appeared in the bathroom doorway.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his presence radiating a lethal coldness that seemed to suck all the air from the room. His deep, piercing eyes took in the scene in a fraction of a second-the blood on the floor, the pathetic, gasping form of Zane, and finally, Chloe.

His gaze locked on her.

The icy resolve in Chloe's eyes melted away, replaced by a carefully constructed terror. Her lower lip trembled. Her eyes welled with tears.

Barefoot, she scrambled across the cold tiles, not away from him, but toward him. She launched herself at him like a frightened deer, a small, wounded creature seeking sanctuary.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his lean waist, and she buried her face in the hard wall of his chest, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs.

"Jax," she choked out, her voice muffled against his suit.

Zane, still coughing up water, pointed a trembling finger at her. "She... she tried to kill me! She's insane!"

Jax didn't even glance at him. His body was rigid, his muscles coiled tight as steel springs. Then, slowly, tentatively, his arms came up and wrapped around Chloe, pulling her flush against him. His hand settled on the back of her head, holding her securely.

Over her trembling form, his eyes met Zane's, and the look that passed between them sucked the remaining color from Zane's face. His trembling finger dropped, and a strangled whimper escaped his throat.

Jax's suit jacket was wide and smelled of expensive wool and something uniquely him-a clean, sharp scent that cut through the foul odor of the room. He shrugged it off and wrapped it around Chloe's shivering shoulders. Then he scooped her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

He carried her out of the bathroom, his long strides sure and steady, his body a warm, solid fortress around her.

He gently set her down on the plush leather sofa in the living room. The gesture was so tender it stood in stark contrast to the murderous aura still clinging to him.

Two of Jax's security guards, built like professional linebackers, entered the bathroom. They reappeared a moment later, dragging a whimpering Zane between them. They unceremoniously dumped him on the floor in the center of the Persian rug.

Zane groaned, fresh blood from the gash on his forehead dripping onto the intricate pattern.

Jax stood over him, his expression impassive. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dark silk handkerchief, meticulously wiping his fingers, though they hadn't touched anything.

"It wasn't me! She invited me here!" Zane babbled, his eyes wide with terror as he looked up at Jax. "It was a setup! She wanted-"

Chloe flinched on the sofa, pulling the jacket tighter around herself. She made a small, wounded sound, her body trembling convincingly.

Jax's gaze flickered to her. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools, and for a terrifying second, she thought he might be weighing Zane's words.

She couldn't let that happen. She met his gaze, her own eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "He's lying," she said, her voice firm despite its tremor. "He must have put something in my drink at the gala. I don't remember how I got here."

To seal it, she reached out, her fingers closing around his forearm. The muscle beneath his sleeve was tense as stone. "Check the hotel security cameras, Jax. Check his phone records. Please."

The moment her cold fingertips touched his skin, something in his eyes shifted. The flicker of doubt was incinerated, replaced by a raging inferno. He looked down at her small hand on his arm, then slowly covered it with his own.

He turned his head, his gaze falling on his personal assistant, Evan Hayes, who stood silently by the door. Jax gave a slight, almost imperceptible lift of his chin.

That was all it took.

Evan stepped forward, his polished dress shoe landing squarely on Zane's chest, pinning him to the floor. "Who else was involved?" Evan's voice was calm, businesslike, which made it all the more menacing.

Zane gasped for breath. "You can't do this to me! My family... we have influence on Wall Street! The Sterlings-"

A low, humorless laugh escaped Jax's lips. "Your family's pocket change?" he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "I could buy and sell your father's entire portfolio before my morning coffee. You are nothing."

Chloe watched the cold fury on Jax's profile. In her past life, she had feared this side of him. Now, a strange sense of security washed over her. She found her voice, a whisper filled with venom. "Make him pay, Jax. Please."

Hearing her actively call for retribution seemed to surprise him. A dark flicker of something akin to pleasure crossed his features. He bent down, crouching so he was level with Zane's terrified face.

"Here's what's going to happen," Jax said, his tone conversational, almost gentle. "Evan is going to take you to the parking garage. He's going to break both of your legs. Then, your car is going to be involved in a tragic, single-vehicle accident somewhere in the city. You'll be lucky if you ever walk again."

Zane's face went white. He began to thrash and beg, snot and tears mixing with the blood on his face. "No! Please, Irwin, I'll do anything!"

One of the guards clamped a hand over Zane's mouth, silencing him. They hauled him to his feet and dragged him out of the suite like a sack of garbage.

The suite fell silent.

It was just the two of them now.

Jax rose and walked to the sofa. He knelt on one knee before her, his large hands coming up to cup her face. The calluses on his thumbs were rough against her skin as he gently wiped away the tear tracks from her cheeks.

His eyes burned with a possessive fire that was both terrifying and thrilling.

"You are mine, Chloe," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "No one touches you. No one even looks at you. Do you understand?"

In her past life, she would have recoiled. She would have seen a monster, a jailer.

Tonight, she saw a savior.

She leaned into his touch, her cheek pressing against his palm. She looked directly into his intense, searching eyes.

"I understand," she whispered. "I'm Mrs. Irwin. I'll never betray you."

His pupils dilated. His breath hitched. The raw, unguarded shock on his face told her everything. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't believed it was possible.

Slowly, almost reverently, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was not the punishing, desperate claiming it might have been in another life. It was hesitant-a question as much as a declaration. A man who had spent years being pushed away, finally being pulled close.

Chloe closed her eyes, her arms winding around his neck, and kissed him back with all the conviction of a woman who had been given a second chance.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breathing ragged. "I don't understand what's changed," he said, his voice rough. "But whatever it is-don't stop."

"I won't," she whispered. "I promise."

The walk down the second-floor hallway of the Irwin manor felt like a journey across a continent. Chloe's bare feet sank into the thick wool carpet, silencing her steps. The antique sconces on the wall cast long, dancing shadows, making the opulent corridor feel like a haunted passage.

Her mind was a whirlwind of Iesha's poisonous words from her past life. He's a monster, Chloe. He doesn't love you, he owns you. He'll break you.

She had believed it all. She had been a fool.

But that was another lifetime. Tonight, she had watched Jax tear a door off its hinges to get to her. She had watched him offer to break a man's legs for laying a hand on her. She had felt his thumb on her cheek, feather-light, wiping away blood that wasn't hers. A monster didn't touch his wife like she was made of glass. A monster didn't look at her the way Jax had looked at her-like she was the only thing in the world worth saving.

She stopped in front of the heavy oak door to Jax's master suite. It was a door she had never willingly approached before. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she tried to calm the frantic hammering of her heart against her ribs.

She raised her hand and knocked, the sound muffled by the solid wood.

A few seconds of silence stretched into an eternity.

"Enter," a deep voice rumbled from within, laced with weariness.

Chloe turned the cool brass handle and pushed the door open, stepping into the room she had always avoided. It was his sanctuary, his fortress, and she was invading it.

The room was vast and dark, lit only by a single floor lamp in the corner. It cast a golden glow on Jax, who was slumped in a leather armchair, a glass of amber liquid-whiskey, she guessed-in his hand.

He looked up as she entered, and his brow furrowed. The hand holding the glass tightened, his knuckles turning white.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice cold and clipped. "Your room is at the other end of the hall."

Chloe didn't answer. Instead, she reached back, closed the heavy door, and twisted the lock.

The sharp click echoed in the silent room.

That sound made Jax's eyes darken with a dangerous light. He set his glass down on the small table beside him, his body tensing, shifting forward in his seat like a predator about to spring.

She walked toward him until she was standing directly in front of his chair. She looked down at him, her gaze clear and unwavering.

"I've been a fool, Jax," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "I listened to the wrong people. I let them poison my mind against you. I believed every lie they told me, and I treated you like an enemy when all you ever did was try to protect me."

A bitter, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. "Is this a new game, Chloe? A new strategy? What do you want this time? More freedom? A bigger allowance?"

She shook her head slowly.

Then, before he could react, she moved. She hitched up her silk nightgown and settled herself onto his lap, straddling him. Her arms wrapped around his neck.

Every muscle in his body went rigid. A tremor ran through him, a battle between instinct and restraint. He started to raise his hands, to push her away, but they froze in mid-air, hovering near her waist.

"I don't want freedom," she whispered, her lips a breath away from his. "I don't want an allowance. I want this marriage to be real. I want you."

She didn't give him time to process, to think, to erect his walls again. She closed the small distance and pressed her mouth to his.

For a moment, he was completely still, a statue of shocked resistance. Then, a low groan rumbled in his chest, and his control shattered into a million pieces.

His hands clamped onto her, one tangling in her hair, the other pressing into the small of her back, pulling her closer-but not roughly. There was a carefulness to his grip, a restraint that spoke of years of wanting and never being allowed to touch. He kissed her like a man who had been dying of thirst and had finally found water, but was terrified the well would run dry.

A soft gasp escaped her lips, and her body trembled under his onslaught.

He felt the tremor. It seemed to jolt him back from the edge. He broke the kiss abruptly, his chest heaving. His eyes, now blazing with a mixture of raw desire and agonizing restraint, bored into hers.

"Chloe." Her name was a ragged prayer on his lips. "If you don't leave right now, I won't be able to let you go. There will be no turning back. So please-" his voice cracked "-if this is a game, if you're going to hate me in the morning, walk out that door now. I'll survive it. I've survived it before."

The vulnerability in his words-this powerful, terrifying man, reduced to begging her not to break his heart again-undid something inside her. She looked into his tormented eyes, seeing the war he was fighting with himself, and made her choice.

Without breaking his gaze, she reached for the silk tie of her robe. She pulled it.

The robe fell open, sliding from her shoulders to pool around her waist, exposing the pale, smooth skin of her collarbones and the swell of her breasts in the dim golden light.

Her answer was clear.

A guttural sound was torn from his throat. He surged up from the chair, lifting her with him as if she were a doll, and carried her across the room. He laid her down on the vast, soft expanse of his bed with a gentleness that made her eyes sting. His body covered hers, a heavy, warm blanket of muscle and heat, but he held himself above her, giving her one last chance to change her mind.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his voice hoarse. "Tell me now, and I will."

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. "I don't want you to stop."

Something broke in him then-not his control, but the walls he had spent years building. He lowered himself to her, his lips finding hers again, and this time the kiss was slower, deeper, a promise rather than a plea.

As he claimed her, finally, irrevocably, Chloe clung to his back, her fingers digging into his skin. In the silent chamber of her heart, she made a vow.

This time, I will not fail you.