The elevator opened directly into the penthouse.
Eveline stumbled out, clutching Fulton's suit jacket around her ruined blouse. The panoramic view of Manhattan glittered beyond the glass walls-millions of lights, millions of people, and she was alone in the sky with a monster.
Fulton followed her, his tie loosened, his energy crackling with a dark, satisfied hum.
Eveline headed straight for the guest room. She needed a lock. She needed a wall.
Fulton's foot slammed against the door before she could close it.
"Master bedroom," he commanded.
"No." Her voice was a rasp. "I'm not your toy, Fulton."
He didn't argue. He simply bent down, scooped her up over his shoulder like a sack of flour, and carried her down the hall.
She pounded on his back. "Put me down!"
He tossed her onto the massive king-sized bed. The mattress absorbed her fall. Before she could scramble away, he was looming over her.
But he didn't touch her. instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket.
"Look at this."
He shoved the screen in her face.
It was a news alert from a gossip site. A photo of Bryson Montgomery. He looked disheveled, glassy-eyed, with two scantily clad women hanging off his arms. The headline screamed: OLYMPIC GOLDEN BOY CAUGHT IN DRUG-FUELED ORGY.
Eveline gasped. "That's... that's a lie. Bryson doesn't do drugs. He doesn't even drink much."
"Doesn't he?" Fulton swiped to the next photo. It was blurrier, but it looked damning. "Or maybe you just don't know him."
Eveline looked up at Fulton. "You did this."
"I'm protecting the family reputation," Fulton said smoothly. "We can't have a Horn-even a foster one-marrying a junkie."
"You framed him!" Eveline sat up, fury overriding her fear. "You destroyed his reputation just to keep me?"
"I destroyed him to show you reality," Fulton corrected. He tossed the phone onto the nightstand. "In this world, Eveline, everyone is dirty. Everyone lies. Except me."
He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"I'm the only one who protects you. I'm the only one who keeps the wolves away."
"You are the wolf," she whispered.
Fulton smiled. It was a terrifying, beautiful thing. "Yes. And you're in my den."
He climbed into bed, fully clothed, and pulled her into his arms. He wrapped his limbs around her like iron bands.
"Sleep."
"I can't."
"Sleep," he ordered.
Eveline lay rigid in the dark. The city lights cast long shadows across the room. She felt the steady thrum of Fulton's heart against her back.
He had cut off her escape route. Hessie wouldn't let her marry a disgraced man.
She waited until his breathing evened out. Slowly, carefully, she reached for the nightstand. If she could get her phone... call Bryson... warn him...
Fulton's arm tightened around her waist.
"Who are you trying to call?"
His voice was wide awake.
Eveline froze. "I... I just wanted to check the time."
Fulton reached over her, grabbed her phone, and powered it off. He dropped it onto the floor, out of reach.
"Focus on sleeping," he murmured, burying his face in her hair. He inhaled deeply, as if her scent was the only oxygen in the room. "You have a big week ahead. The charity gala. You'll be on my arm. Not his."
Eveline squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking out.
He was suffocating her. And the terrifying part was, in the circle of his arms, she felt safe. And she hated herself for it.
