Chapter 537:

🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙

He shot upright, the sudden movement sending a wave of nausea through him. His Upper East Side bedroom was a disaster zone. Clothes were strewn across the floor, an empty bottle of Chateau Margaux lay on its side on the Aubusson rug, its dark stain spreading like a pool of blood.

He’d blacked out.

A sound from the en-suite bathroom, the hiss of a shower, made his heart seize in his chest.

He wasn’t alone.

Panic, cold and absolute, clawed at his throat. He threw back the silk duvet. He was wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. The other side of the king-sized bed was a mess of tangled sheets, the indentation of another body starkly visible.

A wave of cold clarity washed over him; this was the price of the alliance he’d forged.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Cheyanne emerged, wrapped in one of his plush white bath towels, her damp hair twisted into a loose knot. A lazy, satisfied smile played on her lips. She looked completely at home.

She saw the look of grim realization on his face.

“Good morning, darling,” she purred.

Finn’s mind was a blank, roaring void. Then fractured images started to surface. Her hand on his thigh. Her laughter, too loud. The clink of glasses, again and again. Her mouth on his.

𝗧𝗵e 𝖻𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘳𝗲𝘃𝗂𝗲w𝘴 𝗈𝗻 g𝘢𝗹𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝘭𝗌.𝘤о𝗺

He scrambled off the bed, stumbling backward until his back hit the cold wall, putting as much distance between them as possible.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was a strangled whisper. “So, the die is cast.”

Cheyanne’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes went cold. The soft, vulnerable girl was gone, replaced by something hard and predatory.

She let the towel drop a few inches, a calculated move. She advanced on him slowly, backing him into the corner.

“We did what adults do, Finn,” she said, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur. She traced a finger down his sternum, her nail scraping lightly against his skin.

“Don’t you dare pretend you don’t remember.”

Her voice hardened, losing all its softness, becoming a blade of steel. “Now, I think it’s time we discussed how you’re going to take responsibility for me.”

Finn flinched away from her touch as if her skin were acid. “Cheyanne, no,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “This was a mistake. We were both drunk. It didn’t mean anything.”

A short, sharp laugh escaped her lips, devoid of any humor. The towel slipped from her shoulder, and she made no move to adjust it. “A mistake?” she repeated, her voice dripping with scorn. “For you, maybe. For me, Finn, it was giving you the last thing I had left.”

Her performance began. The hard glint in her eyes dissolved, replaced by a shimmering film of tears. Her lower lip trembled.

“My family has disowned me. The whole world is laughing at me. I thought I thought you were the only person I could count on.”

She lunged forward, grabbing his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. Before he could react, she pressed his palm flat against her lower abdomen. The skin was warm, soft.

“I bet my entire future on you, Finn,” she whispered, her voice thick with manufactured emotion. “And now you want to call it a mistake?”

.

.

.