Chapter 4 He was toying with me like I was a pet

Elena's POV

[Flashback: Three days ago]

God, I was such an idiot.

I should've been at the office burning the midnight oil, but I'd left my laptop at Julian's place. There was an original confidentiality agreement stored in an encrypted folder on the desktop, and remote retrieval required layers of approval I couldn't afford to wait for.

I called him several times. No answer.

Finally got a text back: "Working late."

Well, at least I wasn't the only one in LA working overtime that night.

I'd finally wrapped up everything at the office. I drove over to Julian's place and parked quickly, heading straight for the entrance.

Once I wrapped up this merger case, I'd take a few days off. Maybe go on vacation. I could ask Julian—maybe even do a pre-wedding trip?

The thought made my steps lighter.

I unlocked the door.

The living room was empty.

Then a choking wave of rose perfume hit my nostrils.

Right. Sabrina was definitely here.

But why this late?

I fished out my allergy meds and swallowed them without water.

"Sabrina?" I called out.

No answer.

I'd never understood Sabrina's obsession with roses. Honestly, I suspected it started when she discovered I was allergic to them.

"Mmm..."

I froze.

That moan—Julian.

I followed the sound down the hallway. The master bedroom door at the end stood slightly ajar, warm yellow light spilling out.

I pushed it open.

What I saw shouldn't have surprised me, but it did.

Julian. Shirtless. Kneeling with his back to the door, belt undone, pants pulled down to his knees.

A collar circled his neck. A leash threaded through it.

Sabrina held the other end.

Blood rushed to my head. I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move.

I watched Julian clutch Sabrina's slender calf and reverently lift it. He began licking the sole of her shoe—nude pink limited-edition Jimmy Choos.

The birthday gift I'd given Sabrina this year.

They'd cost me an entire month's salary. I'd taken a day off to stand in line for them, missed an important meeting, and lost a promotion because of it.

Jesus Christ.

Did I really owe her something?

Sabrina sat on my wedding bed, her gaze meeting mine over Julian's shoulder.

Her expression was absolutely taunting me.

Absolutely.

Rage crashed through my chest.

"What the hell are you doing!" I rushed forward, hand raised to slap Julian.

He caught my wrist. His eyes were cold enough to sting.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Before I could react, Sabrina's palm cracked across Julian's face.

"Bad dog. Focus. Now."

Her voice and that slap flipped some switch in Julian instantly. He dropped to all fours on the floor.

Sabrina's stiletto pressed down on his face, forcing his cheek flat against the ground, silencing him.

"Elena, your timing really is terrible." She smiled as she said my name.

"Sabrina." My voice came out hoarse, low, like it was coming from someone buried alive. "You're on my bed. With my fiancé."

She tilted her head to look at me.

That angle reminded me of how she used to stand behind Mother when we were kids, holding my toys, saying with perfect innocence, "Sister won't mind."

"You know you owe me, Elena." She said it lightly, like discussing the weather. "From the day I was born, it's fate that you defer to me in everything. What's wrong with me playing with your man? When I'm bored, I'll give him back."

She glanced down at Julian beneath her foot.

"After all—he really is such an obedient dog."

Something in my brain snapped.

[Flashback ends]

I retched into the roadside bushes again.

This time not even bile came up. Just the bitter burn of stomach acid scraping my throat.

Sabrina must've spotted me.

She was holding Julian's leash, looking this way.

In that moment, I genuinely wished I were blind.

She stood behind Julian, grabbed his right hand, raised it up, and waved at me.

Like he was some kind of golden retriever performing a trick.

My stomach cramped.

The nausea rose in waves that had nothing to do with physical sickness and everything to do with watching my fiancé being paraded like a pet.

I had to get out of there.

I needed to get back to the car.

But I'd barely made it to the side of the road when I collided headfirst into a chest that felt like hitting a wall.

Cedar. Gunpowder. Whiskey.

That same scent from before.

"Sorry," I apologized, looking up.

Tall frame. Broad shoulders. Black shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing a forearm wrapped in white bandages.

The massage guy.

"Did that gunshot scramble your brain?" He let out a low laugh. I could feel the vibration in his chest. "Now you like using people's pecs as pillows?"

I quickly pressed both hands against his chest and pushed myself back.

But he'd saved me, after all. I should be more polite, despite my hammering heart.

"Thank you. For before." I glanced at the bandaged arm. "Are you hurt?"

"Just a scratch. No big deal."

He started walking toward me.

Step by step.

Slow. Unhurried. Each step precisely measured.

Something about the way he moved set off alarm bells in my head.

The dangerous aura radiating from him was off the charts. The way he looked at me was exactly how a predator looks at prey.

I'd rather face a grizzly bear than face him right then, even though he'd saved me.

Instinctively, I took a step back.

My shoulder hit the brick wall behind me.

He took a step forward in response. His left hand braced against the wall, blocking my escape route in one smooth motion.

Practiced. Deliberate.

"Scared of me?" He lowered his voice, his breath brushing past my ear. It made me tingle. "When I gave you that massage, you weren't this scared. How was my technique?"

"Your technique was terrible." I lifted my chin, forcing myself to meet his eyes directly.

My heart was racing so hard I could hear it in my ears.

I didn't want to show any sign of backing down. Not to him. Not after what I'd just witnessed.

"I've never met a worse masseur in my life."

"Is that so?"

He looked down at me, his gray-blue eyes reflecting my false bravado with what might be amusement.

He reached out with his right hand, pinching my chin between his middle and index fingers. He tilted it up at an angle that forced me to look up at him.

His thumb pressed against my lower lip. The rough texture made it tingle.

"Haven't seen you for one night, your temper's gotten worse, hm?"

Damn it.

This angle—he was toying with me like I was some kind of pet.

The same way Sabrina treated my fiancé moments ago.

The thought made the rage in my chest threaten to consume me entirely, burning through the fear his proximity should've inspired.

I ignored the oppressive presence he exuded. Ignored the heat radiating from his body that was far too close to mine.

I gathered all my strength, lifted my right leg, and drove my knee straight toward his crotch.

"Bastard, get the hell away from me!"