One Night with My Ex's Father

Chloe's POV

The music hit like a fist against my temples. The lights smeared into something thick and shapeless. Alcohol and something else—something I didn't recognize—were burning through my veins, turning whatever remained of my judgment to ash.

I pressed my hand against the wall and forced myself down the crowded hallway.

I needed to find Ethan.

My boyfriend. He would take care of me.

Tonight was my figure skating victory banquet. He'd arranged this party as a surprise, just for me.

I pushed open the door to the VIP lounge. The heavy oak panel hadn't latched shut.

The sound coming from inside was worse than the music—Jessica's laughter, sharp and triumphant.

Then I saw them.

Ethan was on the sofa. Jessica had wound herself around him like a vine, her head resting on his shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

My mind went blank. I couldn't process what I was looking at.

My boyfriend. My best friend.

"Ethan?"

My voice came out like gravel.

He looked up at the sound of his name. When he saw me, there was no guilt on his face—only the flat irritation of someone interrupted. He didn't push Jessica away. He pulled her closer.

I stumbled into the room. "What is this?"

The men scattered around the lounge laughed. Faces that had once dripped with flattery now wore open mockery. I felt stripped bare—a joke on display for their entertainment.

Jessica lifted her head from Ethan's chest. Her beautiful face was arranged into the expression of someone who had won.

"Oh, Chloe, darling." Each word landed like a pin. "You look absolutely terrible."

The betrayal hit me like a wall of heat, and I lost the last of my restraint. I lunged at her.

I didn't come close.

Ethan shot to his feet and shoved me back. Hard.

My spine hit the champagne tower behind me. Glass exploded. Ice-cold liquid and shards rained over me as I crashed to the floor, soaked and crumpled, my expensive dress plastered to my skin—a perfect display of everything I had become in this room.

The laughter got louder.

I pushed the wet hair from my face and looked up. Ethan stood over me, staring down with undisguised contempt.

"You're nothing but trouble," he said. "A fraud. A disgusting little liar."

I stared at him. "What?"

"Did you actually think I liked you?" The laugh that followed was uglier than crying. "You forged Jessica's identity to send me those emails. I thought you were her. If I'd known the truth from the start, I wouldn't have looked at you twice."

Something closed around my heart and squeezed.

Forged her identity? When did I ever—

"Consider tonight my thank-you gift." The corner of his mouth curved into something vicious. "I put something in your drink. Something that ought to help you live up to what you really are." He let his eyes travel around the room, over the faces of his waiting friends. "She's all yours, gentlemen. Show her what that looks like."

He pulled Jessica to her feet and walked out without looking back. The door shut behind them and took the last of the light with it.

A beat of silence.

Then the men started moving toward me.

The smiles on their faces were no longer flattery. They were hunger.

"Looks like Ethan's done with you, sweetheart." A blond man crouched down and reached for my face.

I recoiled. The fear was sharp enough to cut through the drug for one moment, one breath of clarity.

Another hand grabbed my hem and yanked.

The sound of fabric tearing went through me like a current.

I scrambled across the wreckage and closed my fingers around a shard of broken glass. When a hand reached for the front of my dress, I swung.

The man's scream tore through the room. A deep gash opened across the back of his hand, and blood came fast.

In the half-second they froze, I clawed my way to my feet and ran.

The curses and footsteps behind me were a drumbeat at my back. The drug was gaining ground—my legs were filling with lead, my vision folding at the edges, the entire corridor tilting and rolling. I was almost out of time.

Then I walked straight into a wall.

Not a wall. A chest.

I tipped my head back. Even through blurred vision, I recognized the face.

I had seen it in photographs in Ethan's study. The man Ethan called his guardian—the man who made Ethan go quiet and careful just by being mentioned.

Mr. Blackwood.

I grabbed hold of him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.

"Please," I said. "Help me."

He read my condition in a single glance and stepped back. "I'm afraid I can't help you."

The voices reached us before I could answer.

"Grab her!"

The sound emptied me out completely.

The drug tore through my blood. And underneath it, worse than the drug, was the image of Ethan and Jessica on that sofa—burned into the back of my eyes, a snake coiled around every nerve it could find.

I wanted to destroy something.

This man was Mr. Blackwood.

Ethan's guardian. The man who held the underground of this city in his hands. The man whose name made Ethan flinch.

If I slept with him—if I became his—

What sharper revenge was there?

The thought was less than a thought. It was pure impulse, pure ruin.

I didn't plan it. I had no plan left.

I seized his lapels, rose onto my toes, and kissed him.

The moment our lips touched, the cold shocked a sliver of clarity into me. His whole body went rigid. His hands closed around my arms and began to pull me back.

"Calm down, little girl." His voice was low, rough, carrying the kind of authority that expected to be obeyed.

I didn't let go.

I tightened my grip on his lapels, pressed closer, and kissed him again—clumsy and desperate, all jagged edges, no technique, just the full weight of my desperation pressed against him.

Beside us, a large man in a black suit took a sharp step forward. "Boss, I'll get her off—"

Blackwood raised one hand.

The bodyguard stopped as though a switch had been thrown. He stepped back and dropped his gaze.

The men who'd been chasing me stopped too. Whatever Blackwood's reputation was in this city, it was the kind that didn't invite testing.

"Mr. Blackwood." One of them found his voice. "Chloe is my date tonight."

Blackwood looked down at me. Something dangerous moved through the depths of his eyes.

"Is that right?" he said. "Are you his date?"

I shook my head so hard the room spun. I held on tighter. "No. No."

Blackwood flicked a hand at his bodyguard. The men were removed.

His arm closed around my waist—one hand, enough pressure to make me aware of exactly how little strength I had left.

"You're playing with fire." His eyes held mine. His voice was ice with something lethal underneath it.

I met his gaze and didn't look away.