Chapter 6 My turn to play!

The silence that followed Ruan's words was heavy, hanging in the air like smoke that wouldn't clear. Aysel felt as if the stone balcony was shrinking under her feet. She stared at the man who held her gaze with frightening ease. Her heart raced because he was no longer just a stranger, he was a predator who had somehow found the keys to her cage.

David was just standing there with a wide, eager smile. He laughed nervously as if Ruan had cracked a joke instead of delivering a threat.

"Well," David said, rubbing his hands together in a way that made him appear small and anxious. "I’m glad my wife made such an impression, Mr. Sinclair. She has that effect on people."

Ruan kept his dark eyes locked on Aysel, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a way that made her stomach churn.

"Indeed she does," Ruan said softly, "Shall we join your table? I'm curious to hear more about this… transition you mentioned."

"Of course!" David exclaimed, nearly tripping over himself as he gestured toward the glass doors. "Right this way. We have a VIP spot near the front."

Ruan stepped back, offering his arm to Aysel.

It was a polite gesture, the kind a gentleman would make at a ball, but Aysel stared at the crook of his elbow as if it were a bear trap waiting to snap shut. She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. She looked at David for help, silently begging him to intervene, but David only nodded encouragingly.

"Go on, Aysel," David urged, his voice tight with impatience. "Don't be rude."

She had no choice.

With a trembling hand, she placed it on Ruan’s arm. The moment her skin touched the fabric of his tuxedo, she felt the heat radiating from him. He was solid and warm and terrifyingly handsome. He pulled her slightly closer, trapping her hand against his ribs so she couldn't pull away.

"Breathe, Aysel," Ruan whispered, leaning down so his breath brushed against her temple. The intimacy of it made her shiver. "You are shaking."

"I hate you," she whispered back, keeping her face forward and her smile fixed so the others wouldn’t see the panic in her eyes.

"You didn’t hate me six weeks ago," he replied, his voice dark with amusement. "In fact, I seem to remember you begging me not to stop."

The memory hit her like a physical blow, flushing her cheeks with heat and shame. She stumbled slightly in her heels. Ruan’s grip tightened immediately, holding her up with an ease that made her feel fragile and weak.

They walked back into the ballroom, and the noise of the party crashed over them. The air was hot, filled with the scent of expensive perfume and roasted meat. The mixture made nausea rise in Aysel’s throat again. She swallowed hard, focusing on the floor, trying to ignore how people turned to stare at them. They looked like a power couple, the billionaire and the beauty. Inside, Aysel felt like a prisoner being led to her execution.

They reached a round table near the stage, where Sienna was sitting, typing furiously on her phone. She looked up when they approached, her eyes going wide at the sight of Ruan Sinclair. She straightened up, pushing her shoulders back to emphasize her low-cut red dress, and put on a smile.

"Mr. Sinclair," Sienna said sweetly, standing to extend her manicured hand. "I’m Sienna. I handle all of David’s important affairs."

Ruan didn’t take her hand. He barely glanced at her. He simply nodded curtly and pulled out a chair for Aysel.

"Sit," Ruan ordered softly.

Aysel sank into the chair, her legs about to give out. She gripped her clutch purse in her lap to hide the slight tremor in her fingers. Ruan sat next to her, close enough that his thigh brushed against hers under the table. Every time he moved, the friction sent a jolt of electricity through her.

David sat across from them, looking flushed and excited, pouring wine into glasses with a hand that shook slightly from nerves.

"This is a great honor," David babbled, filling Ruan’s glass to the brim. "Vance Tech is on the verge of something huge, Mr. Sinclair. We just need a partner who understands vision."

"I understand vision," Ruan said, picking up his wine glass but not drinking. He swirled the red liquid, watching how it coated the glass. "I also understand assets, I'm very particular about what I invest in, I don’t like to share."

He turned his head slowly to look at Aysel.

"Do you, Mrs. Vance?"

Aysel froze. The question was loaded, heavy with meaning that only they understood.

"I… I don't know much about business," she stammered, looking down at her empty plate. "I leave that to David."

"Oh, Aysel is very traditional," Sienna said, leaning across the table with a sickly sweet smile. "She prefers to stay in the background. She isn't really cut out for the high-stress world, are you, honey?"

Sienna’s voice dripped with venom. Normally, it would have stung, but tonight Aysel barely heard it because all her focus was on the man sitting next to her.

A waiter appeared, setting a plate of food in front of her. It was a rich steak covered in dark truffle sauce. The smell wafted up, oily and pungent, making Aysel’s stomach lurch.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, closing her eyes as the room seemed to spin.

"Are you not hungry?" Ruan asked.

His voice was right by her ear,

Aysel opened her eyes and met his gaze. He was watching her hands gripping the tablecloth and the way she breathed, shallow and fast.

"I have a headache," she lied, pushing the plate slightly away. "I’m not hungry."

"You aren't drinking your wine either," Ruan pointed out, nodding toward her full glass.

Panic surged in her chest, she can't drink. Alcohol is poison for the baby. But if she refused, he might figure it out. He was too smart and too observant.

"I told you," she whispered. "I have a headache and alcohol makes it worse."

David sighed loudly and set his fork down with a clatter. "Aysel, please don't be dramatic. Just take a sip, It’s a toast to our new partnership."

He raised his glass, expecting her to comply, expecting her to be the obedient doll he had trained her to be.

"Come on, Aysel," Sienna said with a smirk, lifting her own glass. "Don't spoil the mood."

Tears welled in Aysel’s eyes, she felt sick and terrified. She reached for the glass with a trembling hand, her fingers brushing against the cold stem.

"I... I can't," she whispered, pulling her hand back.

"For God's sake," David snapped. His patience vanished, and his nice-guy facade slipped. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into her soft skin. "Stop embarrassing me and drink the damn wine."

Silence fell over the table.

Aysel flinched and tried to pull her arm away, but David held on, his face twisted in anger.

Suddenly, a movement caught her attention—a blur too fast to see clearly.

Ruan’s hand shot out and clamped over David’s wrist.

"Let her go," Ruan said.

His voice was quiet but carried across the table like a thunderclap.

David froze. He stared at Ruan’s hand on his wrist, noting the white-knuckled grip, before looking up at Ruan’s face.

Ruan wasn’t smiling. His eyes were dark with anger, and his jaw was set tight.

"Mr. Sinclair, I..." David stuttered, his face draining of color. "I was just..."

"I said," Ruan repeated, his voice dropping, "let go of your wife."

David instantly released her, snatching his hand back as if burned. He rubbed his wrist, looking frightened and confused, unable to grasp why this powerful billionaire was defending Aysel.

Aysel sat there, stunned. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it was in her ears. No one had ever stood up for her against David, no one had ever stopped him.

She looked at Ruan. He was still focused on David, every line of his body radiating warning. Then he turned to her, his expression softened slightly, and his eyes searched her face.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Concern filled his voice, breaking her.

It was too much. The fear, the pregnancy, the secret, the kindness from a man she should see as an enemy.

She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping on the floor.

"I need to go," she gasped.

Without waiting for a reply, she stood up and turned, running toward the exit. She weaved through the tables, ignoring the stares, Sienna’s laughter, and David calling her name. She just needed to get out.

She burst into the hallway, escaping the suffocating heat of the ballroom. Leaning against the cool wall by the coat check, she gasped for air, clutching her stomach to calm the nausea.

"Stupid," she whispered to herself, wiping a tear from her cheek. "Stupid, stupid."

She closed her eyes, trying to count to ten, searching for the strength to leave and call a taxi.

"Running away again?"

Aysel’s eyes snapped open.

Ruan stood at the end of the hallway.

He had followed her.

He walked toward her slowly, he stopped a few feet away, close enough for her to feel his presence enveloping her.

"I am not running," Aysel said, pressing her back against the wall. "I am leaving, there is a difference."

Ruan tilted his head and studied her. He noted her pale face, the sweat on her forehead, and the way her hand protectively covered her stomach.

He stepped closer, invading her space and placing one hand on the wall beside her head. He trapped her between his body and the wall.

"You are hiding something," Ruan said softly.

Aysel's breath hitched. "I don't know what you mean."

"You refused the wine," he said, his gaze intense. "You haven't eaten a bite, you are shaking, and you look like you are about to be sick."

He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers.

"Why were you really at that hotel six weeks ago, Aysel, what happened between you and your husband?"

The question hung between them, sharp and dangerous.

"I told you," she whispered, looking away. "It was a mistake."

"I don’t think it was," Ruan said quietly. He reached out with his free hand, and for a terrible second, she thought he was going to touch her stomach. She flinched, bracing herself.

But his hand moved up, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her jawline. His touch was warm and rough yet gentle.

"You owe me a debt," Ruan said, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. "I have your money, but that isn’t enough. You used me, Aysel and now I find you here, sick and scared, married to a man who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you."

He lowered his head so his lips brushed her ear.

"I am going to find out what you are hiding," he whispered, sounding as if it were a vow. "And when I do, I will make sure you never run away from me again."

He pulled back, gazing into her wide, fearful eyes, and slipped a hand into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope of cash and tucked it into her clutch before she could stop him.

"Go home, Aysel," he said, stepping back to let her pass. "Get some rest, you will need your strength."

"Why?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Ruan smiled, and it was the most dangerous thing she had ever seen.

"Because you started all of this," he said. "And now it is my turn to play."