Chapter 2

　　Elena's POV

　　The metallic scrape of a key card hit me like a gunshot.

　　My heart seized.

　　Of course Charles would have a key to his own suite. If he walked in now and saw me disheveled, barely dressed, looking like I'd been ravaged by the half-brother he'd spent months calling "a stain on the family name", he wouldn't just be heartbroken.

　　He'd kill me. Or he'd kill Lorenzo.

　　And here I was, the stain's latest conquest.

　　I stared at the door handle as it began to twist. I closed my eyes and prayed for the floor to simply open up and swallow me whole as I heard the door's final click echo in the silent room.

　　Suddenly, a large, warm hand clamped around my arm.

　　Before I could scream, Lorenzo yanked me toward him, spinning me away from the door. He used his massive frame to pin me against the wall, his back becoming a solid barrier between me and the entrance.

　　In one swift motion, he cupped my face and crashed his lips onto mine.

　　Enraged, I didn't lean into it. I bit down on his tongue as hard as I could.

　　Lorenzo let out a sharp, muffled hiss, pulling his lips back, but he didn't release me.

　　Instead, he pulled me flush against his naked chest, burying my face into the crook of his neck.

　　I felt the heat of his skin, the frantic thrum of his pulse, and had a terrifying realization that he was still completely, shamelessly nude.

　　I tried to squirm, to push at his granite-hard chest, but his grip was iron. He held my head firmly, hiding my face from view.

　　"Just as I suspected," a voice drawled from the doorway.

　　I could hear the familiar disappointment in Charles' tone, now laced with a thick layer of disgust.

　　"Well done on fucking a prostitute in my suite, barely a few minutes into my birthday. You never fail to outdo yourself."

　　Charles' tone was irritated and condescending.

　　I flinched at the word.

　　'Prostitute'.

　　My boyfriend was calling me a whore, and he didn't even know it.

　　Lorenzo let out a low, vibrating chuckle against my hair, his chest rumbling against my cheek.

　　He shook his head slowly. "She's not a whore. She's my girl. And she's shy."

　　I held my breath, the scent of Lorenzo's whiskey-tinged breath filling my lungs. I waited for the explosion, for Charles to demand she show her face.

　　Instead, I heard a long, weary exhale.

　　"I'll wait for you outside," Charles said, his voice fading as he retreated. "Hurry up or I'll actually get security, your 'girl' or not."

　　The door clicked shut.

　　The moment the latch caught, I shoved Lorenzo with everything I had.

　　I scrambled back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes burning with rage.

　　"Is that how you thank me?" Lorenzo asked. He wasn't even winded. He stood there, a wicked, triumphant smile playing on his lips.

　　"Fuck you," I whispered harshlyt, my voice shaking.

　　"You already did that." he countered, his eyes darkening as they raked over my disheveled state. "And you happened to enjoy it. You were so fucking wet for me."

　　The crudeness of his remark hit me like a physical blow. I lunged forward and slapped him again.

　　My hand was starting to ache, but I didn't care.

　　Lorenzo's eyes came alive, a spark of genuine amusement dancing in the depths.

　　"If I knew slapping was your kink, I'd have let you have the time of your life while you were grinding against me."

　　My neck felt like it was on fire.

　　A deep, hot flush of shame crawled up my face. "Please," I whispered, "just leave me alone. He's waiting for you."

　　"Yes, he is," Lorenzo said drily.

　　The playfulness vanished, replaced by a cold, efficient mask. He turned away and walked back to his discarded clothes, pulling them on with effortless grace.

　　Once he was dressed, he pointed a finger at me. "Wait in here. Don't move."

　　"Yeah, like I have another option," I snapped, leaning against the wall for support.

　　He disappeared out the door.

　　I didn't move for a second, then I made toward the door, gluing my ear to the surface.

　　I wanted to hear them walk away, but their voices were still right there in the hallway.

　　"So you pretended to be drunk to use my suite, just to fuck some whore?" Charles's voice was sharp.

　　My stomach flipped.

　　Whore, again.

　　The word felt like a brand.

　　"She is not a whore," Lorenzo replied, his voice rising in a way that puzzled me.

　　"She's my girl," he added tightly.

　　Why was he defending me? Why was he claiming me? It felt wrong, and I didn't like it.

　　"Whatever," Charles sighed. "Just stay away from women like that. I only came by to tell you about the birthday party for Dad next week."

　　"Just like the other parties, I won't be there," Lorenzo spat, his voice dripping with sudden, jagged disdain. "He can go fuck himself."

　　I blinked, speechless.

　　How could he talk about their father like that? I waited for Charles to defend the man, to reprimand his brother, but the silence stretched on.

　　"He's getting old, Enzo," Charles said quietly.

　　"Lucky bastard," Lorenzo hissed. "He should've died years ago."

　　The venom in his voice was chilling. I heard a heavy sigh, likely from Charles.

　　"Handle your girl in the room. I need to go review some files on my laptop."

　　I shook my head to myself. Even on his birthday, Charles still wanted to work.

　　I heard Charles's footsteps retreat down the hall.

　　I slid down the wall by the door, my legs finally giving out, and collapsed into a crumpled mess.

　　My head was spinning with Lorenzo's words and the narrowness of my escape.

　　Then, the silence was shattered.

　　My phone, tucked in the pocket of my trench coat, began to vibrate. I crawled toward it, my hands trembling as I fished it out.

　　The caller ID flashed: Charles.

　　My heart rate spiked so high I felt dizzy. I stared at the screen, a silent prayer forming in my mind; if I survive this night, I am burning this lingerie and never looking at a silk lace again.

　　With a shaking thumb, I swiped to answer.

　　"H-hello?"