Page 90 of Vicious Heir

“Just don’t be long,” he says as another group of men beckons him over. “God, fucking rich leeches.” He kisses my cheek. “Present company excluded.”

“Don’t worry, darling. You’re the rich one in our relationship.” I extract myself from his arm and hurry off down the hall.

I lock myself in a bathroom stall and lean against the wall. There’s nobody else in here, and for a moment I can breathe. I must’ve lost my mind back there. I never talk to people that way. Grandmother basically burned the idea of being meek and polite at all times directly onto my brain folds. But it’s like now I’m married to vicious Adriano, and a little bit of that strength is wearing off on me.

And I like it.

My hands shake as I open my clutch. The plastic stick is at the bottom. I’m feeling strong and running on adrenaline, and I want to ride this wave while I can.

I rip open the pregnancy test and stare at it.

This isn’t the right venue. I should do this at home, in privacy, where I can react properly. But I’ve been putting this off for a couple of weeks now, and it’s way past the point where I find out the truth.

There have been signs. Some morning sickness. A missed period. My breasts are tender and swollen. Little things, but hard to ignore. I keep thinking there’s no way, there’s no way, but of course it happened.

Adriano’s been coming inside of me without protection from the moment we met.

The guy’s been trying tobreedme. The freaking psycho.

With a deep breath, I sit down and pee on the stupid stick. It’s not easy and not ideal, but once it’s done, I clean it off, put the cap on, and wait.

The bathroom door opens. Multiple women come inside and go straight to the mirror. I hear them, my heart racing when I recognize Marcy’s voice. “Seriously, the stupid little peasant bitch married that Italian mobster scumbag and now she thinks she’s all tough. I wanted to smack that look off her dumb face. God, what a pathetic loser.”

“Didn’t her parents, like, murder-suicide each other?” another girl asks. I don’t know who that is. My blood runs cold and sweat prickles my skin.

“No, I think they just overdosed? Pathetic drug addicts. Her whole family is fucked up. Her older brother runs that failing hedge fund and her grandmother is the stuffiest, nastiest bitch in the city. God, I don’t even know why I was talking to her. I feel like I’m dirty.”

The other girl laughs, and the subject changes to how annoying they find their husbands. I stay in the stall, feeling sick, all that powerful adrenaline from standing up to her slowly fading away. I watch, sinking into depression, and feel so weak and pathetic, trapped in a bathroom stall, too afraid to come out.

Until the door finally opens and they leave.

I burst out toward the sinks. God, I hate them so much. I hate everyonelikethem. Marcy and women like her care only about bank accounts and social standing. But I learned a while ago that those things are about as solid as smoke.

I grab the pregnancy test without looking. I can’t do this here. I’ll take it home and check when I’m alone. This was such a dumb mistake, and I feel like a moron for doing it. I hurry out of the bathroom, down the back stairs, and out an emergency exit. I prop open the door as I breathe in the humid Philadelphia air, trying to calm myself down.

There will always be sneers. They’ll never think I’m one of them. And maybe it’s better that way. I can be stronger without them. I can find a lasting, good relationship with Adriano, outside of their world, if only I can be strong enough to grab hold and never let it go. I start to feel better and steel myself to return to the party when a man appears at my elbow.

I flinch away and turn. In the process, I spill my clutch, and the test goes clattering to the ground.

“What’s this?” He stoops over and picks it up. Demir frowns as he holds it up to the light. “Pregnancy test?”

“What—you are—how are—” Panic slams into me so hard I can’t form a coherent sentence.

He smiles nastily as he hands the test back to me. “I suppose I should say congratulations.” He leans in close, showing his teeth. “But unfortunately for you, I’m going to cut that fucking baby from your belly and replace it with one of my own.”

I open my mouth to scream, but he punches me straight in the jaw.

Chapter 33

Lucy

No. God, no. No, no, no, not like this, please not like this. My head swims as I try to push myself to my feet. My jaw aches, and the bright, iron-sharp taste of blood fills my mouth. Someone grabs me by the hair and drags me to my feet. I open my mouth to scream, but he wraps a big, meaty fist around my throat.

Pieces of soft chiffon hang limp and wet off my dress. Others are plastered to my thighs.

“You know, in all this, I don’t even blame you.” I open my eyes, grabbing onto his wrist. Demir’s grinning in my face. “It’s your bitch of a grandmother’s fault. What was I thinking, trusting Helena Willing-Morris? That viper was always going to stab me in the back, and now here we are.” He clucks his tongue and leans closer. His breath smells like whiskey. “Do you think he’s going to miss you when I make you mine?”

“Let go of me,” I choke out and try to claw at his face. My fingernails catch skin, raking down his cheek. I shove against him as hard as I can, and he shouts in surprise and pain as bloodwells up in three thick scratches. His grip on my throat eases, and I twist, kneeing him in the leg, barely missing his dick.

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