Page 35 of Pretty Pink Poison
And I’d sworn at my father as if I didn’t care, as if I was asking for hell, but maybe I was. My pulse had raced, my skin had flushed, and I’d felt… alive. The danger made me feel more than I had in months.
Other men had looked at me tonight—Jameson with his flirtation, Rafe with his disinterest, even Bane’s little admirer, Angela, whispered over her flute of champagne about me.
I found I didn’t care, not when I’d been obsessed with getting his attention for months. I was twisted probably. Twisted in craving something I absolutely shouldn’t want.
I stared harder at the mask of makeup on my face. Classy. Demure. Exactly the version of me they all wanted at the table—the doll they could display while pretending I mattered.
But the truth? I’d never be good enough for my father. Or for my mother, who never stood up for me. Not for friends who weren’t really friends; not for men who only cared about what I could offer them. I didn’t want to be that polished, packaged version anymore.
So, I’d said it. Fuck them.
I dragged a hand down my face, smearing the makeup just enough that the mask cracked. “Who are you even trying to be, Bianca?” I whispered to the mirror.
And in the silence that followed, I knew the answer.
Not their daughter. Not their pawn. Not their doll. I was something else entirely.
“Talking to yourself, Pink?”
His voice cut through the silence, low and rough, curling around me like smoke. My head snapped up, eyes finding him in the mirror before I turned.
Bane leaned against the doorframe as if he owned the entire room, one shoulder propped against polished marble, the dark line of his suit crisp. He didn’t look out of place here—he looked like the sin they’d designed this resort for. His pale eyes locked on me, unyielding, unashamed to have followed me in.
“You can’t keep running off to the bathroom every time you need a breath,” he said evenly. His gaze flicked over me—at the gloss smeared on my mouth, the dress my mother had chosen,the little flecks of blood still drying on the fabric. His jaw ticked once, but he didn’t comment. Instead, his voice dropped to something softer, though it carried the weight of an order. “You need time to get your composure, then take it at the table. They can wait for you. Theywillwait for you.”
My throat tightened and my thighs squeezed together. He was sweet and commanding all at once.
“I told my father good riddance.”
“Doesn’t mean you run away after.”
I turned, pressing my back against the cool marble counter. “Why do you care if I run away from them?”
He didn’t move closer, but the intensity in his eyes made it feel like he’d already closed the distance. “Because you need to learn…” He paused, eyes narrowing. “You now don’t run from anybody but me.”
My heart jolted. “Teaching me a lesson for when I marry into the family again then?”
“Well,” His tone was steady, cold. “People will test you.”
“So another wonderful lesson from my handler, Bane?”
“Among other things.”
“Like what?” I demanded. My voice cracked. “Tell me, because I’d like to know what the last few months have taught me too—with you locking me in that penthouse, only talking to me when it’s necessary. You’re treating me like I barely freaking exist here.”
“Most wives are treated that way.”
“I’m not going to beyourwife.”
“You’re going to be my brother’s,” he said flatly. “So it’s best you know what it will be like. And it’s best you know he won’t tolerate you talking to other men at his table.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You had a lot to say to Jameson tonight.”
“He didn’t seem to care.”
“Rafe wasn’t in the room half the night.”
