Page 85 of His to Possess
I frowned, puzzled. This didn't make sense. Alain was obsessive about security, always insisting on keeping valuable pieces in-house where he could control access. Why would he need an off-site storage unit?
My fingers traced the edge of the paper as I committed the details to memory. The address, the unit number, the paymentdates, everything could be crucial. I snapped a quick photo with my phone, making sure the flash was off.
The door swung open, and my heart stopped. Alain stood there, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto me. In an instant, his face contorted with rage, and before I could react, he was on me. His hands gripped my arms with bruising force, pinning me against the desk.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
I struggled against him, panic rising in my throat. My mind raced, desperately searching for an excuse, anything to explain why I was in his office.
"I-I was just looking for the Renoir file," I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady. "The client called about it, and I couldn't find it at my desk."
His grip tightened on my arms, and I winced in pain. His eyes were wild with fury, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he might actually kill me right there in his office.
"Liar!" He shook me roughly. "You little bitch! You're snooping around, aren't you?"
I shook my head frantically, my heart pounding so hard I could barely hear my own thoughts. "No, Alain. I swear I'm not snooping!"
His fingers dug deeper into my flesh, and I bit back a cry of pain. I tried to twist away, but he was too strong.
"You think you can outsmart me?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You're nothing without me, Laurel. Remember that. I own you."
I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
"Let go of me," I demanded, trying to inject steel into my voice despite the fear coursing through me.
His hand rose, and I braced for the impact. My body tensed, a reflex born from too many encounters like this. But the blow didn't land.
A sharp knock cut through the tension. The door swung open, and an administrator stepped in, oblivious to the scene she was interrupting.
"Mr. De Lamalle, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a client requesting you personally in the gallery."
Alain's transformation was instant and chilling. The rage in his eyes didn't vanish, it simply sank beneath the surface, replaced by a polished veneer of charm. His grip on me loosened, but the pressure of his fingers lingered like a phantom pain.
"Of course," Alain said smoothly, his voice betraying none of the fury from moments ago. "I'll be right there."
The administrator nodded and retreated, closing the door behind her. As soon as we were alone again, his mask slipped. He turned to me, eyes cold and hard as steel.
"We're not finished here." Each word dripped with venom. "And I'm not letting you out of my sight. If you so much as breathe wrong in front of this client, you'll regret it. Do you understand me?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I fought to keep my breathing steady.
His hand clamped around my wrist, squeezing until I winced in pain. He yanked me toward the door, and I stumbled, trying to keep pace with his long strides.
His fingers dug into my wrist as he dragged me down the stairs. I stumbled, trying to keep up with his pace while hiding my distress. We reached the gallery floor, and I watched in fascination as his demeanor shifted instantly. The rage vanished, replaced with charm, his smile practiced and polished. But Icould still see the fury simmering in his eyes, a silent threat directed at me.
"Smile," he commanded as we approached the gallery. "And remember, I'm watching you."
I forced my lips into what I hoped passed for a pleasant expression, even as dread coiled in my stomach. I had no choice but to play along, to dance to Alain's tune while silently plotting my escape.
I took a deep breath, bracing myself. As we rounded the corner, I lifted my gaze and felt the air leave my lungs in a rush. Standing there, looking as intense and enigmatic as ever, was Luka Byron. Our eyes locked, and I saw a flicker of amusement cross his face, followed quickly by concern. What the hell was he doing here?
As if on cue, Alain began his well-rehearsed spiel. His voice faded into background noise as my mind raced, trying to make sense of Luka's unexpected presence.
"Mr. Byron, what an honor to have you grace our humble gallery," Alain said, his charm dialed up to eleven. "I had the pleasure of introducing myself at your Chicago exhibition. Truly groundbreaking work."
Luka's expression remained impassive, but I caught a flicker of boredom in his eyes. "Yes, I recall," he said, his tone flat. "I'm visiting several galleries in Paris. For inspiration and potential events."
Alain practically vibrated with excitement. "Oh, how marvelous! We would be absolutely thrilled to host an event for you, Mr. Byron. Our space is perfect for showcasing avant-garde pieces like yours."
