Beauty in the Broken

It’s a lie. Harold bought the dress. I tried to cover most of it with my shawl.

“I have something else for you.”

He walks back to the room and returns with a parcel. First, he takes out a red thong. No bra. The cut of the dress is too low to allow for a bra. Then he removes a pair of shoes from a boutique box. The clear color gives the impression that the heels are made of glass. Just like Cinderella. But this is no fairytale, and Damian is no prince.

“I expect to see you coming down those stairs in exactly ten minutes. Don’t make me drag you out of this room in your thong.”

Beyond saving, I stare at his retreating form. In ten minutes, I’ll be beyond grace.

He turns in the door. “Oh, and take down your hair.”

I try one last time. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

His smile says otherwise. “This round, wife, is mine.”

With those words, he disappears, letting his victory sink in, forcing me to do a walk of shame in front of my enemies.

Chapter 8

Damian

On my way downstairs, I motion for Russell to follow. I trust him, but the bedroom door was open when I arrived, and he’s just a man. With a woman like Lina, any man will find it hard to resist a peek at her naked body. Zane will make sure our bedroom stays off limits. I told him as much when I entered. I want Russell at the reception. His job is keeping Lina safe. I doubt one of the wedding party guests will launch an attack on her in my house, but you never know. I have too many enemies. She has enough. Maybe Lina doesn’t deserve those enemies. She’s not capable of hurting a fly, besides herself that is, but she’s the product of her father’s legacy and my name. Having been born to the one and married to the other, there is no bigger threat a person can face in the world. Our enemies combined are enough to make hardened criminals shiver.

If not for the grave mistake she made in marrying Clarke, she would’ve been innocent in the war for money and power. If not for her choice of attire that baptized our union as the black wedding in the media, I wouldn’t have entered into tonight’s private war with her. Let’s face it, the dress I picked isn’t slutty. It’s revealing, but not beyond what’s considered socially acceptable. The only person who’ll be punished is my conservative wife and maybe my dick. I doubt I’ll stay soft at the sight of her in that silk.

I look forward to seeing her in red far more than the actual reception, which sole purpose is to rub my ownership of Lina and her fortune in my advisories’ noses. The arrival of my wife will definitely be the highlight of my night. She has four minutes before I go get her. Even the pleasure of excluding Dalton from the event, which is nothing short of a dishonor, comes second.

A hoard of scavengers descends on me downstairs. I drown in a mob of men wearing black ties and false smiles who want to know what my plans are for Dalton Diamonds, or more accurately, how they can bribe their way into my favor. Women too eager to suffocate me with insincere compliments hang on their arms. I accept a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, reveling in tonight’s victory. Based on the mismanagement charges I slapped Dalton with and the messy investigation it set it motion, Ellis and I voted him off the board. I bought up his shares, which makes me the owner of seventy percent. The end of Dalton is a foregone conclusion. I’m yet to tell my wife I’ve ruined her father, but I’ll save it for after the reception. I want to take my time to savor her reaction. For now, I want to gloat and let these motherfuckers grovel in my glory.

I’m good at taking in facts while directing my attention elsewhere. While I give the appropriate responses at the right times to mindless chatter about kids, exotic holidays, and so-called interesting business opportunities, I watch the time and the top of the stairs.

Exactly ten minutes after I’ve left Lina, she appears in a drowsing ball of chandelier light on the landing. Inwardly, I smile. It’s so much like her to rebel in any way she can, even in pushing her appearance to the end of the time limit. One hand on the balustrade, she faces forward, her chin lifted proudly and her back straight. When she takes the first step out of the light, the sight I’ve been anticipating so eagerly hits me straight in the balls.

Fucking hell. She’s a vision. The red silk clings to her figure, hinting at what lies underneath, but the chiffon makes it whimsical, softening and hiding what would otherwise have been the obvious tips of her nipples, the dip of her navel, and the swell of her mound. Like a graceful apparition, she glides to the top of the stairs, every step revealing a slender, creamy-toned leg through the slit. The valley between her breasts is deep, but not so much that the curves risk spilling out. I’m way too possessive to allow that. Her hair cascades in waves down her back. From where I’m standing, we’re facing each other, me looking up and her looking down. For a moment, my breath catches. For once, I lose track of a conversation and miss the question directed at me.