The Phantom CEO's Runaway Contract Lover

The moment the main course was cleared, Arley's hand clamped around her wrist like a manacle. He dragged her from the dining room, through a set of French doors, and onto a deserted stone terrace.

He shoved her away from him. She stumbled, catching herself on the cold stone balustrade.

"What is your problem, Hope?" he snarled, his face inches from hers. "Are you trying to humiliate me in front of my entire family?"

She rubbed her wrist, a red mark already forming on her skin. "I was just telling the truth," she said, her voice a cool counterpoint to his heat. "Don't you enjoy your calls with Kenia?"

The directness of the question threw him. He took a step back, his expression shifting from rage to a kind of arrogant pity. He laughed, a short, ugly sound.

"I get it now. You're jealous."

He stalked toward her, backing her against the balustrade. He cupped her chin, his grip unpleasantly tight. "Is this what this is all about? Acting out to get my attention?"

The sheer, unadulterated ego of the man was almost impressive. A real laugh escaped her this time, genuine and mocking. She slapped his hand away.

"Get over yourself, Arley. I'm not interested."

She decided to pour gasoline on the fire. She let her gaze drift, a wistful, reminiscent look on her face. "And honestly, compared to the man I've been seeing... you're not even in the same league in bed."

His face went slack with shock, then contorted with a primal, masculine fury. His eyes were bloodshot.

"What did you say?" He slammed her back against the wall, his hands trapping her on either side of her head. The stone was cold and rough against her bare back.

She met his furious gaze without flinching. "I have a lover," she lied, the words tasting like victory. "He's stronger than you, better looking than you, and he actually knows what to do with a woman."

Jealousy and rage blinded him. He couldn't conceive that she was telling the truth; he saw it as a desperate tactic, a lie to wound him.

"Fine," he sneered. "You want to play games? Let's play."

He pulled out his phone, his thumb jabbing at the screen. Kenia's contact photo appeared. He shoved the phone into Hope's hand.

"Call her. Right now."

His voice was a low command. "Apologize. For what you said at dinner. For being a jealous bitch. For everything."

He thought he was backing her into a corner. He thought her "confession" would prove she was bluffing, that she still cared. A smug, triumphant smile spread across his face. He had won.

Hope looked at the glowing screen, at Kenia's smiling face. She took the phone.

Arley's smile widened. She was caving.

Her finger hovered over the call icon. She looked up at him, a cold, secret smile in her own eyes.

You think this is your trap, Arley? It's my stage.

Across the city, Algernon McCarthy looked at a proposal from Simmons Group. His assistant stood beside him.

"Sir, Arley Simmons seems to be having an unstable evening at his family's event."

A live feed from a micro-drone played on a monitor. The image was silent, but crystal clear. He watched Arley shove Hope against the wall on the terrace.

The pen in Algernon's hand bent under the pressure of his grip.

A cold, possessive rage, unfamiliar and terrifying, coiled in his gut.

He picked up his encrypted phone, the one she didn't know about, and sent a text to the number he had used as Drake.

Need help?

He stared at the screen. No response.

The air in the room dropped ten degrees.