Too Late To Beg The Heiress

The word hung in the air, freezing the blood in Preston's veins.

For two seconds, absolute silence reigned in the lobby. Then, Preston's face flushed a violent, ugly crimson. He was the heir to the Vaughn family; no one spoke to him like that.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Preston shouted, his voice cracking. He pointed wildly at the ceiling. "I am a Silver Tier member here! Manager! Get the manager out here right now and throw these trashy freaks out!"

The crowd parted as the general manager of The Grand sprinted across the marble floor. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his face pale with terror.

He didn't look at Preston. He skidded to a halt three feet away from Ellis, his knees visibly shaking. He bent at the waist, executing a perfect, trembling ninety-degree bow.

"M-Mr. Burnett," the manager stuttered, his voice echoing in the dead silent room. "I am so incredibly sorry for this disturbance."

The name dropped like a bomb.

Burnett.

The crowd gasped. The wealthy socialites who had been laughing a moment ago physically recoiled, taking panicked steps backward.

Preston's arm dropped to his side. The blood drained from his face, leaving him a sickly, translucent white. His brain short-circuited. He stared at the man in front of him, finally connecting the cold, ruthless features to the god of Wall Street he had only seen in financial magazines.

Kimora let out a strangled squeak. Her knees buckled, and she grabbed Preston's jacket to keep from collapsing, her manicured nails digging into his arm.

Ellis didn't acknowledge the manager's apology. He didn't even look at him.

Ellis raised his right hand. He snapped his fingers. A single, sharp crack.

Before the sound faded, eight massive security guards in black suits and tactical earpieces surged from the hidden alcoves of the lobby. They moved with military precision, instantly surrounding Preston and Kimora.

"Hey, wait!" Preston panicked, putting his hands up. "My father is-"

The lead guard didn't let him finish. He grabbed Preston's arm, twisting it violently behind his back. Preston let out a high-pitched scream of agony as he was forced to bend double. He tried to struggle, and the guard drove a brutal knee into his stomach. Preston collapsed, gagging on the marble floor.

Two female guards grabbed Kimora by the arms, hauling her off her feet. She kicked and shrieked hysterically. Her custom diamond hairpin fell from her hair, hitting the floor. A guard's heavy combat boot stepped on it, crushing the diamonds into the marble with a sickening crunch.

The manager stood up straight, his voice booming across the lobby. "Remove them. Their membership is under immediate and permanent review." He then turned slightly, bowing his head even lower. "Mr. Burnett, I assure you, they will never set foot in here again."

The guards dragged them toward the rear service exit like bags of garbage.

As she was being dragged away, Kimora twisted her head back. Her eyes locked onto Arielle, who was still standing safely behind Ellis. Kimora's face was twisted in pure, venomous hatred.

Arielle met her gaze. Slowly, deliberately, Arielle let the terrified facade drop for a fraction of a second. The corner of her mouth ticked up into a cold, mocking smirk.

Kimora saw it. She let out a wail of absolute despair before the service doors slammed shut, cutting her off.

Ellis turned to face her, the lethal aura melting away the second his eyes found Arielle. He still held her hand, his thumb absently brushing over her knuckles.

"Did they frighten you?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur.

Arielle immediately looked down at her muddy boots. She gave a small, jerky shake of her head, her free hand tightening around the strap of her bag.

Ellis's gaze lingered on her bowed head. Without a word, he pulled her forward, his grip on her hand secure, and walked straight toward the back wall, ignoring the terrified stares of the billionaires in the lobby.

There was a single elevator there, framed in dark gold. It had no buttons. It was the private lift for the board of directors.

Ellis stopped in front of it. He leaned forward, taking off his gold-rimmed glasses. He aligned his right eye with the biometric scanner hidden in the wall.

A red laser swept over his pupil. A soft ding chimed, and the heavy metal doors slid open silently.

He guided Arielle inside. The doors closed, sealing them in a small, plush cabin lined with mahogany and mirrors.

The elevator shot upward with terrifying speed.

The sudden G-force hit Arielle's knees. She stumbled backward, her boots slipping on the polished wood floor.

Ellis moved faster. Still clasping her hand, his other arm shot out, his large hand wrapping firmly around her waist to catch her. Even through the damp layers of her jacket and shirt, the heat of his palm was shocking, sending a jolt of electricity straight up her spine.

Arielle gasped, her body going rigid. She planted her free hand on his chest, instinctively trying to shove him away.

Ellis didn't budge. He tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her flush against his solid chest.

"Don't move," he whispered, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. "We're almost there."

Arielle's heart hammered against her ribs, but this time, the panic was real.