Helen's POV
"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked Derick as his eyes locked onto mine, dark and hungry, screaming that he wanted to fuck me senseless.
He stalked forward, each step closing the gap like a predator claiming territory, until his broad frame towered over me, making me feel small and exposed under his gaze. His face was a devilish mix of sharp angles and shadowed stubble, handsome in that ruthless way that always twisted my insides.
Before I could spit out a word, he spun me around without warning, his hands gripping my waist like iron, hoisting me onto the desk as if I were weightless. Papers scattered, but I barely noticed, his fingers dug in just enough to send a jolt through me. He pried my thighs apart with deliberate force, stepping between them, his knee grazing my core in a teasing brush that made my breath hitch. At the same moment, his rough palm trailed down my cheek, slow and possessive, sliding to my neck where he wrapped his fingers around it, tilting my head back. His breath was hot against my skin as he leaned in, nose skimming the curve of my throat, lips barely touching but igniting sparks everywhere they ghosted.
I squeezed my eyes shut, surrendering to the rush the way his tongue flicked out to taste that sensitive spot just below my ear, sucking lightly, then nipping with teeth that promised more. My mind screamed at me to shove him away, to end this madness, but my body betrayed me, arching into his touch like it had a will of its own. Heat pooled between my legs, a slick rush of wetness soaking through my panties, my pussy throbbing with need, aching for his fingers, his mouth, anything.
"Derick..." The word escaped as a whisper, laced with desperation I couldn't hide. My desire clawed at me, drowning out everything else.
His voice rumbled low for the first time since he'd barged in, gravelly and commanding, his grip on my neck tightening just right—fuck, it sent another wave of pulses through my core, my walls clenching around nothing.
"You think you can leave me, Helen? Huh?" Have you gotten about our deal? His lips hovered inches from mine, breath mingling with mine, teasing without closing the distance.
That snapped something in me. The fog lifted, rage surging hot through my veins, mixing with the flush still burning my cheeks. I glared up at him, my face hot and traitorous.
"You think you can threaten me because of that night? Do your worst, Derick—I'm not scared of you." I shoved at his chest, trying to clamp my legs shut and slide off the desk, but he didn't budge; his body was a solid wall pinning me in place.
"Helen, Helen," he murmured, his tone mocking, eyes gleaming with that arrogant spark that always pissed me off and turned me on in equal measure. His fingers traced my parted lips, swollen from the way he'd already stirred my darkest cravings, making my face flame hotter with a cocktail of fury and shame.
I shoved harder, pouring every ounce of my mounting fury into his chest. He staggered back, a look of dark amusement flickering in his eyes."
"Get out, Derick, and don't ever show your disgusting face here again. You're just a common waiter with no status."
"Why did you leave without telling me?" he demanded, his voice edged with something raw, almost vulnerable beneath the armor.
"Why should I tell you? I don't owe you any explanation for how I live my life."
"Wrong answer." He lunged forward, fierce and unyielding, his hand sliding around to squeeze my ass hard, pulling me against him. His mouth crashed onto mine in a brutal kiss, all teeth and dominance, the metallic tang of blood blooming on my tongue from where he bit down. I fought him, twisting in his grasp, but he was stronger, his body pressing me back until my struggles melted into something else, pants heaving from my chest like I'd sprinted miles, that insistent wetness trickling down my thighs, leaving me feeling filthy, exposed, and so damn aroused I could barely think straight.
He kept his gaze locked on me, our breaths the only words between us.
Then he broke the silence. "I was worried about you. I thought something had happened. Don't ever do that again." His voice carried a claim, as if I belonged to him.
I turned my eyes away, letting my lip curl slightly, my nostrils flaring as I gave him a look that could cut through steel. "Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?"
"I want you to leave my office. Now." My words were ice, slicing through the tension.
"I will leave… but be ready to see me often. I don't stay away from what's mine," he said, a quiet menace in his tone.
"I'm not yours. And I never will be," I shot back.
A dark smirk curved his lips. "Goodbye, tesoro… at least for now." He tugged the corner of his mouth up, winked, and left my office, leaving a trail of lingering tension in his wake.
Still panting from what had just happened between Derick and me, the lingering heat between us buzzed under my skin, a feeling I hadn't expected, yet somehow craved.
I stepped out of my office and into the elevator, my legs unsteady from the memory of his touch, a shiver running through me with every floor that passed. Once outside the building, I made my way to my stepfather's house to drop off my things before moving into my new apartment. The company needed me fully present, and I couldn't let anything distract me—not even him.
I slid into my car and started driving, but the memory of the accident clung to me like a shadow, carved deep into my mind. My heart raced, each beat hammering against my ribs. I pulled over, hands gripping the steering wheel, struggling to steady my breath. My eyes stung as tears pricked the corners of my eyes —the cold, lifeless body of that old woman, replayed in my mind, gnawing at me, chipping away at my composure.
Slowly, I forced myself to start driving again. The roads led me to the old mansion on the outskirts of Chicago, surrounded by towering trees, its aged architecture defying modernity.
I stepped out of the car, my shoes crunching against the gravel, and made my way to the mansion. The heavy wooden door groaned as I pushed it open, the scent of aged wood and faint dust greeting me.
Inside, the dim light from the tall windows fell across the room. That's when I saw him, Silas, my stepfather, seated on a leather couch, motionless, his face a mask of stone. His eyes lifted slowly, cold and unreadable.
"Talia, come help me pack my things upstairs," I said, not sparing him a glance. I walked past him as if he didn't exist.
"Yes, Miss Helen." Talia hurried up the stairs.
I was about to follow when his voice stopped me.
"Helen. Where have you been? We've looked everywhere for you."
A sharp laugh escaped me. I turned slowly, my jaw tightening, my fingers curling at my sides.
"Don't pretend you don't know why I left." My voice rose, shaking the room.
I stepped closer, my eyes burning into his.
"You should be grateful my mother is still here," I continued, each word cutting deeper. "Because she would be horrified to know what the man she calls her husband did to her daughter."
He lifted his gaze to me, eyes dark and cruel, the kind villains wore in old stories.
"Even if you tell your mother," he said slowly, "who do you think she will believe?"
My eyes stung instantly. He was right, and he knew it.
I drew in a shaky breath, forcing my voice steady. "Just so you know…" "I met his gaze, feeling both hurt and determined at the same time. "I won't run away this time. I'll fight you with everything I have."
I turned and ran upstairs. I couldn't stand another second in that house. My hands moved fast as I threw clothes into a bag. When I was done, I marched back downstairs, walking straight past him toward the door.
His voice followed me, smooth and poisonous.
"I have evidence of what you did. Everything is recorded as it happened."
My steps froze.
"What happens," he continued, "when the world hears that the daughter of Vance Global Group committed murder?"
The blood drained from my face. My throat closed. I couldn't speak.
His lips curled, satisfied.
How did he know?