Chapter 10 My heart hammers as Bryce carries me out of the venue. Oh my God. Now what? Jude screams. Aaron is shouting. Guests murmur, and Jude's parents seem about to faint. Sherry acts like she hasn't witnessed anything out of the ordinary as she recites her mantra, probably praying that this is more good karma for Finley. "Can you stop by the dressing room and grab my purse?" I say quickly as Bryce strides past the bride's room. "To your left." His body heaves as he sighs, then kicks the door open and snatches the black purse I left on the vanity. He unceremoniously dumps me into his Rolls-Royce, then climbs behind the wheel. As my body sinks into the buttery leather seat, reality starts to reassert itself. The wedding didn't happen. I didn't marry Jude. And Bryce is here...next to me. I turn my head slowly to stare at his handsome profile, from the straight nose to the high forehead and the taut line of his mouth. Why did he do this? He couldn't have known about the ceremony...or did he? Jude wanted me to invite him, but I didn't bother because I knew he wouldn't care. But maybe he does care. My head is too jumbled to make sense of what's going on. Everything that happened since he walked into the ceremony feels like it occurred in a drunken haze, although I haven't touched a drop of alcohol. Bryce glances at the rearview mirror. "Jude is limping toward us." My eyes dart to the mirror to my right. Sure enough, Jude is coming-fist raised and looking like he's going to use it. No need to worry about appearances when the wedding's already been ruined. God, I hate him. I feel a sudden need to put on a show the jerk won't forget and show him I've always despised him. So I put a hand on Bryce's cheek and press my lips on his, knowing Jude can see us. They're very familiar but also different-warm, but harder and more recalcitrant. Like I used to, I run my tongue over Bryce's lips, then pull the lower one in and suck gently. He doesn't open his mouth. None of the tender passion from when we were dating shows on his face. Instead, his eyes slide toward me, studying me without blinking, as though he wants to see how far I'll go. My skin cools. This isn't the Bryce from before-sweet, strong and protective. The Bryce sitting next to me is harsher and sharper, full of thorns and jagged edges. If I get too close, I'm going to get shredded. Suddenly, all my confidence disappears. Why did I think he would hold any kind of feelings toward me? He's only come for me because he wants to humiliate Jude. Didn't I see enough of their rivalry while the three of us were at Harvard? I feel like a fool, standing on a stage, playing a role I can't possibly pull off. I sit back and straighten up, my eyes focused ahead. He runs the pad of his thumb over his mouth, then lets out a scornful laugh. "Was that a joke?" "What?" I say shakily. "You used to kiss better. Don't tell me your skills have gotten rusty over the years." He looks in the rearview mirror, smirking. "Time to let him fume in our exhaust." He glances over. "Get it...?" He floors the Rolls-Royce, leaving Jude behind. I can see him shaking his fist. Bryce doesn't say anything as the car weaves through the L.A. traffic. I stare at my hands and run the pads of my index fingers along the edges of my thumbnails over and over again. Anxiety-different from what I felt when I was about to say "I do" in front of everyone-thrums in my heart. I'd like to believe Bryce came with good intentions, but I know better. He might've decided he doesn't want to be the asshole who broke his word, but it's taken him too long for me to trust him completely. But he said we'd finish our talk from the office, so that means he's open to lending me the two million. I can't ask for more than that right now. I'll figure out the rest as it comes along. After all, it's become clear that no matter how carefully I plan my future, one unexpected event can derail everything. First things first-I need to come up with a way to convince Bryce I can make regular payments on the two million. Jude forced me to resign from my job in Wisconsin and refused to let me apply for another position in L.A., saying his wife doesn't need to worry about money. But I can probably find a job fairly quickly. I have lots of experience in marketing. Many of my campaigns have added significantly to the bottom line. Actually, my old company might rehire me if they haven't found a replacement yet. The hours are reasonable, and I rarely, if ever, had to work overtime. I can probably get a side gig to pay the loan off faster. So for the moment, anyway, my course seems clear. Hash out the terms with Bryce. Get in touch with my boss in Wisconsin. Find a position as soon as possible and make payments. I should consider taking Sherry with me. Now that the family's gone bankrupt and Aaron's turned into a gambling addict, her staying in SoCal doesn't seem so desirable. Wisconsin's far enough away that she'll be at least somewhat insulated from his idiocy. Suddenly, I realize the car isn't going toward Huxley & Webber. Instead, it's headed to- A huge mansion appears in front of us. Unlike the ornate Oberman estate, this one is more contemporary, with rectangular wrought-iron gates. But the walls seem overly tall, like the chief concern is privacy, and excessively thick, like the other main concern is safety. Which is weird. Bryce isn't some celebrity hounded by paparazzi, and doesn't live in some hotbed of crime. He drives along a winding road. Succulents in various shades of green, purple and red cover a vast garden with walking paths made with flat white rocks. Up ahead is a sprawling two-story building with turrets that look almost medieval. I spot at least ten security cameras, but I suspect there are more. He stops the car in front of the mansion. "We're talking here?" I ask. "Yes." He gets out. I follow him. The front door of the mansion is massive, made of thick wood that could likely withstand a battering ram. The inside is done in cool gray and ivory, with some marble and crystal. A postmodern oil painting in blue and red hangs in the foyer. The splash of color stands out, making the place feel less sterile. A nook at the corner between the foyer and the rest of the house holds a gorgeous crystal case with the name Bryce Emmanuel Huxley engraved on the latch. Inside is a long cane with PIETAS ET UNITAS etched in elaborate silver filigree. The knob is a silver wolf's head. It looks expensive and dignified. A gigantic kitchen boasts state-of-the-art appliances. Copper pots hang from hooks above, and a huge wooden butcher's board occupies the black granite counter mottled with white and gray. Given how spotless everything is, either he never cooks or his cleaning staff is amazing. My money's on the former-none of his pots have a single ding. He takes me to the living room with two plush leather armchairs and three leather couches, all of them pale gray. The center table is a glass top supported by the sawed-off trunk of some massive tree, maybe an oak. Remembering what happened in his office, I wait for an invitation to sit. Bryce heads to the wet bar and pours some whiskey into a glass. "Want some?" The offer is tempting, but I need a clear head. I didn't sleep at all last night, and the adrenaline from earlier is wearing off. "No, thank you." He takes a sip while studying me over the rim of the glass. His gaze is so intense, I feel like my skin is burning. "How much do you owe Jude? Two mil?" "No. He hasn't given me any money yet. He thought I might run if he gave it to me too fast." That was what he claimed, but I know better. He wanted something to dangle in front of me, so he could watch me squirm and struggle. He enjoys that-gives him a sense of superiority and fulfillment that nothing else can. Bryce nods. "Good. I don't want you having an excuse to meet him again." "Believe me, the feeling is mutual." I'd gladly give up a kidney not to see Jude ever again. Bryce's eyes bore into my face, like he wants to gauge if I'm being truthful. I look him in the eye. "I can tell," he says finally. But his voice is so flat, it doesn't seem sincere. "Can you?" I say softly, pained. Although I'm grateful he interrupted when he did, part of me wishes he hadn't let me go through the hell of preparing for a wedding with Jude. But then, he might've done it to show me that he's the one in charge. It's impossible to forget the frustration and helpless fury in Bryce's gaze when Jude used me to taunt him back when we were in Harvard. The memory still makes me want to squirm and look away in shame. At that time, I felt like I had no choice-I was too young, panicked and afraid of being abandoned unless I was perfect, like Finley would've been if she hadn't died. But I should've opted for honesty, even if it meant public shame and being kicked out of the Oberman family. "I didn't think you'd do anything, especially not after what happened in your office." "Barging into my office was rude." "So is going back on your word." "I'm neither polite nor forgiving." "Maybe not now. But you used to be nice." Something dark flashes in his eyes as his mouth twists into a cynical line. "You mean I used to be a sucker." He sits down and stretches his legs. Still no invitation to sit. Guess he's still unhappy with me. But if that's the case, why did he rescue me from the wedding? He didn't bring up the money just now or want to continue our talk just to kick me out again. Bryce swirls his drink and studies the movement in the glass. Although he looks like a lazy lion, my skin crackles with the tightly suppressed energy coming from him. He's barely controlling some kind of urge I can't fathom. "You said something about wanting to borrow money and pay it off," he says. I nod. "A fair proposal." "Fair?" He cocks a skeptical eyebrow. My hackles rise. Even though I don't have many cards to play, he doesn't get to question my sincerity. "Yes. You give me something, I pay you back." "How very transactional." His eyes chill. Frustration suffocates me. What does he dislike about what I said? I didn't say anything out of the ordinary. If we were having this discussion ten, even eight years ago, I might've thought there were simmering feelings underneath, but it's been too long. We haven't stayed in the same place, emotionally-we've moved on. "Because that's all there is to it. You should've given it the consideration it deserved. Instead, you mocked my proposal, then insulted me." "You're the one who got on your knees," he says. I gasp at his outrageous framing of what happened. "My knees gave out!" "What-too shocked I didn't offer to just give you the money? The idea of actually having to pay back the two million was too much?" I bite my lip. He's acting like I'm a witness he needs to break. Inexplicable tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. He wasn't like this before. Yes, he hated me, but he never treated me like he wanted to destroy me. Back in college, he sneered at Jude and generally pretended I didn't exist. I thought that hurt, but this is much more painful. I thought I'd moved on, but maybe I haven't made as much progress as I believed. "When did you become such a jerk?" I whisper. "I was always a jerk." "No. You weren't like this before. You were nice." His eyes flash dangerously. "Are you calling me a good boy?" The muscles in his jaw bunch. "Do you think you know me because we used to fuck? If you understood anything about me, you wouldn't have done what you did. And you certainly wouldn't have thought you could come beg for a favor afterward." The rough displeasure in his tone says that talking about our past won't be productive. We're just talking in circles. If I tell him what really happened, will his attitude change? He brings his glass to his mouth and knocks back the rest of the whiskey. His legs are spread, the free arm draped over the back of the couch. The muscles on his strong frame are both thicker and leaner, the words sharper and colder. He gazes at the world like everything's at his feet, and nothing can touch him. Bryce exudes a confidence and authority he didn't have when we were in college, but they aren't his only new trait. An impenetrable shield is up around him, keeping everyone at arm's length, including me. Especially me. I realize with gut-wrenching pain that the truth about the past won't penetrate that shield. He might listen, but he wouldn't believe. I can't even present him with evidence. What could I show him? The pictures and videos are gone. And Jude would never admit to anything because he'd rather cut off an arm than say anything that could restore my relationship with Bryce. Don't look back. Move on. Focus on what's important now. "Let's discuss the loan and repayment. I don't have a job at the moment. I had to leave mine in Wisconsin, but I'm sure I can get a similar position. I might even be able to go back to my old company. I was very good at marketing." "Why go to the trouble?" His eyes rake me with arrogant thoroughness, as though he wants to make sure I'm at least as good as he remembers. "You can just do what you do best. Work it off on your back." Of all the...! "You said I wasn't your type," I shoot back, furious. "Sometimes a man wants a fast-food burger." Humiliation heats my face. "I take back what I said about you being a jerk. You've become a complete asshole!" He gives me a smile so arrogant I want to slap it off his face. "And proud of it." "You really want to have sex with me?" I can't believe he's saying this after giving me crap in his office. "You didn't think I destroyed your wedding out of love, did you?" "No. But it's two million dollars." My mind reels, unable to process what Bryce is saying. The situation feels like something out of an over-the-top movie. Except Indecent Proposal had a happy ending. This isn't going to have a Hollywood ending. I'm too old and jaded to believe in such nonsense. Things like that happen to other people. I'm just hanging on to my veneer of respectability and happiness with white knuckles, hoping nobody finds out I'm an unworthy fraud. "Yeah. I'm probably going to want more than one burger." "Why?" "You're in no position to demand an explanation, Fiona. If you don't want to pay with your body, forget it. You have nothing else to offer." Despite his hard voice saying the topic is finished, I can't stop. Maybe I'm a masochist, but I need to know just how low he plans to push me. "How many times?" I ask shakily. His eyebrows pinch briefly, and coldness flashes in his eyes. "Until I get tired of you." "Aren't you tired of me already?" "Guess not. I was tempted when you put your hand on my thigh. If it hadn't been my office and people weren't waiting..." My whole body burns with shame at the reminder. He rejected my explanation about my knees giving out, and he's not going to believe the gesture was devoid of any sexual overtones on my part. Abruptly I realize he'll never take anything I say at face value. The loss of trust cuts my heart like a shard of glass. I knew I lost something valuable when I was forced to let Jude use me to hurt him, but seeing what I truly lost leaves me flayed to the deepest part of my soul. I take a moment to suck in air and recenter myself. "Not good enough. I need a number." He shrugs carelessly. "Three hundred." "Are you crazy? Ten!" He lets out a laugh. "Are you crazy? You think sex with you is worth two hundred thousand bucks a pop?" I falter. Put that way... Still- "Even at three hundred, I'm overpaying. Your body isn't worth over sixty-five hundred bucks. Not even top-end escorts get paid that much." My mind goes blank, unable to come up with a counterargument. Still, I hate him for making me like a commodity. "You're such a bastard." He gives me a look. "You're the one who wanted a number, Fiona. Don't blame me for the consequences of what you've done. You're a big girl. Ask a question, suffer the answer." A faint smile curves his lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Instead, in their depths is a simmering combination of grim satisfaction and challenge. He doesn't think I'll go through with it. After all, he doesn't really need me for sex. Certainly not enough to pay me. He's young, handsome and rich. He can get any woman he wants with a snap of his fingers. I flick my narrowed eyes to his crotch. His pants are tighter, although maybe he isn't fully erect yet. He wants my body... Fine-his lust will be my weapon. In "CEO Wife's Secret" by CrushReel, a gripping tale of romance, billionaire lifestyles, and hidden truths unfolds. As a devoted mother working part-time to support her children, she vanished into obscurity until the CEO locates her after five long years. However, their reunion is complicated by the interference of another mysterious woman. Can they navigate the tangled web of secrets and rebuild their fractured relationship amidst these challenges? Delving into themes of sacrifice, resilience, and the complexities of love in a modern setting, this ongoing story explores the clash between duty and desire. Against the backdrop of opulent mansions and concealed identities, the characters grapple with trust, betrayal, and the pursuit of happiness against all odds. What sets "CEO Wife's Secret" apart is its nuanced portrayal of characters facing conflicting loyalties and emotional turmoil. With each revelation and twist in the plot, readers are drawn deeper into a world where status and secrecy collide with raw human emotions. Available to read at CrushReel for those seeking a captivating blend of romance and suspense set in the high-stakes world of CEOs and hidden pasts.