Chapter 4

In the private lounge, Vivienne was in the middle of the dancefloor with her friends, living her best night.

One of the mutual friends drifted over to Colton's table.

"Colton, how come you're not dancing with Vivienne? You used to never let her dance with anyone else."

"Did someone drop off the clothes?" Colton's glass of whiskey sat untouched in front of him.

"Oh — you mean for Clara? Yeah, done ages ago!"

A photo appeared on the table.

Clara and a man, backs to the camera, her wrapped snugly inside a suit jacket. The man's build was nearly identical to the one Colton had sent.

The hand holding the glass loosened slightly.

Colton took a drink — finally settling into the scotch. He set the glass down.

"That's enough of a lesson. Get someone to look after her properly. She runs cold — she can't handle being out in the winter air."

"On it."

The whiskey went down in one long pull. Colton rose, smile back in place, and moved onto the dance floor toward Vivienne.

Behind him, the mutual friend was about to make a call when a man walked in, still holding the delivery of clothes.

"Why'd it take you so long? That's one outfit."

The man looked genuinely confused.

"Where's the woman Colton pointed out? I couldn't find her anywhere."

The friend went still.

He glanced back at the photo on the table.

Then, impatient, he snatched the clothes back.

"Forget it. Someone decent probably helped her out."

"That takes guts — going up against Colton Ashford."

The next time I saw Colton was the night before I left the country.

Friends had thrown me a farewell dinner. I was in the corridor when I ran into Vivienne — without Colton beside her, she was a different creature entirely.

"Well, well. If it isn't the woman who went viral for her impromptu street performance."

She stepped forward and patted my cheek — actually patted it, like she was greeting a child.

"Nice work pulling strings, Clara. How exactly did you convince him to scrub all those photos? I didn't think Colton still cared enough to do that for you."

I kept my expression neutral. So she assumed it was Colton who'd cleaned up my images. She really had overestimated how much he felt for me.

"But don't worry — I made copies." She pulled a thick stack of prints from her bag and held them up. High-definition, printed in full color. My most exposed moments, page after page.

She fanned them slowly.

"You managed to get the online versions deleted. But these?" She tilted her head. "Can you delete paper? Get on your knees, tell me you'll never go near him again — and I'll give them to you. That's the deal."

I looked at her without speaking.

A flicker of irritation crossed her face. She moved toward the window and began to ease it open.

"Fine. Then I'll let everyone on the street below enjoy a look at what's underneath all that composure."

"Security."

I said it quietly.

"What do you think you're—?!"

Vivienne spun. My bodyguards were filing out of the private dining room one by one.

I raised my chin.

"Strip her. Then put her outside."

"You — stay back! Don't come near me!" Vivienne backpedaled fast. "Do you know who Colton Ashford is? If you touch me, he'll make sure you never work again!"

"Shut up."

The guard who grabbed her collar didn't even blink.

"Colton Ashford doesn't have half the reach of Mr. Thorne. Save the threats."

Vivienne's lip split from the impact as she stared at me, stunned.

"What?"

"Stop!"

The shout came before the footsteps. Colton's shoes hit the marble faster than I'd ever heard them.

He drove his foot into the guard's chest — hard enough to make the man cough up blood — and pulled Vivienne behind him.

"Who the hell are you to touch her?"

"Colton!"

Vivienne burst into tears and threw herself into his arms.

"Vivienne..."

His hands trembled slightly as he carefully straightened her collar and refastened the buttons. Behind him, far more bodyguards than I had surrounded us on all sides.

"Clara..."

When he looked at me, his eyes were worse than before.

Like he wanted to kill someone.

"Wasn't last time enough of a lesson for you?"

I frowned. "What are you going to do?"

"Strip her. Write the word across her in marker, front and back. Dump her on the street."

Each word landed like something cold and deliberate.

My guards panicked.

"Colton, that's too far—!"

"You know exactly what writing on someone like that means — stop stooping to that level!"

"Stooping?" He looked at the guards his men had already pinned. "You were about to do the same thing to Vivienne, and you want to lecture me about stooping?"

His expression went flat.

"Do them too. All of them."

Fabric tore. Shouting broke out. I was slammed to the ground, and I glared up at Colton from the floor.

"You're going to pay for this."

Colton only drew Vivienne behind him, his face unreadable from above.

"Everything off. Not a stitch left."

"Stand down!"

My shout tore through the corridor.

But another voice rang out at the same moment.

"Stop!"

"Police! Nobody move!"

Colton went still.

He looked at me.

I was already getting to my feet — taking my time about it. My guards had straightened their clothes and stood composed beside me.

I raised an eyebrow.

"What a shame, Mr. Ashford. Caught in the act."

"Clara..." His brow furrowed hard. "You set this up?"

"So what if I did?"

He let out a short, quiet laugh — like he'd just heard something absurd.

"You really think this works on me?"

I said nothing.

He held out both wrists cooperatively, no hesitation at all, completely calm.

"Go ahead. Take me in."