Page 39 of Taming Scarlet

I reached for my phone, scrolling through my contacts for someone I know would jump at a moment’s notice, and having them meet me for a shopping trip then long, lingering dinner.

After that, with no choice but to pick up Hugh, I had to finally take myself home.

“There you are, Miss Chandelier,” Henry greeted me with his usual smile. “I have a note here for you,” he said, reaching into his breast pocket to produce it.

“Thank you,” I said, faking a smile even as my stomach plummeted at the two words on the white envelope.

I carried it with me to the elevator.

I don’t know what had me sliding my finger under the seal. I never read the notes.

It was probably just the lingering nerves I was feeling about facing Julian again, and wanting a distraction.

I figured it would be more of the usual shit I always found on my socials. Love words and praise.

But this note had taken a slightly… darker turn.

You need to stop ignoring me. We are meant to be together. Don’t make me show you how much.

I tore the paper in half. Then half again. Over and over until the doors opened, and I could fling the little paper shards into the trash chute.

I was so distracted by what felt like a dark threat in that note to remember the concerns that had been on my mind all day.

Until the penthouse door closed behind me.

And I’d walked several feet inward.

Before coming to an abrupt stop.

Because Julian was standing there.

With that same furious look in his eyes as earlier.

It should have been terrifying.

Yet there was that little belly shiver once again.

Hugh made a beeline for his dinner bowl that had been set out.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t even blink.

“Take off your clothes,” Julian demanded, tone low, full of dark promise.

“Wh—“

“Take off your fucking clothes, or I will do it for you.”

“Who do you thi—“

I didn’t get to finish that word before he was stalking forward, before his hands reached out and grabbed my belt, yanking the clasp free, then whipping it out of my pant loops.

His hard gaze was on mine, a muscle ticking in his jaw with some barely suppressed anger, as his fingers went to the hem of my shirt, pulling it out of my pants, then ripping the material up and over my head.

Why was I standing there?

Why was I letting him do this to me?

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