Page 178 of Sinful Blaze

My jaw is practically on the floor in disbelief. “You’re serious? You’re actually serious?” I place a hand on my giant baby belly. “Do you not see this? I’m pregnant.”

“A small technicality.” Ophelia waves it off like my unborn child is no more an obstacle to her plans than a fly. “I had a very good talk with Mrs. Ewing—your mother seems to be doing very well, by the way, Conrad.”

Conrad still has that stupid grin on his face. “She is! She was so happy to have tea with you. I’m supposed to let you know she and the other ladies have a brunch scheduled for next Sunday…”

His voice drifts off into nothingness in my ears. I’m too focused on getting myself out of here. I reach down and pry his hand off my leg, but he slaps it back down and squeezes harder.

His eyes slide to mine. His smile never flickers, but a shadow of warning passes through.

I stop fighting him. Not because I’ve given up, but because I’m genuinely worried he might do something crazy.

“You’ll need to start packing up your things, Daphne. We have movers on standby to help?—”

“I’m not going anywhere.” I cut off my father. “I’m very happy where I am, and who I’m with. Pasha is an excellent boyfriend and father; we’ve already made plans for the future that do not concern you.”

At this, Conrad’s grip on my thigh tightens painfully. If he doesn’t ease up, he’s going to leave bruises.

Something clicks in my brain.

He doesn’t get to mark me. I don’t belong to him. I don’t even want him near me.

Just then, I happen to catch Dominik’s reflection in one of the mirrors. He’s watching intently, quite literally on the edge of his seat waiting for my signal to jump in and save me.

Our eyes meet. And when he gives me that look, that silent reminder of our talk before we came in here, my idea solidifies into action.

Don’t let them forget who you are.

Fine. They’ll never forget this.

“FUUUUCCCKKKK!!!!”

Conrad’s scream brings a smile to my face. More than a smile—I feel a burst of laughter bubble up inside my chest that I have to swallow back down.

I yank the fork out of the back of his hand. He can’t cradle it with his ruined hand because that one is all but useless, so he swipes at me with his newly injured one. Poor guy is losing extremities like crazy.

I grab his arm, slam it down on the table, and stab his hand again.

Then I grab the nearest steak knife and hold it to his throat.

Servers who were rushing to help him stop dead in their tracks. Dominik watches like a hawk, but doesn’t move to intervene.

Yet.

“I am going to make this exceptionally clear,” I announce. I want the whole room to hear it so that when the police arrive, there’s no misunderstanding. “When I say, ‘Don’t touch me,’ I mean it. When I say we’re over, I mean it. When I tell you to get the fuck away from me, I really, really mean it. The next time you try to harass me, the next time you try to assault me, I won’t stop with your hand. Understood?”

Conrad sobs. He’s shaking with pain and fear.

“I said, Do you understand?” I yell in his face, emphasizing every syllable.

“Yes! Yes! I’m sorry! Fuck!”

I nod to Dominik. I think, by the way my parents stare at him, they know exactly who he is and what he’s capable of.

I lower the knife and set it back on the table. Conrad’s hand is bleeding—so, ever the civilized woman, I grab a cloth napkin and press it to his wounds.

Dominik helps me to my feet. I’m ready to leave—but first, one more thing.

“We’re done.” I level my glare at Ophelia and Stewart Hamish. “As of this moment, we will no longer be engaging in any form of contact unless it’s through my lawyers.”

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