Page 16 of A Stolen Christmas

“He is so fucked,” I cackled.

Seth grinned and nodded his head. “Completely and utterly fucked.”

“You two keep your curse to yourselves. I have no intention of being tied down to one woman. Look at the state of him,” he said raising his glass towards me.

“What will happen when you reach day one hundred and fifty?” Seth asked curiously.

I stared into my glass as I swirled the melting piece of ice.

“All hell is going to break loose,” I muttered.

“Don't do anything that will give me more litigation work. I've had enough with both of your divorces,” Warner said while Seth frowned at me.

No. There would never be another divorce.

Chapter 11

Sirah

Christmas Eve - Day One Hundred and Fifty

Everything was perfect. I had my movies planned out. My turkey leg and thigh were defrosting in my fridge. I wore a cosy, fluffy robe and had six days off work. My sparse presents sat under the tree, and there were four, well, five if you counted my work’s Secret Santa. If I got something thoughtless again, I would hunt the person down and bash them with their thoughtless gift.

I wondered what luxury plans Saul had before I shook my head, but then my mind went to Ryan. Nope, I would sit here and drink my mulled wine while I pondered making a New Year's resolution list. My eyes began to close, and I tried to force them open, but it didn't work. My eyes fluttered as I tried to glance at my mulled wine, but the glass fell out of my hand and shattered on the floor.

∞∞∞

“You had to make me do it the creepy way,” a voice whispered to me in the darkness.

It was one that I recognised, but I couldn't place it in my muddled head.

“Sirah,” the voice sighed out my name with longing and something else, something darker.

I inhaled a familiar scent. It was a man. My eyes snapped open, and the first thing I saw was mistletoe. The room I was in was unfamiliar. It was huge, but at the end of the room, there was a proper balcony. The light from outside shone into the room.

“Good, you're awake. Merry Christmas. It’s just past midnight,” Saul said with a smile. He stood over me, but the way the light shone in, I could only see part of his face.

“Why can’t I move,” I croaked out when I couldn’t move my hands.

“Because you’re tied to my bed,” he said cheerfully.

This had to be some fucked up dream. I was about to watch some television and had my wine—

“Saul?” I said, trying to remain calm.

“Yes?”

“Why am I tied to your bed?” I asked as I stared at the mistletoe dangling above the bed again.

“Because your time is up, Sirah. I tried to make this easy on you—but you chose a different route. I didn't appreciate your sweet or creepy spreadsheet,” he said as he sat on the bed but leaned over me to switch the lamp on.

My time was up?

“Are you going to kill me?” I asked bravely, but terror made my body rigid.

There were plenty of evil billionaires, right?

“What? No!” he said, visibly aghast by the thought of murder before his face softened. “My sweet little bird, I’m here to clip your wings and ensure you never fly away from me again.”

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