Page 88 of Cruel Fate

I dress for dinner later that evening, and Stella is by my side where she belongs. She looks radiant in a column of gold and matching stilettos, and her hair is a long curtain of fuck-me curls down her bare back.

I’m ready first and sip on a drink in the living room. Standing in my tux that I’m already tired of wearing, I wait for her to finish putting on her makeup in the upstairs bathroom. I pat mypocket and blow out an uneasy breath. I’ve never given a woman this kind of gift before and I’m nervous as hell, but there’s no doubt in my mind she’s the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.

I said I wouldn’t rush her, but I need to brand her, and with more than just my cock.

She appears at the top of the stairs, and the breath knocks out of my lungs.

“Stella? Can I talk to you for a second?” My voice trembles.

Her steps falter. She thinks I have bad news every time I want to talk. Her life hasn’t been easy, and she’s been conditioned to expect the worst. I feel horrible whenever it happens, and I vow to make her life better starting tonight. Starting now with the box in my pocket.

She walks carefully down the stairs, her fingers gripping the railing so hard her knuckles turn white.

We settle on the sofa where we made love. Well, that’s not completely accurate. Where I fucked her brains out. If she’s in control, our lovemaking is softer somehow. She brings out a hunger I can’t rein in when she lets me have the lead.

I pull the small velvet box out of my pocket, and she gasps and grabs at her throat. “I know we said we’d take it slow, and we will, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give you a present, does it?”

“But I don’t have—”

“That’s okay. I don’t need you to buy me anything.” I shake her shoulders. “Breathe.”

She flutters her hand in front of her face and laughs. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I flip the box lid open and reveal a ring I picked out yesterday morning. I asked my family’s jeweler to bring a small selection up to the office, and the store’s manager walked right by Stella’s desk, the briefcase handcuffed to his wrist.

She never noticed.

The delicate diamond is secured on a thin, gold band. Small. Understated. Classic.

“This isn’t an engagement ring. Think of it as me promising you many years of happiness to come.” I slide it onto the ring finger of her right hand and it’s a perfect fit.

“Oh, God. Zane, it’s gorgeous.”

“Not as beautiful as you are.” I know the line’s silly, but it’s true, and I can’t help but say it. Nothing will ever compare to Stella’s loveliness—inside and out. “Let’s go knock ’em dead, huh?” I ask, helping her off the sofa.

She throws herself at me. “I love you. No matter what.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

We step out of the building as my parents did hundreds of times. It’s eerie how much I feel like my dad having Stella on my arm.

Maddox Industries is mine now.

I hold Stella’s hand, our fingers tangled together. It’s time to announce it to the world.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Stella

Isit on Zane’s right at a table that seats twenty. Zarah and Ash are here, and this is the first time I meet Clayton Black and his wife, Willow. She’s tall, and her hair is black as tar, like Ash’s. She rarely speaks, though every once in a while she touches Zarah’s shoulder and whispers something into her ear. She doesn’t engage with the others at the table—she’s used to being in her husband’s shadow. She drinks more than she eats, and I can’t say I blame her, though her reasons are probably not the same as mine.

The amount of power sitting at this table shocks me, and I want to guzzle champagne to calm my nerves, but I can’t. I need to make a good impression...I don’t want to give Ash another reason to dislike me. His dark gaze pins me to my seat, but I try to find comfort in Zane’s hand resting on my leg under the table and the pretty ring on my finger.

I want to contribute, somehow. Help him run his company, but there’s no way for me to do that. I have no means to do anything, and I feel like a fraud sitting here among these peoplewhose combined wealth could support several third world countries for decades.

It churns my stomach, and while I want to lay claim to it, my other, stronger, impulse is to run from it as fast and as far as my heels can carry me.

Ash’s slimy smile at my discomfort tells me he wishes I’d do the latter.

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