Page 43 of Brutal Reign
What I’m not saying is that I have a bad feeling about today. Simon’s been more aggressive lately, more paranoid since he took whomever he kidnapped from the Syndicate.
We’ve barely spoken in the last few days, and when he does look at me, there’s something predatory in his eyes that makes my skin crawl. I don’t trust him around Kin, don’t trust what he might do once the ceremony is over and he thinks he owns me completely.
Two hours later, the makeup artist leans back, satisfied with her work. “Perfect,” she says. “You look stunning.”
“Thank you,” I say politely, but I don’t have it in me to force a smile. I’m too drained to fake pleasantries.
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Come on. Go look in the mirror. It’ll make you feel better.”
I step in front of the full-length mirror near the window and take in my reflection. The dress is flawless, pure white, fitted at the waist, with delicate embroidery down the bodice. My lips are a perfect pink, my lashes curled, my hair pinned up as if I’m a queen about to take the throne. Which, in many ways, I am.
I do look beautiful, but I’ve never felt more alone.
There’s no family and friends to fuss over me, only a rotating team of stylists and attendants whose job is to polish me like a trophy.
I think of Chloe, the last real friend I had. I texted her the day Simon came for me, told her I’d taken her advice about reaching out to my family while I recovered from the “flu,” and that we all agreed it was best for me to come home. She’s someone I would have loved to keep in my life, but friendships require honesty, and my entire world is built on lies. It’s safer for her this way.
With a sigh, I push thoughts of my loneliness out of my head. I gaze out the window. The ocean stretches far and bright, sun flaring off the waves. A large luxury ferry appears on the horizon, preparing to dock on the far side of the island with the first group of our guests. Soon, helicopters will descend one by one, well-dressed VIPs stepping onto the helipad before being discreetly shuttled along the reception path.
One side of the island is dedicated to all arrivals and departures, whether by boat or helicopter. It’s far enough from the estate that the noise of engines won’t disrupt the ceremony or the reception set inside this mansion.
The ferry docks, and I soon make out guests stepping ashore in crisp suits and dazzling gowns. Crooked politicians, triad loyalists, and old allies of my father have come to watch thedaughter of Lai King marry his hand-picked successor on Hong Kong soil. The birthplace of our bloodline. The core of his empire.
The message is clear: the Black Company is back and untouchable.
The ceremony itself is Western—white dress, vows, a walk down the aisle—but there’s a Chinese banquet planned for tomorrow, traditions folded in for the sake of appearances.
I press a hand to my stomach, trying to fight back the tea and biscuits that threaten to make a reappearance. Because even though I still have plans to run when my inheritance hits my account, I know it won’t be that simple. And I still have to get through tonight.
There’s a single knock on the door, and then Simon steps in without waiting for an invitation.
“Out,” he says to the army of staff, with a flick of his fingers. Charming as ever.
The women file out quickly, without a word to me or each other. The door shuts behind them, and then it’s just the two of us, the air thick.
He looks every inch the powerful triad leader he’s built himself into—the charcoal Armani suit, the confident smirk, the quiet command of a man used to being obeyed. How easily he stepped into my father’s shoes, like he’d been standing in the wings all along, waiting for the spotlight to shift.
His eyes sweep over me slowly, taking in every inch of my dress, my hair, and my carefully applied makeup.
“You look perfect,” he says. It’s not a compliment; it’s an assessment.
I don’t take my eyes off of him as he moves closer, his footsteps soundless on the polished floor. When his hand reaches out and hooks two fingers beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his, I can’t help but flinch.
His mouth tightens, and his hand moves from my jaw to the ruby necklace at my collarbone, brushing over the stones in admiration. Thefakeruby necklace. Then his grip shifts, wrapping around my throat tight enough that I feel the threat in it.
My pulse skips, but I fight to keep my face neutral. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me weak, even if intimidation is exactly his goal.
“I’ve let you get away with far too much, but it ends now. Tonight, you will smile. You’ll toast to our union. You’ll dance with the right people, say all the right things. You will not embarrass me.”
His grip tightens, and panic crashes through me. My throat closes. For a second, I can’t breathe.
“And if you do…” he whispers, voice like poisoned silk. “I swear to God, I’ll put your son somewhere you can’t find him.”
His words are cruel, meant to scare me, but I have no doubt he means them. Still, I won’t roll over and play dead.
I claw his hand away from my neck, shoving him back a step. “You’ve made yourself more than clear. Now leave me alone.”
Before Simon reaches the door, he turns, pausing with a look that twists my stomach. “You always thought you were better than me. But tonight, I’ll show you exactly how much power you have. You’ll lay back like a good little wife, and I’ll fuck you until you remember who owns you.”
