Page 159 of The Billionaire's Baby
"You don’t have a fucking choice." Damian comes on the line.
"Beauchamp, you pussy," Weston snorts across the phone line. "Activate your video, you tosser. Not that I want to see your pussy-whipped profile."
"Look who's talking." I growl, "The one who won't do a thing without consulting his wife."
There's silence, then Weston laughs, "Keep fooling yourself, you mofo. You are in the same boat as us, and by the way, it's called being collaborative, which is what you do in a partnership. As you are about to find out."
I activate my video and five different faces stare back from five different squares.
I groan, "Not again. I don't need an intervention. I don't."
"The man doth protest too much," Sinner drawls. "Gentlemen, one of you going to break the news to him?"
"I will," Edward offers. "She's getting married."
"I know that, Father."
"Tomorrow."
"What?" My jaw drops. A hot sensation stabs my chest. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, man." Weston's voice sobers. "Amelie confirmed it.”
"So did Julia," Damian interjects.
"And Victoria," Saint adds.
"Summer too." Sinner nods.
"Shit." I sit down on the bed with a thump, stare at the rope in my hand. It's true then. Of course, she'd told me, but honestly, I didn’t think she would go through with it. How could she? How dare she do this?
"Where?" My voice cracks. I clear my throat. "Where is it taking place?"
"Islington City Hall, tomorrow, 9 am."
Shit. Fuck. What the hell am I going to do now? I stare at the rope in my hand.
"What are you going to do now?" Edward asks.
I disconnect the phone and toss it aside. It rings again, I pick it up and throw it against the wall. It bounces off and crashes to the floor. I jump up, then walk across the room and bring my heel down on it again and again. Fuck that.
I raise the rope fashioned into a whip and bring it down on my back. The pain slices up my spine, lights up my brain.Focus, focus.Some of the noise in my mind fades. I whip myself again and again. The tongue of the whip curls around me, hits my stomach, rips the flesh. Goosebumps pop on my skin. The blood rushes to my brain. Silence descends between my ears. My gaze narrows. I whip myself a fourth, a fifth time... I lose count of the number of times the rope assails my back. Sweat drips down my forehead, trails down my spine. The grooves etched on my back burn. Only when my shoulder screams in protest, do I stop. That's when I hear the hammering at the door.
"Arpad? Open up." Is that...? I recognize Edward's voice.
"If you don't open up, I'm going to call the concierge and get this door unlocked."
I blow out a breath, then fold the rope into an eight and place it in the closet. I pick up my shirt and shrug it on, then head for the door, just as it swings open.
A bellboy looks between us.
"Leave," I snap.
He pales, then backs away.
Edward frowns. "Still scaring the hired help, I see?"
"Still trying to play the empathy card, I see?"
