Page 43 of Claim

Break her heart, and I break you.

Which meant I needed to stay away from Sophia outside of the club.

Lucian saw the writing on the walls as well as I could. Inevitably, I’d hurt her, change her, and live up to the fact I was the worst thing that had happened to her.

Why had I come to a damn fashion show to see her? And what the fuck possessed me to buy the jewels she’d worn. A sapphire and diamond G-string.

I’d lost my ever-loving mind.

Who the fuck was I?

She kept breaking every barrier I attempted to erect. I wanted her. I craved her.

The drive to see her, touch her pulled at me. And the thought of anyone owning anything that had touched her body in such an intimate way made me want to smash their face in.

I’d watched how she’d captivated the audience the very second the spotlight focused on her. She epitomized sex and sin walking down the catwalk.

The primal urge to let every fucker lusting after her know she belonged to me had coursed through me. I’d never felt anything like it, not with Maria or anyone.

Then when she found me in the crowd, rage settled only to be replaced with the urge to fuck her, rut until I’d quenched every bit of my desire.

Thank fuck she’d turned away, or I may have caused an incident, then Lucian would have definitely put a hit on me.

I ran a hand through my hair and pushed past a set of divider curtains into a design studio setup. Bolts of fabric lay in stacks on tables, and sewing stations lined various spots along the walls. Mannequin forms sat in rows of fours in the center of the space with half-made garments draped across them.

A few people worked to put away material around sewing machines while others leaned over tables, folding fabrics, and placing them in bins. At a set of sofas sat a group of male and female models who seemed to be having an aftershow gathering.

A woman with bright blue hair looked up from near a sewing machine, and asked, “Husband, boyfriend, or investor?”

“What makes you think I’m any of the above?”

“First, with that custom suit, I doubt you wear anything off a runway. Second, if you can drop more than fifteen grand on a suit, you aren’t some assistant working behind the scenes.” Now she smirked. “And third, only husbands, boyfriends, and investors walk back here as if they have a right to look for whomever they damn well please.”

“Interesting assessment. I’m not a husband, a boyfriend, or an investor.”

She cocked her head to the side, doubting my response. “Who are you looking for?”

“Morelli.”

A laugh broke out from the sofa section, followed by a series of rapid-fire comments among themselves.

“Natalia was right all along.”

“That girl lied right to our faces.”

“No, she didn’t lie. She said she was single. She could just be banging him.”

“I never pegged her to go for the intense, broody type,” another model hummed.

“This one looks like he’d choke you if you got in his way.”

They all laughed again, making me narrow my gaze. None of them were even trying to pretend they weren’t discussing me.

This world Sophia occupied made no damn sense to me.

And why was I so irritated that she let this Natalia believe she was single when I’d only seconds ago confirmed her status?

The designer spoke, snapping me out of my thoughts, “I believe Sophia is in the sample room.”

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