Page 55 of Claim

I swayed a bit toward him before I gained control of myself. “Go ahead and tell me.”

“Because I’d fuck you and physically please you, but in the end, I wouldn’t give you the one thing you need. For both our sakes, we need to move on altogether.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head. “It’s more about what’s the least selfish thing to do on my part. I enjoy my solitude and privacy. I don’t do galas or shows. I don’t give two shits about making appearances. Pick someone comfortable in your high-profile life. It’s not me.”

Pain shot through my heart. Another fucking person decided to use my life to reject me.

I kept my face void of emotion when I asked, “Are you protecting yourself or me?”

“You. I’m already damned.”

Fuck him with that cop-out statement.

I moved in the direction of Lizzy’s room, pausing for a brief moment to say, “We shouldn’t see each other again, in or out of the club. Thank you for helping me tonight.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Damon

She couldn’t possibly enjoy this life.

I thought to myself as I entered the rooftop nightclub of one of the top boutique hotels in New York City, four days after Sophia’s B&E incident.

Two mogul musicians had rented the entire establishment for an extravagant party with attendees invited from anyone considered on the A-list, especially those in Hollywood, music, and fashion. The event commemorated the launch of the musical duo’s new clothing line during fashion week.

The crowd shouted and danced, some half-naked and others stoned or drunk. No one seemed to care about the copious amounts of drugs openly used or distributed among the partygoers. All that mattered was that everyone had a great time.

On a long sofa sat one of the models that Sophia had walked the runway with a few days earlier. She looked barely coherent, with her head lolled back and eyes glazed. The person next to her offered her a drink and then a joint.

A third person pulled out a lighter to give the model her fist hit.

That couldn’t be healthy.

The thought of Sophia putting herself in these types of situations infuriated me, and a surge of anger coursed through my body. She deserved so much better, so much more.

During her confession, she’d said she rarely drank unless she was in a safe space, but what if an asshole slipped something into her water or soft drink at one of these events. She’d end up like that model or worse.

I wanted her locked away in my penthouse, protected from scum like this. I’d take care of her, keep her safe. She’d want for nothing. Pleasure, pain, everything she ever desired, I’d provide.

What the hell was I thinking? I had to snap out of it.

My attention shifted from the groups around me as a door near the bar opened, and a tall blond man stepped out while wiping his nose, followed by three women. He laughed and joked and then returned to the room.

There he was. The fucking son of a bitch.

He’d put his hands on her.

My Sophia.

He’d destroyed a part of her that she’d never get back.

Stalking toward the corner of the club, I turned the doorknob as soon as I approached it and entered the room. Keith Randolph leaned over a glass table, snorting up what I assumed was either cocaine or heroin.

Fucking idiot. All the money in the world, and he’d instead fry his brain like that.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, barely lifting his head as he finished his line of white powder.

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