"Sign the document, Bethany. Only then will they stop hunting you and only then do I keep protecting you."
"And if I don't?"
He leaned back, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before he forced them open.
"You always have to prove stubborn don't you? Well, if you must know then the pilot has orders to land at the next public helipad and leave you there. You can take your award and see how long you last against a Schendlin hit squad."
I looked at the pen, then at the man who had just taken a bullet for me, only to hold my life hostage.
"You're a monster," I spat out. "You didn't save me because you cared, you saved me because you wanted a wife to complete your stupid empire."
"I saved you because I don't like losing what I've paid for," he snapped. "Now sign the damn paper before I bleed out."
My hand gripped the pen so hard I thought it would break. I hate him! I hated his money, his arrogance, and the way he made me feel like a piece of property.
●●●●●●●●
The helicopter touched down on a private pad overlooking a cliffside that screamed billionaire villain. The rotors were still whining when the door slid open.
Xavier stumbled out, his face still pale and looking tired as hell, but he still had enough arrogance left to give orders to the pilot.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Vane," he said with a smirk.
"Don't call me that," I snapped, hopping onto the tarmac. My bare feet hit against the cold stone, my expensive heel was gone. "I'm a hostage, not your wife."
"The legal document in my pocket says otherwise, Wife," he countered, leaning heavily on a cane a waiting guard had rushed to give him. "Try to look happy. My staff doesn't need to know I bought you at a discount."
I wanted to scream, to take my heavy Neo-Urban trophy and bash it over his perfectly groomed head. Instead, I marched toward the massive glass-and-steel villa.
A row of maids in white and black uniforms stood at the entrance, bowing their heads in unison.
"Welcome, Madam," they chimed.
I didn't even look at them. I stormed past, the silk of my ruined dress dragging behind me. I wasn't being rude to them; I was just vibrating with enough rage to power the entire estate. My father had gambled me away like a used car, and Xavier Vane the man who spent four years sabotaging me was now my protector! Pathetic.
"The master suite is upstairs, Bethany!" Xavier called out from the foyer, his voice strained. "Try not to break anything. It's Italian marble."
"I'm not sleeping anywhere near you!" I yelled back over the railing.
I started opening doors. I'll find a guest room, lock myself in and never come out.
I threw open the first door, but it was empty. No bed, no curtains, just bare white walls and a light fixture.
I ran to the second, still empty. The third, fourth and evwn fifth. Every single room was a empty, no furniture or even couch. By the sixth door, I was already panting.
I stomped back to the landing just as Xavier was being helped up the stairs by a guard.
"Did you go bankrupt in the ten minutes we were in the air? Where are the beds, Xavier?" I demanded. "Why is this house a literal desert?"
He paused, wincing as he balanced his weight. He looked at me with a weary, maddening smirk.
"I'm refurbishing, Bethany. Try to keep up."
"Refurbishing?" I scoffed. "You ripped out the baseboards and the beds?"
"The previous owner had atrocious taste in French Provincial. I'm stripping the house to the studs and starting over. My interior designer isn't scheduled to deliver the new custom furniture for another three weeks." He winced, his hand clutching his blood-soaked side. "I didn't exactly plan on moving in tonight, and I certainly didn't plan on bringing a runaway bride with me."
"I am not your bride!"
"The marriage license in my pocket says you're exactly that. Now, if you're done touring the empty real estate, the master suite is the only room that hasn't been gutted yet. It has the only bed in the house."
"You expect me to sleep in there? With you?"
"I expect you to do whatever keeps you from being a target. If you want to sleep on the floor of a dusty construction zone, be my guest. But don't come crying to me when you wake up with a backache and a Schendlin hitman at the window."
He turned his back on me, limping toward the only finished door in the hallway.
"I hate you, Xavier Vane!" I yelled at him, not loudly though.
"I know, Wife," he retorted back over his shoulder, his voice strained. "But you're stuck with me. At least until the paint dries."
"But you can sleep on the rug, Little Bird," he said, limping away. "But do it quietly. I have a bullet hole to tend to, and your voice is starting to give me a headache."