Read episode 17 here: http://bit.ly/allureserial
If Monica hadn’t conscripted Viola to her sadistic cause yet, it was a matter of time. Maybe months ago this wouldn’t have been a thought in my mind, but it definitely was one now.
Who would’ve thought that Monica, my “I can take it or leave it because I have options” fuck buddy would go mad at the thought of another woman owning me? Of her losing access to my body because of it?
Yet, it’d happened.
Now, I didn’t leave anything to chance.
Except Viola and what my desperate exit from our conversation would look like to her, or anyone else watching.
But I’d lost sight of Demitra. She was nowhere to be found.
Had I been thinking clearly, I would’ve headed straight for our suite. Could’ve found her there before it was too late.
Instead, I made circles around the crowd in the massive, thousand-square foot ballroom. At one point, I saw Calum and Livana out of the corner of my eye, but I barely paid them attention.
When I shot past Luke and Angelina huddled in a corner, stances tense, same thing.
Finally, I exited into a less crowded hallway and yanked out my phone. No calls from Demi. No texts.
As if I needed a hint to tell me she was angry at me again.
She probably thought Viola was Monica from behind. Even if she didn’t, I’m sure she figured out I’d fucked Viola in the past as well.
These women had no concept of personal space or respect. Having sex with me afforded them some kind of perverse ownership over me. Of course the women I slept with came up to me in public in the past. Of course they would hug me at times, touch me a little too familiarly . . .
I was single as fuck back then. It never mattered.
Needless to say, it mattered now.
I dialed her number. No surprise, she didn’t answer.
At least it didn’t go straight to voicemail.
I didn’t bother leaving a voice message. She’d ignore it until the end of time if she wanted to. She’d probably ignore a text, as well, but I decided to at least try that.
‘Can we please just talk about this? You know I’m sorry and I would’ve stopped it if I could.’ - D.
Pausing to calm my thoughts, I tried to imagine where Demitra would storm off to in her anger.
Our room?
It seemed unlikely. She knew I could find her there. But what other option did I have?
Return to the gathering and prepare for the presentation of our design while my head was all fucked up?
The power she had over me was more than inconvenient; at times, this feeling was downright frightening. Yet fighting it never got me anywhere, and I was smart enough to not try now.
I was already one step from ruining my reputation in the architecture world. It was still a better option than losing Demitra.
With one last look at my phone, I headed to the elevators. As I passed by the entry to the ballroom, multiple people in the crowd turned to watch me pass.
Thankfully, no one called my name.
Not until I reached the elevators, at least.
The elevator bay was oddly empty as I approached. I pressed the button to go up, praying that one of them would arrive—
“Dorian.”
That deep voice froze me in place as my mind scrambled to place its identity. By the time I turned around, I knew it was him.
And the moment I took in his expression, I knew exactly what had happened.
Who was responsible.
How much worse this night was going to get.
An elevator still hasn’t arrived, which is the only reason I didn’t leave him behind to deal with him later. “Stephen.”