Chapter 7 Some Whore

Claire The moment I saw Christian take that drink at the event, I knew my plan was working. I had been careful—so painfully careful—not to raise suspicion, ensuring that I drugged him in a setting where no one would ever think to question it. The Ricci Grand Hotel’s event was filled with powerful figures, men and women who drank and mingled without a care in the world, making it the perfect place for what I needed to do. I had spent years—years—waiting, being patient, watching as Christian buried himself in his empire, in his wealth, in his obsession with business, always keeping me close enough to hold onto hope, but never close enough to fully have him. It had been more than a decade, and what did I have to show for it? An engagement ring that meant nothing, a relationship that was losing all intimacy, and worst of all, the realization that he had begun pulling away from me completely. I was thirty-seven, past the point of waiting. I had given him my youth, my loyalty, my entire life, and what had he given me in return? Distance. Coldness, and he had the nerve to fucking introduce condoms to our relationship. The moment he introduced them into our relationship, I knew something was wrong. Why now? Why, after all these years? What was he protecting himself from? The answer was obvious—me. He didn’t want me to get pregnant, and that alone was a betrayal that I couldn’t forgive. So I had taken things into my own hands. I had watched him closely all evening, making sure the drug settled in, ensuring that it took over his body, making him need someone. The plan had been simple—I would follow him upstairs, slip into his suite, and finally, finally, I would give him the child that should have been ours a long time ago. But it had all gone to hell the moment I saw him lock his suite door. For a second, I had thought maybe he had sensed something, that he was trying to fight the effects of the drug, that he had gone upstairs alone to handle the overwhelming desire that I knew was consuming him. But then I heard it. The moans, the grunts. The unmistakable sounds of pleasure came from inside that suite, and I froze in the hallway, my hands balling into fists as white-hot rage crawled up my spine, threatening to explode. It should have been me. Not some random woman. Not some whore who had somehow ended up in his bed, stealing the night that was meant to change everything for me. I lost it. The words spilled from my lips before I could stop them, a scream filled with fury and devastation. “It should have been me! It should have been me, Christian! Not her!” Derrick was there before I even noticed him, standing outside the door like the obedient little lapdog he had always been. His expression was unreadable, but I knew he had already figured it out. “Claire,” he said, his voice steady, controlled, but laced with warning. “What are you doing up here?” I had tried to compose myself, to act as if I had simply come to check on Christian, but I knew Derrick wasn’t buying it. His sharp eyes studied me, and then he asked the question that made my blood turn cold. “Did Mr. Ricci need to be checked on?” It was a trap, but I had been too angry, too reckless, too caught up in my own emotions to see it. “I thought he was drugged,” I had snapped before I even realized the mistake I made. Derrick’s gaze darkened, and I saw it—the instant he connected the dots. Because no one had known Christian was drugged. No one but me. That was the moment I knew I had failed. The moment I realized that Christian would find out the truth sooner or later. I had made one fucking mistake—nah, it was actually two fucking mistakes because now there is a whore in his suite instead of me. But the bigger question now was—who was the woman he had slept with that night? I sat on the couch in Christian’s penthouse, shifting uncomfortably; I knew that my betrayal had already been discovered. Christian wasn’t a fool. He was a man who owned everything, a man who was always ten steps ahead, and even though he hadn’t said a word to me yet, I knew he had figured it out. But I didn’t care about that anymore. I cared about her. The mystery woman who had been in his bed, taking what was mine. Had he used a condom with her? Had he taken his time with her the way he used to with me before he started drifting away? Did he really fuck her the same way he did me, or was he extra with her? Was she younger? Was she someone special? Or was it an accident? Did the drug make him so desperate that he had just taken the first woman he saw? I clenched my jaw, my nails digging into the soft leather of the couch as jealousy and fury burned through me like wildfire. Fuck! It should have been me. I had spent years by his side, waiting, being patient, enduring his indifference, holding onto the illusion that he would one day finally give me what I wanted. And now? Now, there was a possibility that some random woman, some nobody, had taken the one thing I had planned for myself. If she was pregnant, if she was the one to give Christian the heir that should have been mine, I would never forgive her. I needed to find out who she was. I needed to make sure she disappeared because Christian was mine. He had always been mine. And no woman—no nameless whore—was going to take him from me. I could barely sit still. The weight of what had happened, the sheer injustice of it, pressed down on me like a slow, burning fire licking at my skin, making it impossible to think of anything else but the woman who had taken my place that night. My fingers curled tighter against the leather couch, nails pressing so deep into the material that I swore I could hear the faintest creak beneath my grip. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I had planned everything perfectly. I had waited for the right moment, chosen the perfect dosage, and made sure it happened in a place where no one would question Christian’s behavior if they saw him stumbling or acting out of character. I had been so careful, so meticulous with every detail. Yet, somehow, some other woman had ended up in his bed.