The Little Lover

"Bite you?" Declan sneered. His dark eyes glinted with a dangerous light. He rose from the black leather swivel chair, his tall, imposing frame casting a long shadow over Chloe’s shivering, soaked figure. The air in the executive lounge grew thick with malice as he towered dominantly over her. "I wouldn't put my mouth anywhere near something as dirty as you."

He closed the distance between them, his dress shoes clicking against the hardwood floor with a slow, predatory rhythm. "So, Chloe," he murmured, his voice dropping to a register that vibrated with disgust. "How exactly should you pay me back for the humiliation you subjected me to five years ago?"

Panic flared in her chest. The memory of that fateful night played out with crystal clarity in her mind. Five years ago, fueled by a little extra courage from alcohol, she had slipped a drug into his coffee. She had used his body to fulfill her own desperate agenda, leaving him waking up alone.

She backed away, waving her hands in a frantic attempt to reason with him. "I compensated you!" she stammered, her voice shaking as she retreated against the heavy oak coffee table. "I left that debit card on the bedside table. I paid you back!"

Her desperate claims fell on deaf ears. A muscle ticked in Declan's rigid jaw. His hand shot out, his long fingers clamping hard around her small chin. He tilted her face upward, forcing her to meet a gaze filled with predatory wrath.

"How about I pay you back tenfold?" he whispered maliciously. "How about I have you sleep with a man, hm?"

Before Chloe could even process the threat, his free hand dropped. His fingers tangled into the collar of her linen-cotton dress. He yanked hard. The loud rip of tearing fabric echoed through the silent room, exposing the soft, pale skin of her shoulder to the freezing blast of the air conditioning.

"Tell me, Chloe," his voice oozed venom. "What’s your type of man? I’ll make sure to satisfy you. If one isn’t enough to cover your debt, I can get two."

He intended to make her physically taste the exact degradation she had inflicted upon him. Using his brute physical strength, he grabbed her arms and shoved her backward. Her calves hit the edge of the leather sofa, and she tipped over, bouncing against the plush cushions. Declan followed her down instantly. He pressed his heavy frame against hers, pinning her in place with his crushing body weight. His solid chest trapped her beneath him, rendering her immobile against the cold leather.

He reached blindly toward the adjacent glass table. His fingers closed around the handle of a sharp fruit knife left beside a fruit bowl. He brought the blade down in a swift motion, pressing the cold steel menacingly against the soft skin of her cheek.

"I'm going to meticulously destroy this beautiful face of yours," he promised, staring dead into her terrified eyes. "Then I'll dump your bleeding body in the lowest brothel I can find."

He angled his wrist. He let the sharp tip of the blade purposefully penetrate the top layer of her skin. A sharp sting flared across her cheek as a tiny bead of crimson formed on her pale flesh.

The physical pain shattered her resistance. The fight drained from her limbs, leaving her hollow and helpless beneath him. She looked up at the monster hovering above her and offered a heartbreakingly sad smile.

"Do you truly hate me that much?" she asked quietly.

She didn't wait for an answer. She closed her eyes, resigning herself to her fate in defeated surrender.

A sharp, melodic sound sliced through the suffocating tension in the room.

A cell phone rang loudly. The ethereal notes of Vivienne Prescott's famous track, "Red Spider Lily," bounced off the walls of the executive lounge.

Both of their eyes snapped open. Reflex took over. Declan and Chloe reached for their respective pockets at the exact same time. Declan paused, his brows knitting together as he realized the music wasn't coming from his suit jacket. It was coming from Chloe's damp canvas bag resting on the floor.

"You stole my personal ringtone?" Declan accused. His handsome face contorted with fresh outrage. He remained oblivious to the fact that the musical composition playing right now was Chloe’s own original creation from her past life under the stage name Vivienne.

Her fingers trembled as she fished the phone out of her bag. The bright screen illuminated her wet face in the dim lighting. The caller ID flashed in bold letters: *Little Lover*.

Chloe’s heart stopped. *Benji.*

She scrambled to hit the power button to darken the screen, but she was a second too slow. Declan’s hand shot forward like a striking snake. He snatched the device right out of her grasp.

He glanced at the screen. A cruel, mocking smile stretched across his lips as he read the name aloud. "Little Lover?"

Pure terror flooded Chloe's veins. If Declan answered that call, he would hear a child's voice. He would discover the existence of Benji, the other biological son she had kept hidden from him for five long years. He would realize there were three babies in total, not just the one he kept. She could not let him take Benji away from her.

A desperate burst of adrenaline spiked through her system. As Declan’s thumb hovered over the green accept button and swiped to answer the call, Chloe launched herself upward. She threw her body weight against his chest, her nails clawing frantically at his forearm in a wild bid for the device.

The sudden impact caught him off guard just long enough. She managed to yank the phone toward her mouth for a fraction of a second.

"Help me!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice tearing from her throat in raw panic.

With a frantic jab of her finger, she smashed the red button, hanging up the call.

Declan didn't flinch at her physical outburst. He simply shoved her off him and calmly settled back down onto the adjacent sofa. He brushed a speck of dust from his dark trousers and adjusted his stiff cuffs, watching her pant and tremble on the opposite cushion.

"Begging for help?" he chuckled darkly. The sound lacked any trace of humor. "I’m looking forward to seeing this little lover of yours."

His gaze turned dead, fixing her with a stare that promised inevitable ruin.

"I'll give him exactly one day," Declan declared, issuing a chilling ultimatum. "Your supposed lover has twenty-four hours to breach this heavily guarded facility. If he can fight his way past five of my biggest, most ruthless men and physically rescue you, I'll let you go."

He leaned forward, picking the discarded fruit knife back up from the glass table.

"Otherwise," he growled, the flames of purgatory dancing in his dark eyes, "both of you can go to hell together."

He stepped toward her again. The cold fluorescent light overhead bounced sharply off the fresh, bright bead of blood welling on the shallow cut on her cheek. He advanced with slow, deliberate steps, tapping the flat of the blade against his palm as he prepared to resume his torment.

The sight of the steel approaching her face again pushed Chloe past her breaking point. She couldn't take the torment anymore. She slapped her hands over her face, curling into a tight ball on the sofa.

"Declan!" she screamed hysterically. "If you kill me, our son will hate you forever!"

The word *son* hit Declan like a physical blow to the chest.

His fingers went slack. The fruit knife slipped from his grasp, hitting the hardwood floor with a loud, ringing clatter that echoed through the tense room.

The agonizing, haunted cries of his autistic son instantly filled his head. *I want my mommy! Mommy, where are you?* Lachlan’s pitiful wails bounced around the quiet corners of his mind, paralyzing him. The boy rarely spoke in his early years, but when he did, it was always to beg for the mother who had vanished. The painful memories forced Declan to step back, putting distance between himself and the fallen weapon.

But stepping back did not quench his deep-seated fury. The fire in his chest burned hotter. He glared down at Chloe’s shaking, miserable form huddled on the leather cushions.

"How are you qualified to be his mother?" Declan hissed. His voice was stripped of all empathy. "What have you done for him in the past five years?"

Hot tears spilled rapidly from Chloe's eyes. They streamed down her cheeks in rivulets, mixing with the cold mineral water and the last stubborn traces of makeup on her face. Her chest heaved with ragged sobs as the dire accusation tore her apart.

"No mother in this world would ever abandon her child!" she cried out brokenly. "If there wasn’t a compelling reason, I would’ve come back to see him ages ago!"

Her heart bled. The words tasted like ash on her tongue. She harbored a deeply guarded, agonizing secret: she had intentionally sacrificed her firstborn to the Lancaster Family strictly to secure a future and safety for her other two babies. It was a choice that ripped her soul apart every single day, a grievance she could never speak aloud to the man standing before her.

Declan scoffed at her tears. He looked at her as if she were dirt beneath his expensive shoes.

"You're a greedy, pathetic, cowardly wimp who ran away from responsibility," he spat.

Chloe knew arguing was pointless. Her pride was useless in this room. Declan held all the cards, and right now, she had to endure whatever humiliation he threw her way for the sake of survival. She needed to survive for Benji and Lettie. If he wanted her broken, she would let him think she was broken.

She dropped her head against her knees. Her slender body racked with heavy, uncontrollable sobs.

"Yes," Chloe howled, shelving her pride and letting the emotional devastation consume her voice. "I am a wimp."