Love Buried Alive

The deathly pale man staggered backward. His expensive, custom-tailored shirt was fully soaked, dripping dark red wine onto the patterned carpet. The liquid resembled fresh blood under the dim, warm light of the chandelier. His chest heaved in rapid, shallow bursts. Terror seized his features, twisting his face into a mask of pure desperation. He stammered out a feeble, incoherent excuse, his hands trembling as he raised them in a pathetic attempt to de-escalate the terrifying situation.

"Mr. Brampton, please listen to me. We were not speaking ill of you. Mr. Vance invited us all here. If he hadn't, we would never even dream of meeting with this kind of..." The man swallowed hard, his vocal cords straining to produce a sound.

He never got the chance to finish that pathetic sentence.

Dane moved with terrifying, blinding speed. The suddenness of his assault left no room for anyone to react. His large hand shot out, snatching a heavy, full glass wine bottle directly from the polished mahogany table. Without a single microscopic ounce of hesitation, Dane swung his arm in a brutal, sweeping arc that cut straight through the tense air.

The heavy bottle crashed directly over the man's head. The loud shatter of thick glass echoed like a gunshot in the confined space of the VIP room. Dark wine and shards of glass exploded outward, raining down on the table and the floor. The deafening crash immediately masked the man's gargling scream. He crumpled to the dark patterned carpet like a puppet with its strings severed. He agonizingly writhed on the floor, clutching his bleeding scalp as dark crimson pooled beneath his shaking fingers.

The rest of the wealthy men in the room froze. Their breath hitched in their throats. They stared at the brutal display of violence in paralyzed horror. None of them dared to make a sound or take a step toward the exit. The air in the room grew suffocatingly tight, thick with the metallic scent of blood and spilled alcohol.

Dane did not even spare a second glance at the writhing man at his feet. He coldly turned his rigid back, his broad shoulders tense beneath his immaculate suit jacket. His dark eyes were devoid of mercy. He shot a piercing, icy glare around the room before locking onto his trusted assistant standing near the door.

"Tobin. Make sure these gentlemen enjoy their party night. Watch them drink. Every single drop in this room. They are not to leave until this twenty-four-hour restaurant permanently closes its doors for the night." Dane sharply commanded, his voice a low, lethal vibration in the silent room.

The remaining men were bewildered and terrified. The realization struck them like a physical blow. The restaurant was open around the clock. Dane's explicitly ordered punishment meant they would be forced to continuously drink without stopping indefinitely. They were trapped in a nightmare of their own making. A few of the men opened their mouths to beg for mercy, but one harsh glare from Tobin instantly silenced their pleas.

Before Tobin could even step forward to begin the brutal enforcement, Dane shot his hand forward. His fingers snapped around Coralie’s slender wrist like an inescapable steel vise. The grip was punishing, a physical manifestation of his simmering rage.

He did not say another word. He forcibly dragged her out of the chaotic room. Coralie dug her heels into the carpet, offering slight resistance, but her efforts were futile against his overwhelming physical strength. He hauled her straight down the softly lit corridor, his long strides eating up the distance in seconds, forcing her to stumble in her high heels just to keep pace with his fury.

Dane shoved her roughly into the adjacent, empty private box. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind them with a deafening thud, severing them from the outside world. The room was cast in shadows, with plush velvet couches sitting untouched in the center. He aggressively backed her up, pinning her back firmly against the cold, silk-lined wall. His massive frame effectively caged her in, placing a solid barrier between her and the exit. His imposing, deeply furious aura enveloped her. The distinct scent of his expensive, musky cologne mixed with the sharp tang of sheer rage dominated the small, suffocating space.

He leaned down, his face dangerously close to hers. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle feathered beneath his skin. He expected her to cower. He wanted her to tremble, to beg, to succumb to the overwhelming panic he was projecting.

Coralie refused.

She tilted her head, her gaze steady. A cold, calculated calm settled over her features. With a bold, deliberately provocative motion, she raised her free hand. She reached up and firmly gripped the knot of his dark silk tie. She tugged it just a fraction, a blatant challenge to his physical dominance. Her knuckles brushed against the hard line of his chest.

"Ms. Royston will be heartbroken if she sees this. A divorced couple rekindles the lost love. Sounds cute, right?" Coralie whispered softly, her face mere inches from his.

Her entire demeanor was flirty, dangerously fascinating, and intoxicating. She was a stark, glaring contrast to the submissive, tragically innocent girl she had been in the painful past. The old Coralie would have cried under his intense scrutiny. The new Coralie smirked. She leaned closer, allowing her breath to lightly brush against his sharp jawline. She let the words hang in the tense air, thick with sarcasm and mockery.

Dane forcefully leaned in further. He ignored the tantalizing closeness of her lips and the familiar scent of her skin. A fierce fury burned in the black depths of his eyes. It was an intense, raging storm seeking answers he had been denied for years. The muscles in his arms bunched as he braced his hands on the wall on either side of her head, trapping her body between his arms.

"Why did you forge your death? Why did you come back now?" He demanded harshly. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the close air, carrying a heavy weight of betrayal and unspoken demands.

Coralie did not pull back. She did not flinch. She simply let out a low, dark chuckle that mocked his aggressive posture. The sound was sharp, brittle, and devoid of warmth. She flattened her palm against his chest, feeling the heavy thud of his heart beneath the crisp cotton shirt. She pushed back slightly, though he did not budge an inch.

"Who exactly are you to question me? Let me remind you of your place. You are just my discarded ex-husband. You have zero right to demand anything about my life choices. Or is it something else? Does the indisputable fact of my ongoing survival somehow disappoint you? Did seeing me breathing and walking around ruin your perfect, carefully constructed life tonight?" Coralie asked, her tone smooth and laced with biting curiosity.

Dane’s jaw clenched tight. The muscles in his neck stood out in stark relief. The air between them crackled with unresolved hostility.

"I hated you seven long years ago. That intense, suffocating hatred has merely grown into a profound, crushing disgust. It makes me sick to even look at you right now." Dane spat the words out like venom, trying to wound her, trying to break the impenetrable armor she wore so proudly.

Coralie remained unfazed. The cruel words bounced off her without leaving a single mark. She casually lifted a single finger. She slowly and deliberately pressed the manicured tip directly against the hard muscle of his chest, exactly over his rapidly beating heart. The contact was burning, deliberate, and undeniably intimate. Keeping her eyes locked fiercely onto his dark ones, she painted a sweet, poison-laced smile onto her lips.

"Oh, is that so? Then why don't you proactively keep a safe, respectful distance from me? You surely don't want your precious, incredibly fragile angel girl to dramatically fall fatally ill over suddenly seeing us intimately tangled together on the local gossip TV channels. The shock might just kill her this time." She warned him, her voice dripping with artificial concern.

Dane’s breath hitched. He was momentarily distracted. The heavy, ragged sound of his own breathing filled his ears. The confusing, overwhelming sensation of her manicured finger burning straight through his cotton shirt scrambled his thoughts. The physical proximity, the scent of her floral perfume, and the sheer audacity of her touch created a chaotic storm in his mind. He stared down at her lips, his focus shattering for just a fraction of a second.

Coralie saw the microscopic fracture in his focus. She seized the opening instantly. She rapidly, secretly leaned in. With expert precision, she pressed her painted lips firmly against the expensive silk of his tie. She lingered for a fraction of a second, making sure the pressure was enough. When she pulled back, she deliberately left a bold, undeniable cherry-red kiss mark starkly visible on the dark fabric.

The intimate invasion shattered his momentary distraction. Outraged by the sheer audacity of her action, Dane fiercely grabbed both of her arms. His fingers dug into her flesh as he shook her slightly. The control he had been fighting to maintain was rapidly slipping away. He yanked her closer, their chests colliding.

"Coralie Vance! Are you deliberately, intentionally dating those filthy men tonight just to spite me? Is ruining my reputation and pissing me off your grand plan?" He aggressively demanded, his voice echoing loudly in the empty room.

The game was over. Maintaining a frozen, cold smile that didn't reach her eyes, Coralie stopped playing. The flirtatious energy vanished, replaced by a wall of solid ice. She glared back at him, unblinking.

"Let go of me right now, or I will loudly call the real police and scream for help until this entire restaurant comes running." She sharply threatened. Her voice was devoid of any emotion, a flat, dead sound that carried more weight than a scream.

She stared dead into his eyes, ensuring he heard every single syllable of her next sentence.

"The pathetic, desperate love I once foolishly held for you was brutally buried alive exactly seven years ago. It was buried by your own hands. There is nothing left inside me but a hollow, black chasm of pure, unadulterated hatred for you. Don't flatter yourself into thinking I do anything for your sake." She stated coldly, letting the harsh truth hang in the heavy air between them.

With a sudden, forceful twist of her lithe body, she aggressively shrugged off his vice-like grip. She fiercely pushed both her hands against his chest, shoving him back just enough to break the cage of his arms. Without waiting for his reaction, she turned her back, straightened her dress, and proudly walked out of the room directly into the bright hallway.

The sudden glare of the crystal chandeliers momentarily blinded her. As her vision cleared, she practically ran into yet another unpleasant surprise standing frozen under the warm lights.

Daphne Royston.

Dane's intensely beloved, precious angel girl stood glued to the plush carpet. Her perfectly styled hair caught the light, framing a face that was rapidly draining of all color. Her delicate mind was blank. She was consumed with an earth-shattering shock at the impossible sight unfolding before her eyes. The dead woman, the ghost that had haunted the edges of her relationship for seven years, was casually strolling out of a secluded VIP room.

Daphne's breath caught painfully in her chest. Her knees visibly buckled, wobbling uncontrollably under her weight. She nearly caused herself to fully collapse to the floor when her wide, panicked eyes caught movement behind Coralie. The large, imposing frame of Dane hurriedly followed right behind his ex-wife, stepping out of the exact same secluded room. His suit jacket was slightly rumpled, and his chest was heaving with suppressed emotion.

The implications slammed into Daphne like a freight train. They had been in there together. Alone.

A surging rage ignited deep within her gut, fighting a vicious battle with the acidic taste of pure panic rising thick in her throat. She could not lose her composure. Not here. Not now. Desperately, frantically suppressing the toxic cocktail of emotions, Daphne forced her trembling facial muscles to obey her will. She instantly feigned a state of joyful, overwhelmed surprise.

"Coralie! You're alive! Oh my god, you are actually alive!" Daphne gasped loudly, her voice trembling with an expertly crafted mix of disbelief and relief. She clutched her chest dramatically, taking a halting step forward as if she might faint from the sheer joy of the reunion.

Coralie did not miss a beat. She stopped in her tracks and slowly dragged her gaze over the trembling woman. Her eyes flashed with dangerous, sharp amusement.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for that. Bon appétit, you lovely married couple. Enjoy your romantic dinner." Coralie snickered immediately, offering a dark, twisted apology that carried no genuine remorse. She delivered the final, calculating blow with perfect execution, making sure her voice echoed loudly in the quiet hallway.

The harsh, calculated verbal taunt cleverly and sharply struck a perfectly exposed nerve. It was a flawless psychological strike. Coralie knew the exact truth. She knew that despite seven long, grueling years of hard, desperate work, none of Daphne's manipulative efforts had worked. Dane and Daphne had never actually bothered formally tying the knot. They were just playing a prolonged, pathetic game of house.

Daphne flinched visibly. The words cut deep, slicing straight through her carefully constructed facade. She shot a desperate, frantic glance toward Dane, praying he would defend her, praying he would put the cruel ex-wife in her place.

But Dane’s intense, conflicted gaze was still stubbornly, unyieldingly fixed firmly on the retreating back of his ex-wife. He didn't even look at Daphne. He was staring at Coralie as if she were a puzzle he desperately needed to solve, ignoring the woman he supposedly loved.

Daphne was forced to bite down hard on the inside of her soft lip. She bit down hard enough to draw the metallic tang of blood just to swallow her boiling fury. She could not scream. She could not throw a tantrum. She had to maintain the image of the perfect, understanding partner.

Desperately seeking to reassert her dominance and break the invisible tether connecting Dane to the ghost of his past, she aggressively stepped forward. She firmly linked her delicate arm intimately directly through his thick bicep, anchoring herself to him. She plastered on a sweet, sickeningly gentle smile, pretending nothing was amiss.

"Turns out she's alive. This is a miracle. Dane, you can finally rest assured and let go of the past. Now, let's go to our box. The food will get cold." Daphne gently guided him, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She tugged on his arm, practically dragging his massive frame away from the scene.