The Husband From Last Night

"The Whitmore family?"

The name dropped like a bomb in the living room. Valerie, Roland, and Cordelia froze in their tracks. They stared at the panting housekeeper.

"Mr. Donovan Whitmore is here to escort Ms. Vance home." The housekeeper swallowed hard, her eyes darting toward the front door.

Valerie stood paralyzed. She had just bragged that the arrogant heir would never set foot in this house. The arranged marriage between the Vance and Whitmore families had dragged on for three years, and no one from his side had ever bothered to visit. Now, out of nowhere, the groom was standing on their doorstep.

Roland recovered first. His initial shock morphed into wild greed. He knew a golden ticket when he saw one.

"Invite him in!" Roland barked out, straightening his jacket.

A deep, commanding voice drifted in from the hallway, cutting off the housekeeper's reply.

"I am already here."

Heavy footsteps echoed on the marble floor. A second later, a tall man stepped into the living room.

Valerie went rigid. The rumors swirling around Brookhaven had painted the Whitmore heir as a disfigured, disabled man who barely reached five feet tall. The man standing before her shattered every single rumor.

He wore a sharply tailored dark suit that hugged his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His features were sculpted, sharp, and flawlessly handsome. It was impossible to look away from him.

He took a few long strides and stopped right in front of Valerie.

A cold chill ran down her spine. Donovan's unreal looks were only the first shock. As she stared into his dark, piercing eyes, the horrifying truth clicked in her brain.

He was the man from the hotel. He was the stranger she had slept with last night.

"You are Donovan Whitmore?" Valerie asked, her voice cracking.

His gaze roamed over her face, calculating and cold. He found his target.

"That is 'husband' to you."

The response knocked the air right out of her lungs.

Cordelia stared at the man in sheer disbelief, her jaw practically hitting the floor. She had forced Valerie into this marriage because she thought Donovan was an ugly monster.

Roland ignored the tension. He pasted a wide, sycophantic smile on his face and gestured toward the sofa.

"Please come in, Mr. Whitmore. Let me pour you a drink."

Donovan did not even glance at Roland. He kept his eyes locked on Valerie.

"That won't be necessary. I am here to take Valerie home." His tone left no room for argument.

Valerie snapped out of her daze. She clenched her injured hand, the sting grounding her in reality.

"Aren't we already divorced?" she challenged.

A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. He stepped a fraction of an inch closer.

"The divorce agreement has been voided. You are still Mrs. Whitmore."

Valerie opened her mouth to argue, but the suffocating presence of Roland and Cordelia stopped her. She knew her father would use any excuse to trap her further. Getting out of this house was her first priority. She turned on her heel and walked out the door. Donovan followed closely behind.

The silence inside Donovan's stretched Lincoln limousine was thick and heavy.

As soon as the estate disappeared from the rearview mirror, Valerie slammed her hand against the partition.

"Stop the car!"

The driver slammed on the brakes. The heavy vehicle jerked to a halt by the side of the road. Valerie grabbed the handle and shoved the door open. She swung her legs out, ready to sprint into the street.

Donovan moved with blinding speed. His large hand clamped down on her wrist like a steel vice.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

Valerie pulled hard against his grip.

"Home!"

"We have not arrived at the Whitmore residence."

She glared at him, refusing to back down.

"You cannot possibly think you can treat everyone like pawns just because you have a pretty face. Is this entertaining to you or something?"

She twisted her arm, planting her feet on the floorboard to break his hold. She tried to dart out of the door.

Donovan yanked her backward. He hauled her across the leather seats, pulling her back flat against his solid chest. His thick arms wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. He trapped her in his lap.

"Yes." He lowered his head, pressing his lips right beside her ear. "Especially last night. Fucking you in that hotel bed was very entertaining."

The raw, dirty words sent a shockwave through her body. Memories of his heavy frame pressing her into the mattress and the sweat coating their bare skin flooded her mind. Her face burned hot red.

She ground her teeth together and thrashed against his chest.

"You psycho!"

The driver up front held his breath. His hands gripped the steering wheel in sheer terror. No one ever dared to scream in Donovan Whitmore's face.

Donovan's expression did not change. He ignored her insults and tightened his iron grip around her waist, securing her flushed body deeper into his embrace.

"Start the car."

The engine roared. The limousine peeled away from the curb, speeding down the road as Valerie continued to fight against his inescapable hold.