He stood in front of the mirror and adjusted the sleeves of his tuxedo, his eyes down on what he was doing, his jaw cleanly shaved, his shoulders broad in the jacket. Tall. Muscular. He looked good in anything, but he looked particularly good in that.

I took a seat in the armchair in my gown and waited for him to finish.

When he was done, he turned to me and stopped.

I looked up and met his gaze.

His eyes combed my appearance, taking in the sight of me with my hair and makeup done, wearing the gold gown that matched the sconces of his palace. I was the trophy—so he wanted me to be gold like a trophy. He walked over to me then extended his hand.

I took it and let him pull me to my feet.

His hands went to my hips, and he squeezed me as he looked into my face, his eyes drilling holes into my appearance. Sometimes he stared at me so hard that he looked furious. But now he backed me up to the wall, undid his trousers, and lifted my dress.

My back planted against the wall, and I felt my thong leave my body. “There are already people downstairs—”

He hiked up my leg and shoved himself inside me.

The back of my head tapped against the wall, and I released a moan at his abrupt entrance. My hands clung to his shoulders, and I lifted my leg farther to rest it higher on his arm, feeling him pound into me right away.

Hard. Fast. Territorial. He was like a dog marking his territory. His eyes burned into mine as he fucked me hard, fucked me in a way he hadn’t in weeks.

My arms wrapped around his neck, and I moaned as he took me up against the wall, plowing into me, forcing me into a climax even though I hadn’t been ready for it just a minute ago. I did my best to steady my tears so they wouldn’t ruin my makeup.

He finished with a moan, giving me a load like he hadn’t just done so that morning. Then he pulled out and got re-dressed as if nothing had happened, his dick still hard and forced into his trousers.

I lowered my leg and breathed hard against the wall, needing more than a second to recover.

“Chérie.” He moved to the door and beckoned for me to join him.

“I just need to clean up.”

“No.”

I stilled at his answer. “I look like I just—”

“Exactly.”

When I saw her across the room, I almost couldn’t believe it.

Dressed in a beautiful gown with her hair done, her makeup heavy, and having a strong posture that defied her labored imprisonment, she practically glided across the floor, her arm in Magnus’s.

I turned to Fender. “My sister is here.”

His mood immediately soured at the mention of her.