A Debt Owed (A Dark Billionaire Romance) (The Debt Duet Book 1)
A Debt Owed: Chapter 16

I can’t stay there. Not a minute longer.

I thought I could do this, but I can’t.

Not when he taunts me like this every single day, pushing me and shoving me in whatever direction he wants just for the fun of it. He doesn’t say those things because he means it. He doesn’t truly want me; he just enjoys angering me, torturing me, and pushing me beyond my limits.

And I’m letting it happen. I’m letting this powerful, arrogant billionaire take over my thoughts just because his fingers were all over my body last night, and I didn’t protest.

Not until it was too late—when he’d already gone—did I realize what happened. I should’ve stopped it, but I didn’t. He knows I regret that, but now he’s using it against me.

Fuck him.

Footsteps are audible behind me, and before I know it, someone’s grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. “Where are you going?” Easton snaps.

“I’m leaving,” I hiss.

“Impossible,” he says, chuckling as if it’s funny.

“Fuck you!” I shout.

He raises a brow at me. “Is that all you can come up with?”

My lips part, but out of annoyance, I don’t know what to say, and it only pisses me off further. “Gah, why do you have to be such an asshole?” I reply, shaking him off. “Do you enjoy torturing me? Pushing me to the brink of insanity? Is that what you want? A wife who’s lost her mind?”

“No.” He steps closer, his hands in his pockets. “I want a wife who obeys my every wish, and I want that to be you.”

“Then you want something that doesn’t exist,” I reply, shaking my head.

“You underestimate yourself, princess.” He keeps stalking me when I walk off.

“I’m not a princess,” I say, and I gaze down at my bathrobe. “It doesn’t matter what clothes you put on me, what bed you make me sleep in, or how many times you make me dress up. I’m not a doll, and I never will be. You should’ve invested your money somewhere else.” I turn around again and walk around the rooms, jerking on every window I can replace. There must be some way to get them to open, right? They have to air out this place.

“You’re wasting your time,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “They’re all locked. We have vents for air.”

“I don’t care.” I won’t stop searching until I replace a way out. I’ll never stop. Not even if he puts locks on all the doors and windows or chains me to my goddamn bed. I’ll never fucking stop. Because if I don’t, he’ll have been right all along about my inability to resist him.

He’s still following me around even as I go into his private study where he keeps all his books and memorabilia. “Why are you so obsessed with escaping?”

I spin on my heels, and yell, “Because I need to be free!”

Saying the word free causes tears to well up in my eyes. It’s the one word that defines all the things I lost the moment my father decided to sell my body to the devil himself and I came to this place.

Because that freedom out there is the only thing that’ll save me from falling for him. For that … monster. Easton Van Buren only cares about his own freedom and no one else’s. But somehow, someway, the perpetuating gaze on his face doesn’t strike me as that of a monster. In fact, it’s the first time since we met that he genuinely looks dispirited, his face marred with worry. And the air is thick with unspoken words and desires.

“I can give you that on my terms,” he says after a while, his voice soft unlike before.

But that’s just it. I don’t want it on his terms. His terms mean being bound to his wishes and his rules. Freedom means the idea that you can make a choice, and in this house, there are none for me.

“You are my captor. The one who keeps me as a prisoner. A toy to play with,” I reply. “You can’t ever give me freedom unless you let me go.”

“You know I can’t do that,” he says, taking a deep breath. “So don’t ask me that.”

“Then you can’t ever give me what I want. And I won’t ever be happy here,” I say.

The look on his face darkens as if he finally realizes that there’s not just a price for me to pay. He too has to sacrifice something in order to get what he wants; my happiness.

“I want to make you happy,” he says, balling up his fists.

“No, you want to own me. Big difference.”

“I already do. It’s not enough,” he says, stepping closer while I move farther back toward the long red drapes in the back of the room. “I need more of you,” he says.

“Too bad you can’t fucking have it,” I hiss. Shuffling around, I fiddle with all the drawers to try to replace something I can use to my advantage. A weapon, a device, a key; anything to get me out of here.

“I’m not some slot machine you can insert coins in and get whatever you want out of it,” I answer, still searching the room for anything of use, but he’s locked all the important drawers. Fucker.

“You won’t replace what you’re looking for, whatever it is,” he says.

“Shut up,” I hiss.

“No. Remember the way I kissed you, Charlotte? Remember how it made you feel?”

I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about it because that means admitting that I remember how it took my breath away. I slam a drawer filled with papers shut, and say, “Do you enjoy seeing me suffer?”

He mulls it over for a few seconds. “I won’t deny that it excites me.” He adjusts his tie a little. “But I also want to love you and wrap you in my arms. Yet you won’t let me.”

Him? He wants to love me? Ridiculous. All he’s done so far is hurt me and use me for his own gain. How dare he put this on me and try to make himself the victim in the situation. “No one asked me what I want,” I say. “You’re not the victim here. I didn’t ask to marry you.”

I pick up a random stack of papers off the desk and look through them, trying to replace something I can blackmail him with, but it’s only random invitations to someone’s party, a dinner, and a business proposition for one of his clubs. Discovering nothing out of the ordinary and nothing I can use pisses me off so much I chuck the whole stack off the desk, screaming out loud.

“Who would you have married then?” he asks, completely ignoring my outburst. “Was anyone ever good enough for you?”

“No one!” I scream. “I wanted to be free.”

“Free … all alone with no one to love you?”

“I don’t care!” I’m beside myself, and I’m pretty sure my face is completely red by now, but I don’t care about physical appearances anymore. Not in front of him. He’s already seen it all in the bathtub, touched it all in the guest bed … I have nothing left to hide from him. Nothing left that’s completely mine and mine alone.

“I don’t need anyone to love me …”

“You don’t mean that,” he says with a sigh. I hate that he can shatter my beliefs with a single sentence. “Everybody needs love.”

“Not this kind of love,” I say as he comes even closer. In my blinded rage, I managed to wriggle myself into a corner of the room, and now I have nowhere left to go. Nowhere to escape to … because I’d end up right in his arms.

“What kind of love?” he mumbles, lowering his head as he grabs my chin and makes me look at him. “The kind that makes you mushy, or the kind that makes your heart stop and your body tremble?” He softly plants his lips on mine as if to show me he can be gentle too. The first kiss he’s given me that makes me doubt my own resolve.

When his mouth unlatches from mine, it’s as though my whole world has shifted on its axis. His kisses shouldn’t affect me this much, yet I can’t stop my body from wishing he hadn’t stopped.

His fingers slide down my chin and down my neck, all the way to my shoulders and arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. “You’re looking for the kind of love where a simple touch electrifies your body.”

With his body, he pushes me against the wall, leaning in for another kiss. This time, his lips are on my neck, right below my ear. When his hand slips inside my bathrobe, touching my belly and cupping my breasts, I gasp for air. Sucking in a breath, I try not to be affected but fail miserably.

And he whispers into my ear, “The kind of love that steals your breath away.”

His face hovers mere inches away from mine, and a stare-down of epic proportions transpires. “That kind of love? Because I’m more than willing to give you that kind of love.” He bites his lip, and he’s so close that I can feel his hot breath on my skin. The smell of freshly roasted coffee and crisp toast fills my nostrils, making me want to lean in and have a taste.

But I shouldn’t … not ever, not in my right mind.

“Love needs to be a choice. I didn’t make this choice,” I say underneath a heavy breath. I’m trying not to let him affect me, but it’s so damn hard that I can’t even push him away or stop him from trailing kissing across my collarbone. His hand wraps around my waist, pulling me closer, and the grunt that emanates from his body makes my pussy thump.

No, I shouldn’t do this. It isn’t right.

A sliver of reason returns to my brain, and I lean away from him, shoving him off me. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Give you affection? Make your heart beat faster? Love my wife like I should?”

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss. I hate the word. Hate what it means and everything that comes with it.

“It’s the truth, Charlotte. Whether you like it or not, you are now my wife. And it’s time you understood what that means,” he growls.

As he plants his hand on the wall above me, attempting to kiss me again, I kick him in the shin. He jumps around in pain, clutching his foot while I march off.

“Wait,” he growls.

“No,” I spit. “I didn’t choose any of this. I didn’t choose you. I didn’t choose us. That was my father’s doing.” Tears well up in my eyes. “All of you men are the same. I’m just a puppet for their own pleasure.”

He stumbles toward me, but I hold up my hand. Stopping in his tracks, he acts as if he’s suddenly seen the light and knows when to call it quits.

So I add the finishing blow. “You’re no better than my father.”

The veins in his face protrude as he grinds his teeth and narrows his eyes, visibly upset. Nothing in this world is worse than the man I call my father, and he knows this. He knows it’s the worst insult a man could ever hear. One I’m more than willing to throw at him to make him see the direness of the situation he put me in. How much of a bad man he really is.

And with my head held high, I strut out of the room, pulling the knot on my bathrobe tight once again.

Easton

I should go after her and force her to stay and listen, but I don’t. I’m nailed to the ground, frozen by her words. By the time I’ve come to my senses, she’s long gone. Back to her room, I presume. All alone and probably crying too. Fuck.

Grabbing the nearest lamp I can replace, I chuck it at the door, breaking it into pieces.

“Fuck!” I yell so loud that it feels as though the veins in my neck may pop.

I am not her father, and I will never be her fucking father. Can’t she see? I’m trying to be nice, trying to be the man she wants, the only man she could ever need. Yet all she sees is this horrible demon that took her from her nest.

What more can I do to make her accept me as her husband? Showering her with gifts obviously won’t work, and she refuses to acknowledge the growing effect my kisses and touch have on her body.

Still, she fights me at every turn, and it’s infuriating. It’s as if she knows nothing else but strife. As if she lives for it and it turns her on. Maybe it does … or maybe it’s her only means to gain back the control she lost.

Whatever the case, I must manage it like I always do. I must subdue her and put an end to this struggle once and for all. But how?

I run my fingers through my hair as Jill comes into the room, and asks, “Are you okay, sir?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I say.

“Do you want me to clean this up?” She points at the broken lamp. I’d already forgotten about it.

“Sure, yes,” I say, waving it off. “Just throw it away.” I don’t have time to think about random objects in my house breaking or not.

Jill starts picking up the pieces, careful not to make a sound. I stare at my bookshelves, wondering where I went wrong with Charlotte.

“Are you sure … you don’t want to talk?” Jill asks hesitantly, pausing between her words.

I tilt my head and sigh before I look at her. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs to talk.”

Her brows draw together. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Charlotte,” I say, adding a tentative smile. “Go see if she’s okay.”

She nods and gets rid of the broken pieces as though she doesn’t want me to see them. When she gets back, I say, “Jill, don’t let her leave this house.”

“I promise,” she says, nodding with thin lips.

I know Jill doesn’t agree with my decision or what I’m doing, but she knows it’s not her place to voice her opinion. Jill knows she owes me that.

She gives me an unsettled smile before leaving me alone in my own brooding misery. I grab a glass and pour in some gin, staring at the label on the back as I chug it down in one go. I’ll probably finish this entire bottle before the day is over.

Charlotte

I search through my room, throwing everything out of the closet, the drawers, and the bathroom, leaving nothing unscathed. I need to replace something—a key, a knife, a tool, anything—to break out of this goddamn prison. I don’t care what it takes. I need to get away from this man before … before … I do something I’ll forever regret.

He keeps pushing and pushing, coming closer and closer, and I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t take how badly my body wants to give in when my mind says no. It’s wrong. He’s my captor, someone who keeps me as a prize he took from his enemy. I’m nothing but a toy to him.

No matter what, I can’t let this man consume me. He doesn’t care about me or my heart even when he says he does. It’s all lies to make me submit. Because that’s what it’s all about to him … my submission … my defeat.

He wants to see me on my knees as a testament to his win.

I won’t let it happen.

By the time I’ve gone through all my stuff, leaving the room littered with clothes, brushes, makeup, and shoes, the only thing I’ve managed to replace are a few bobby pins I cast aside the moment I came home from the wedding and took down my hair. But maybe they can be useful to pry open doors … or windows.

I slide across the room and immediately start working on the lock around the window, pushing the bobby pin into the hole. It keeps bending out of shape, but I won’t give up. I’ll keep at it the entire night if it means freedom is on the other end.

After prying for about ten minutes, something clicks, and the lock pops open. My eyes widen, and a smile brighter than the goddamn sun spreads on my face. “Yes!” I murmur to myself.

With two hands, I push open the window and stick my head out, checking to see if anyone’s there. I close my eyes for a second, breathing in the fresh air that’s enticing me to jump.

Maybe I should. Is there a ledge?

I check and replace nothing but a few branches entwined in a wooden trellis placed up against the wall. It could function as a ladder, but I won’t know until I try. What do I have to lose? My life’s already been given away. Time to take a leap of faith.

I position one leg over the windowsill and place my foot on the wooden structure and push down firmly to see if it’ll budge. When it remains solid enough, I add another leg while still holding the window frame. Even though it creaks like crazy, it doesn’t break apart. Maybe I can climb down safely and then see how I can escape the property.

As my fingers release the window so I can concentrate on my footing, the door to my room opens, and someone bursts inside. “Hey, I just wanted to see if you were okay. Easton said you two had—”

It’s Jill. And she’s caught me right as I’m trying to escape.