3. Choices To Make

[Arella]

When my eyes finally flutter open, I find myself alone in the lounge. My skin feels prickly, my body hot and uncomfortable.

What’s going on?

My mind is sluggish as I rise, trying to leave, but I realize I don’t have my phone, no way to call anyone for help.

I stagger out, the heat intensifying, a flush creeping over my cheeks as a tingling builds low in my stomach.

A horrible thought crosses my mind—have I been… drugged?

I might need to stay here; I can’t risk going out like this.

As I stumble toward the receptionist’s desk, I collide with a solid wall of muscle, a small whimper escaping me.

I look up and feel relief wash over me as I meet an unexpected familiar gaze.

"Arella?"

His deep voice washes over me, sending a shiver through my body. Clutching onto his suit for balance, my voice comes out barely more than a whisper.

"Please… help me."

He looks down at me, his brows drawing together in concern.

“Arella… what happened?” His voice softens as he steadies me, pulling me closer.

“You’re safe with me now.”

His cologne—it’s so intoxicating, it's rich scent wrapping around me, making me feel lightheaded. I let out a soft sigh, burrowing deeper into his suit jacket, clinging to the safety it seems to offer as he lifts me up effortlessly.

My heart pounds, caught between confusion and a strange comfort I can’t explain.

He says something else, but I can barely hear anything now.

It’s hot everywhere. So hot.

"Sir, the minister is wai—" someone interrupts.

"Cancel it. I do not wish to be disturbed," he orders sharply, his tone filled with an authority that sends a shiver through me.

I barely notice as I'm placed on a bed. The cold disappears as the warmth takes over, filling my skin with an uncomfortable heat.

"Don’t worry," he murmurs, his voice softer now. "I’ll call the doctor. You’re burning up."

"N-no…" I whisper, my voice trembling.

My fingers reach up to clutch his shirt, drawing him closer to me. "Don't leave me. I think I was d-drugged."

His eyes widen, taking in my flushed face and feverish gaze.

"Shit."

Closing his eyes for a moment, he seems to steady himself, then backs away.

"How did you end up here? What about your…husband?" His voice is filled with concern and something else I can’t quite place.

"He left… they all left," I mutter, my throat tightening as a wave of loneliness presses against my chest.

My clothes cling uncomfortably, and I shift trying to get out of the dress, reaching for him, longing for that cold feeling his touch brings.

"Do you know what you're getting into?" he whispers, his cool hand cupping my cheek, sending another ripple of relief through me.

It’s so cold. I want that cold.

Pressing my lips to his hand, my dazed eyes roam his perfect features, every angle and line sending a thrill through me.

"Please, make me feel better."

"Fuck it."

I hear him mutter, and in seconds, I'm on my back, his cold lips on mine, a moan tearing through me as heat coils in my stomach.

But it’s not enough. The ache inside me deepens, leaving me craving more.

I push at his chest, my fingers tangled in his shirt, his lips never leaving mine.

"I need more… please."

He tenses, his eyes searching my face, reading the dazed look in my eyes. "Do you want this, Arella?"

"Yes, I do,"

I answer, delirious, desperate to chase the magic his touch seems to bring.

One by one, my clothes come off, and I’m overwhelmed, lost in the haze of pleasure, chanting his name over and over, even as I come down from my high.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The soreness between my legs aches, making me bite my lower lip as I turn to the voice that just stopped me at the door, where I was about to slip away.

The morning light casts a warm glow on his strong frame as he makes his way toward me. My breath hitches, and I take a few steps back, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"You don't have to run away, Arella. At least freshen up first."

"L-listen, Mr. Lincoln—" My voice falters, embarrassment heating my cheeks.

"Lincoln," he corrects, a soft smirk playing at his lips. "Just call me Lincoln. Go freshen up. We'll talk after."

Facepalming myself internally, I hurry to the bathroom, the reality of last night hitting me.

Great going, Arella.

•°•°

“Thank you for-”

"Who drugged you?" His voice sounds cold, his gaze assessing me, and I feel my heart pound at the thought of betrayal, of Deric and what he might’ve done.

"It’s a long story. I don’t think—"

"I'm all ears." He presses on.

Swallowing hard, I start narrating everything, feeling each memory resurface painfully as tears prick the back of my eyes.

"You were in a coma?"

He sounds panicked, his hands on my shoulders as his gaze locks onto mine, worry shadowing his face.

"I didn't know about all this, I haven't been in the country since that party," he explains.

I nod as I recall the night we were introduced by Deric, that night during Deric’s annual business gala.

San Diego's most sought-after billionaire bachelor, Lincoln Sawyer, had left a deep impression on me that night—he has this mysterious allure like you couldn’t help but want to know more about him.

"I'm sorry for all that happened to you, Arella." His words are soft, his voice filled with sympathy that somehow makes the ache worse.

"Lincoln…" I swallow hard looking away.

"T-thank you for yesterday. Look, I promise, you don't have to take responsibility for anything. I—"

"What if I'm willing to take responsibility?" he murmurs, his voice soft as he leans closer, backing me up against the wall.

My throat tightens, and I push him away, a memory of Deric flashing sharply in my mind.

"I'm sorry. I cannot let that happen. I–I should get going now."

"Wait."

He calls out again, just as I'm about to open the door.

He appears behind me, slipping a card in front of me, his warm breath grazing my neck.

"This is my personal card. Anytime you need help, Arella, I'll just be a phone call away."

"Thank you,"

I whisper, clutching the card and bolting out the door, my mind reeling.

How did things manage to go so wrong….

Frank! He drugged me!

When I get home, I find the divorce papers still on the table, and despite myself, tears burn my eyes, hot and uncomfortable.

Placing them in my bag, I decide to head to Deric’s company, the anger I feel burning hotter with each step.

•°•°

"Why can't I go in? I'm his wife!"

"Sorry, ma'am. We’ve received specific instructions from our boss's lady not to let you anywhere near him."

Boss's lady?

So Vivian is behind this!

Glancing at the time, it’s almost lunch. I leave the place in a huff and enter our favourite five-star restaurant across the street, where I spot him having lunch alone.

"Deric—"

"What are you doing here?!" he yells, eyes flaring with irritation. "Oh, so you're stalking me now?"

"N-no, it’s not what you think, we usually come here together for lunch and I thoug—"

“Just shut up!”

He grips my arm tightly, and I feel the eyes of strangers on us, the public humiliation weighing on me.

But then I remember why I'm here, why I came in the first place.

"Why did you leave me alone at the club last night?"

My voice shakes with suppressed anger, pain pooling in my eyes.

His eyes flash with guilt, and the sight tears at my heart into pieces.

"I knew it. You knew, didn't you?"

"I…don't know what you're talking about."

"Why, Deric? I'm still your wife yet you let your friends drug me and leave me there to be abused! How could you? Admit it or I'll never sign these papers!" I yell, flashing them in front of him.

"Yes! I knew about it, so what?”

His voice sharpens, his expression cold. "Didn’t I tell you to just sign the divorce papers and leave quietly?!"

I stare at him, my heart breaking more with each word. I can’t believe this is the man I’ve loved for so long.

I swallow hard, feeling my heart shatter all over again as the will to fight for it all leaves my spirit.

"You want a divorce, right? I'll give you a divorce Deric.”

Just as I'm about to sign the papers a familiar overly-sweet voice calls out.

“Arella, wait!”