With a reckless jerk of the wheel, Zane pulled a sharp maneuver, screeching his car horizontally across the road.
The sedan behind him slammed on its brakes, stopping inches from his door.
The violent jolt startled Selina. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glazed, fixed on the familiar figure stepping out of the car blocking their path.
Why is he here? she thought, the world tilting on its axis.
Zane strode to her side of the car, his movements predatory and swift. He rapped his knuckles against the glass.
The window stayed up for a tense second before sliding down. Zane didn't wait; he wrenched the door open. His eyes locked onto Selina. She looked back, her expression flustered and heavy with intoxication.
He leaned in, his ragged breath hitching as the strong reek of alcohol hit him.
Despite the smell, a wave of agonizing relief washed over him. She was safe, even if she was in the safe yet unwanted hand.
"You look like hell," he muttered, his voice a low vibration. "Let's go home."
He reached out a hand. Selina let out a jagged, incredulous scoff.
"That's not my home. I'm not going anywhere with you," she slurred, pulling away and clutching an alcohol bottle to her chest like a shield.
"Mister," she turned to the driver, "take me where you promised."
The young man met Zane's conflicting stare. "What did you do to her? You hurt her."
"That's between us," Zane countered, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "She's mine to bring home. Don't make this difficult. Leave."
The stranger looked at Selina, his expression softening into something almost pitying. He reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a white handkerchief, and gently dabbed the sweat and the traces of dried tears from her face.
Selina went still, the tenderness of the gesture catching her off guard.
"Miss, you should go with him," the young man whispered. "It's safer. Don't be sad."
He pressed the handkerchief into her hand.
"It's fine. I'm used to being abandoned," Selina grumbled, struggling with her seatbelt. She didn't take the handkerchief.
Without another word to either of them, she rolled out of the car. The SUV didn't linger; it pulled away, leaving them in a wake of unresolved tension.
"Are you here to taunt me?" she snapped, turning on Zane with sudden, venomous energy. "Not satisfied with the hell I'm in because of you? Go away!! I never want to see you!"
She shoved him, a desperate, weak push that barely moved him, and began stumbling down the dark, lonely road beneath the golden glow of the street lights.
"That's not the way home, Selina!" Zane called out, his exasperation boiling over.
He caught up to her in three strides, his fingers locking firmly around her wrist.
Selina spun, her free hand curling into a fist. She struck his chest—once, twice—yelling, "Don't touch me! Let go of me, you rascal!"
The blows were soft, lacking the strength to move him, but they felt like lead against his heart. He didn't budge. He just stood there, jaw clenched until his teeth ached.
"I said let go!" she growled.
When he didn't move, she grabbed his hand and sank her teeth into the back of his palm. She bit down hard, mercilessly, wanting to draw blood, wanting him to flinch, rage, and discard her.
A droplet of tears from her eyes fell on the back of his palm.
Zane….his face twisted in pain, a low growl caught in his throat, but he didn't pull away. He accepted the bite, his grip on her wrist never loosening—it only shifted, becoming more protective than restrictive.
Finally, she let go. She looked up, her eyes swimming with moisture, catching the flicker of something raw in his gaze before he masked it behind a stoic wall.
"Where would you go if I let you?" he murmured.
Selina looked away, her head dipping.
She couldn't bear to let him see the pain he had caused. He was supposed to be the first to love her, not hurt her this way. But he did. He broke her into pieces.
"Anywhere," she whispered, her voice strained. "As long as I don't have to see your face."
Zane stared at the raw, red mark on his hand, which had tears on it. A knot tightened in his stomach.
"Are you feeling better now?"
"I'm not," she hissed.
"Alright. It's dark. We can't stay here," he said, pulling her gently toward his car.
Despite her efforts to resist, Selina couldn't fight him anymore. She was aware he wouldn't let her wander. But she hated that he came looking for her. He should have ignored her as if she never mattered.
When they reached the car, she wrenched the door open herself and slumped into the passenger seat. She leaned her head against the dashboard, her hair veiling her face, still hugging the bottle.
Zane stared at the drunken woman, wondering if she'd spilled everything about the incident to others. That would mean trouble. He reached out to take the bottle from her, but she harshly slapped his hand away.
"I'm sober. Just a little more and I'll be there," she muttered, staring at the dark road. "Take me to the club. I need two more."
Zane's brows snapped together. The bottle was nearly full; she was already gone. He couldn't believe she had the nerve to think about clubbing after leaving him restless.
Selina threw her head back in disgust, sensing his refusal. "I have enough money. Take me—"
"Enough," Zane said, his voice calm but final. He snatched the bottle from her grip. "Stop trying so hard to look pathetic."
Selina froze. Pathetic?
She slammed her hand against the door.