Chapter 3

The dinner was held in the revolving restaurant on the hotel's top floor. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, and the room was filled with elegant guests dressed to the nines.

I felt like a marionette, pulled along by Dylan's hand, a stiff smile frozen on my face.

The marks on my neck felt like a brand of shame with nowhere to hide. I brushed my hair to one side, trying to cover it, but Dylan casually swept it back without missing a beat.

He kept his voice soft, but the warning in his touch was unmistakable. "Your hair looks better this way."

He was a devil. An absolute, through-and-through devil.

We sat down at the head table, surrounded by academic heavyweights and university officials.

A silver-haired university president chuckled and teased, "Professor Reed, you and your wife are such a lovely couple. Always holding hands wherever they go."

Dylan smiled and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "You're too kind. My wife just can't keep her hands off me."

Couldn't keep my hands off him? I wanted to be a mile away from this man.

I tried to pull my hand free, but under the tablecloth, he traced slow circles on my palm with his fingertip.

A shiver shot through my entire body, like a jolt of electricity.

He tilted his head toward my ear and whispered, barely louder than a breath. "Don't move. Or I can't promise my hand will stay where it is."

I froze instantly, not daring to make another move.

But his hand inched forward anyway, sliding from my wrist up, slow and deliberate, until his palm rested on my thigh.

Through the thin fabric of my gown, the heat of his skin seared into mine until it went numb.

I bit down hard on my lip, and that was the only thing that kept me from crying out.

The professor across the table leaned forward, concerned. "Lucy, why is your face so red? Is it too warm in here?"

Dylan answered for me without missing a beat, though his hand grew even bolder beneath the table. "She tends to blush when she gets nervous."

I wasn't nervous. I was losing my mind because of him.

Just when I was about to snap, an uninvited guest showed up.

A man's voice called out behind me, tinged with pleasant surprise. "Lucy?"

I turned around and saw a familiar face.

Jack Rowe, my senior from college and now the CEO of a tech company. He had asked me out back in school, but I turned him down.

I blinked in surprise. "Jack?"

Jack's eyes lit up as he glanced at Dylan, then back at me. "It really is you! It's been forever." He looked Dylan over. "And who's this?"

I forced a smile and made the introduction. "My husband, Dylan Reed."

Dylan rose to his feet, and his gaze behind those glasses cut sharp as a blade when it landed on Jack.

He extended his hand, his tone polite but laced with quiet authority. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Rowe."

Jack clearly felt the pressure. His smile stiffened for a moment, but he shook Dylan's hand anyway. "Professor Reed, I've heard so much about you. I had no idea Lucy married you. What a power couple."

His eyes lingered on me a beat too long, and then his gaze locked onto the mark on my neck. Something shifted behind his expression.

Dylan's hand clamped down on my thigh.

I sucked in a sharp breath from the pain.

Dylan kept his voice perfectly even. "You and my wife seem close, Mr. Rowe?"

Jack smiled and deliberately brushed past Dylan's hostility. "We went to the same college. Lucy and I got along well back then."

He turned to me. "Lucy, you look just as gorgeous as I remember. By the way, did you change your number? We should get the old crew together sometime so I can reach you."

He had just handed Dylan a loaded gun and didn't even know it.

Before I could get a word out, Dylan answered for me.

His voice was cool and detached. "That won't be necessary. My wife doesn't enjoy social gatherings, and I handle all of her scheduling."

As he spoke, his hand slid further up my thigh and stopped at a dangerously intimate spot.

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

Jack's face darkened. "Professor Reed, what exactly are you trying to say? I just wanted to catch up with an old friend."

Dylan let out a quiet laugh, but the warmth never reached his eyes. "I think I made myself pretty clear, Mr. Rowe. Lucy doesn't need another man coming around to 'catch up.'"

The temperature at the table dropped to zero.

The other guests sensed the tension and quietly excused themselves one by one, leaving only the three of us.

I finally hit my limit and kept my voice low. "Dylan, you're going too far."

He tilted his head toward me, his eyes cold. "Am I the one going too far? Or is the person who left that little souvenir on your neck?"

He thought Jack had given me this mark.

God, this misunderstanding was spiraling out of control.

I opened my mouth to explain, but then I caught the look on Jack's face. It was a knowing, almost smug expression, and he aimed it right at Dylan.

Jack spoke with self-righteous confidence. "Professor Reed, you can't force someone to love you. If Lucy isn't happy, why hold on so tight?"

Dylan smiled.

It was a cold, lethal smile, the kind that promised consequences.

He released my thigh, rose slowly to his full height, and looked down at Jack.

Dylan spoke, his voice deceptively calm. "Mr. Rowe, you seem awfully interested in other people's family business."

Jack straightened up. "I just feel bad for Lucy."

Dylan picked up a glass of red wine from the table and swirled it slowly. "Is that so? Have you ever considered that sticking your nose where it doesn't belong comes with a price?"

Before Jack could respond, Dylan tilted his wrist.

A full glass of wine poured down from the top of Jack's head.

The deep red liquid streamed through his carefully styled hair and soaked into his expensive suit, leaving him looking like a complete mess.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Everyone froze. No one had expected Dylan, a man known for his ironclad composure, to do something so brutal.

Jack stood there in shock for a moment before he wiped the wine from his face and snapped. "Dylan! Have you lost your damn mind?"

Dylan pulled a napkin from the table and wiped each of his fingers slowly, as though he had touched something filthy. "Lost my mind? I was just teaching you a lesson."

He tossed the napkin aside and locked his eyes on Jack. "If it's not yours, don't touch it, don't look at it, and don't even think about it."

Then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me up from my seat without a word of discussion.

His voice came out cold enough to freeze the room. "We're going home."