Betrayed and Claimed by the Lycan King Chapter 20

They led me to an elevator that required a special key card to access. As we rose to one of the upper floors, I tried to prepare myself mentally for whatever was waiting.

 

The doors opened to reveal what could only be described as a den of debauchery.

 

The executive lounge was dimly lit, with soft music playing in the background. Leather couches and chairs were arranged in intimate clusters throughout the room, and a full bar dominated one wall. But it wasn't the décor that made my stomach turn—it was what was happening in the space.

 

Alliance girls were scattered throughout the room, all dressed as provocatively as I was. Some were serving drinks, others were engaged in conversation with men in expensive suits. And in the center of the room...

 

A blonde girl I recognized from the residence was dancing around a pole that had been installed for the evening, her movements sensual and practiced. Men watched her with obvious appreciation, occasionally reaching out to touch her as she moved past them.

 

*This is hell,* I thought. *Actual hell.*

 

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."

 

I turned to see Sybilla approaching, wearing a red dress that was even more revealing than my outfit. But unlike me, she looked completely at ease in this environment, which somehow made everything worse.

 

"You clean up... adequately," she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "Though I have to say, they really had their work cut out for them with you."

 

"Fuck off, Sybilla."

 

"Such language!" She pressed a hand to her chest in mock shock. "You'll need to work on that attitude if you want to survive here. These men don't appreciate mouthy little girls."

 

She circled me like a predator, her eyes taking in every detail of my appearance.

 

"You know," she continued, "I almost feel sorry for you. This whole scene—" she gestured around the room "—it requires a certain level of sophistication. Grace. Charm. All things you've never exactly excelled at."

 

"What's your point?"

 

"My point is that you're about to embarrass yourself spectacularly," she said with obvious satisfaction. "These aren't the desperate losers from whatever dive bars you frequented in Emerald Valley. These are powerful men who know quality when they see it. And you, dear sister, are definitely not quality."

 

The casual cruelty in her voice made me want to punch her. Instead, I turned away, hoping to find somewhere quiet to hide until this nightmare was over.

 

"Running away already?" Sybilla called after me. "That's not going to work here, Isolde. You can't hide in corners forever."

 

But hiding in corners was exactly what I intended to do.

 

I made my way to a shadowy area near the back of the room, hoping to blend into the darkness until this evening was over. Maybe if I stayed quiet enough, invisible enough, no one would notice me.

 

From my vantage point, I watched the other Alliance girls work the room with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Some seemed genuinely comfortable with the attention, laughing and flirting with practiced ease. Others looked as miserable as I felt but were better at hiding it.

 

I'd been in my corner for maybe ten minutes when I saw Sybilla approach a distinguished-looking man in an expensive suit. She leaned in close, whispering something in his ear while gesturing discretely in my direction.

 

*Oh no. What is she doing?*

 

The man's eyes found me across the room, and a slow smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that made my skin crawl—predatory and calculating.

 

*No, no, no.*

 

He began making his way toward me, and I realized with growing horror what Sybilla had done. She'd pointed me out to him, probably told him I was new, maybe even suggested that I needed some special attention.

 

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

 

I looked up to see the man standing over me, his expensive suit doing little to hide the predatory gleam in his eyes. He was tall, well-groomed, and carried himself with the kind of arrogance that suggested he was used to getting whatever he wanted.

 

"You must be the new girl my friend told me about," he continued, his gaze traveling slowly over my body in a way that made my skin crawl. "She said you might need some... guidance."

 

*I'm going to kill Sybilla.*

 

"I'm fine on my own, thank you."

 

"Nonsense," he said, moving closer. "I'm Gregory Morrison, VP of Regional Development. And you are?"

 

"Trying to be left alone."

 

He laughed as if I'd made a joke. "Feisty. I like that. What's your name, sweetheart?"

 

*Fresh meat.* I could practically see the words written across his forehead.

 

"Isolde."

 

"Isolde," he repeated, as if testing how it sounded. "Pretty name for a pretty girl."

 

He moved closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne and the whiskey on his breath.

 

"You know," he said, his voice dropping to what he probably thought was a seductive whisper, "I have a private office on this floor. Much more comfortable than this crowded room."

 

His hand landed on my bare thigh, fingers sliding upward under the hem of my skirt.

 

Every instinct I had screamed at me to fight, to run, to do anything other than stand there and let this happen.

 

As Gregory's hand continued its journey upward, as his intentions became crystal clear, I felt something inside me break.

 

*I can't,* I thought desperately. *I can't do this. I'd rather die than let this man touch me.*