Taming The Billionaire's Obsession - Chapter 72: Chapter 72
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"Ms. Ritter is within, sir. Clean attire has been provided. And it appears she has reinjured her left ankle. I took the liberty of providing appropriate medication."
Luke nodded, hand on the door, and then suddenly whirled around. "Did she say something?" he asked.
"No," Hayden shook his head after a fractional hesitation. "Ms. Ritter hasn't uttered a word since leaving the ballroom..." He trailed off, clearly deliberating.
Luke fixed him with an inscrutable stare, signaling for him to go on.
Hayden chose his words with extreme care. "Ms. Ritter seems... profoundly distressed, sir. And her physical state appears... fragile." He paused, recalling the alarming tremors that had vibrated through her slight frame when he'd steadied her.
"She seemed perilously close to collapse. So, sir, it might be prudent to approach her with... caution," Hayden suggested, the words barely above a murmur. He punctuated his advice with a respectful bow.
Luke's icy gaze locked onto Hayden. Several taut seconds stretched before his chilling voice shattered the silence. "You are concerned about her?"
Hayden's breath hitched audibly. "I-I wouldn't presume, sir!" he stammered, the dangerous edge in Luke's tone freezing the blood in his veins. A wave of cold dread washed over him, locking his muscles.
"See that you don't," Luke's voice was pure frost. His gaze offered no quarter. "Remember this, Hayden. She is mine."
Only when the door clicked shut behind Luke did Hayden finally release the breath he'd been holding in a ragged gasp. The suffocating pressure radiating from Luke had felt like a vise around his heart.
Wiping the cold sweat beading his brow, Hayden grappled with disbelief. In all his years of service, he had never witnessed Luke exhibit such possessiveness over anyone.
Luke pushed the door open and stepped into the lounge. His gaze instantly found Jane—curled into a tight, impossibly vulnerable ball in the corner of the plush sofa. A dark frown etched itself between his brows.
He'd braced himself for an angry outburst, for hysterical accusations the moment he entered. But there was nothing. No shouting, no drama. Only a fragile figure huddled on the sofa, radiating the desolation of an abandoned thing. The faintest tremor shook her shoulders.
Even without seeing her face, he could picture the tear tracks staining her cheeks. The sight of Jane reduced to this deepened his scowl.
Unbidden, the stark image from earlier invaded his thoughts: her crumpled form on the cold marble of the ballroom floor, the embodiment of humiliation.
Luke crossed the room and halted before the sofa, looking down at the woman coiled in the corner. His gaze was imperious, commanding. "Jane." He spoke her name.
Jane's body locked rigid at the sound of his voice, her grip on her knees turning white-knuckled. But she didn't look up. She remained coiled inward, face buried. She didn't want to see him. Not now. Not ever!
Jane's mute defiance darkened Luke's obsidian eyes. Any trace of pity that might have flickered moments ago was instantly extinguished, drowned by a surge of icy displeasure.
"Did I not warn you," Luke said, his voice dangerously low, "to keep your hands off what was never yours?" His gaze hardened. "And yet you possessed the audacity to stage a spectacle at a Drake function. Your recklessness is boundless."
Luke's icy rebuke landed like a physical blow, yet Jane remained motionless. She stayed a silent, coiled figure, passively absorbing his words like stone, offering no acknowledgment.
Luke's brows knotted in a dark scowl. "What is this? Courageous enough to steal from Ella, yet too craven to meet the consequences?" His voice thickened with contempt. "Did you truly believe," he sneered, "that stealing her possessions would let you take her place?"
Luke nodded, hand on the door, and then suddenly whirled around. "Did she say something?" he asked.
"No," Hayden shook his head after a fractional hesitation. "Ms. Ritter hasn't uttered a word since leaving the ballroom..." He trailed off, clearly deliberating.
Luke fixed him with an inscrutable stare, signaling for him to go on.
Hayden chose his words with extreme care. "Ms. Ritter seems... profoundly distressed, sir. And her physical state appears... fragile." He paused, recalling the alarming tremors that had vibrated through her slight frame when he'd steadied her.
"She seemed perilously close to collapse. So, sir, it might be prudent to approach her with... caution," Hayden suggested, the words barely above a murmur. He punctuated his advice with a respectful bow.
Luke's icy gaze locked onto Hayden. Several taut seconds stretched before his chilling voice shattered the silence. "You are concerned about her?"
Hayden's breath hitched audibly. "I-I wouldn't presume, sir!" he stammered, the dangerous edge in Luke's tone freezing the blood in his veins. A wave of cold dread washed over him, locking his muscles.
"See that you don't," Luke's voice was pure frost. His gaze offered no quarter. "Remember this, Hayden. She is mine."
Only when the door clicked shut behind Luke did Hayden finally release the breath he'd been holding in a ragged gasp. The suffocating pressure radiating from Luke had felt like a vise around his heart.
Wiping the cold sweat beading his brow, Hayden grappled with disbelief. In all his years of service, he had never witnessed Luke exhibit such possessiveness over anyone.
Luke pushed the door open and stepped into the lounge. His gaze instantly found Jane—curled into a tight, impossibly vulnerable ball in the corner of the plush sofa. A dark frown etched itself between his brows.
He'd braced himself for an angry outburst, for hysterical accusations the moment he entered. But there was nothing. No shouting, no drama. Only a fragile figure huddled on the sofa, radiating the desolation of an abandoned thing. The faintest tremor shook her shoulders.
Even without seeing her face, he could picture the tear tracks staining her cheeks. The sight of Jane reduced to this deepened his scowl.
Unbidden, the stark image from earlier invaded his thoughts: her crumpled form on the cold marble of the ballroom floor, the embodiment of humiliation.
Luke crossed the room and halted before the sofa, looking down at the woman coiled in the corner. His gaze was imperious, commanding. "Jane." He spoke her name.
Jane's body locked rigid at the sound of his voice, her grip on her knees turning white-knuckled. But she didn't look up. She remained coiled inward, face buried. She didn't want to see him. Not now. Not ever!
Jane's mute defiance darkened Luke's obsidian eyes. Any trace of pity that might have flickered moments ago was instantly extinguished, drowned by a surge of icy displeasure.
"Did I not warn you," Luke said, his voice dangerously low, "to keep your hands off what was never yours?" His gaze hardened. "And yet you possessed the audacity to stage a spectacle at a Drake function. Your recklessness is boundless."
Luke's icy rebuke landed like a physical blow, yet Jane remained motionless. She stayed a silent, coiled figure, passively absorbing his words like stone, offering no acknowledgment.
Luke's brows knotted in a dark scowl. "What is this? Courageous enough to steal from Ella, yet too craven to meet the consequences?" His voice thickened with contempt. "Did you truly believe," he sneered, "that stealing her possessions would let you take her place?"
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