Fifty to sixty million...
'Tristan Sterling sure is generous!'
'He gives me a hundred thousand a month for living expenses, but casually drops fifty to sixty million to open a studio for Vivian Linton.'
Holly Sinclair's heart ached as if pricked by a thousand tiny needles.
"Ha! You've just reminded me of something."
She laughed, the sound sharp with pain. Elegantly setting down her small plate, she lifted her gaze to fix Vivian Linton with a cold stare. "Vivian Linton, the money Tristan gave you to open your studio is marital property. In other words... half of that studio is mine!"
"..." Vivian Linton was left speechless.
She was furious, realizing she had just shot herself in the foot.
"Vivian Linton, if you're going to be a mistress, you should know your place. Keep your head down and don't provoke me. After all—"
Holly pressed her attack, each word a dagger. "As long as I don't grant him a divorce, you'll never be anything more than the other woman!"
With that, she turned and left.
Vivian Linton froze on the spot.
Her mind went blank for a moment, stunned by Holly's retort.
'She couldn't understand it.'
'Shouldn't Holly have been heartbroken and furious to hear that Tristan had spent a fortune opening a studio for her?'
'Shouldn't she have slapped me and screamed those insults in public to humiliate me?'
'Then, Tristan would surely have punished Holly to protect me.'
'He might have even thrown Holly out of the venue.'
'If that had happened, my studio's success would have been guaranteed.'
'It would have been just like that exam years ago. As long as Holly wasn't around, first place was mine!'
But she never expected—
Today, Holly hadn't just not gotten angry—she had even smiled with such infuriating calm as she shut Vivian down, leaving her utterly speechless.
Vivian Linton glared daggers at Holly's composed, elegant back.
She slowly clenched her fists.
...
Holly came out of the restroom, about to head back to the main hall.
But as she rounded a corner, a large hand grabbed her arm.
"Ah!"
She cried out, but before she could react, she was forcefully dragged into an empty private room.
The room was unlit, completely pitch-black.
A familiar masculine scent assailed her. She didn't have to look to know who it was.
"Tristan, what are you doing?"
Furious, Holly yanked her hand away.
But the next second—
THUD!
He pinned her against the wall.
Their bodies were pressed flush against each other.
"'Not close?'"
Tristan leaned in, his lips close to her ear, his warm breath fanning across her cheek.
His voice was cold, yet it held a restrained, sensual quality.
Utterly tantalizing.
Holly's mind went blank for a second.
Then she remembered telling Justin Schofield at the entrance to the hall that she and Tristan weren't close...
'So he was here to call her on it?'
'He was angry because she had disowned their relationship?'
'But what right did he have to be angry?'
'Isn't this exactly what he'd always wanted?'
After all, during their two years of marriage, he had publicly denied their connection more than once.
Ah!
'Now I get it!'
'A man like him is an absolute control freak. He can despise her, but he won't tolerate her defying him in the slightest.'
'Take the divorce, for example.'
'He clearly doesn't love her, he even despises her.'
'And yet, he keeps dragging his feet, refusing to sign the papers.'
'Because in his mind, whoever initiates the divorce is the winner.'
'The other party is the one who gets dumped.'
'The proud, arrogant Mr. Sterling could never accept being the one who was "dumped".'
That's why he flew into a rage every time she brought up divorce.
"Hmm? We're 'not close?'"
The man's insistent voice snapped Holly out of her reverie.
"What on earth do you want?"
Holly glared at him, her teeth clenched in fury.
Overwhelmed by his powerful presence, she was trapped—unable to hide, unable to escape.
"You."
Tristan's reply was concise, instantly filling the air with intimate tension.
Holly's face grew hot against her will.
The word had barely left his mouth when his lips descended on hers.
It was a near-ferocious kiss, his mouth crushing hers as if he wanted to devour her whole.
Holly frantically turned her head away, crying out in protest, "Tristan, don't touch me! We're about to get a divorce—Ah!"
He bent his head and bit down hard on the tender skin of her neck.
He didn't hold back.
A deep bite mark bloomed on her skin.
The kind that wouldn't fade for at least a week.
Holly flinched in pain, her eyes instantly welling with tears.
"I told you, don't let me hear that word from your mouth again!"
He hissed menacingly beside her lips, "Next time, this won't be the only place I bite."
His words were dripping with suggestive meaning.
Holly didn't dare to move.
She was afraid of provoking him into doing something worse.
Her submission seemed to satisfy him.
He hadn't touched her in a long time. Feeling the softness of her body now, the man grew aroused.
He gripped her chin and tilted her head up, forcing her to face him.
Once again, he kissed her.
Holly instinctively clenched her jaw, refusing him any chance to deepen the kiss.
She couldn't overpower him physically, but she refused to let her heart and body be his to command.
But she had underestimated how cruel he could be.
"Mmph—"
He squeezed her sharply. She cried out in pain, her jaw slackening against her will.
He thrust inside, forceful and domineering.
The kiss was long and searing.
Tristan finally let her go when she was nearly out of breath.
Their foreheads rested against each other, both of them breathing unsteadily.
"Is that enough? Can you let me go now?!"
Holly's voice was raspy, a thread of stubbornness woven into its softness that was surprisingly alluring.
Her eyes were filled with tears, her gaze full of hatred.
But to Tristan's eyes, she merely looked like a pampered young wife throwing a coquettish tantrum.
Holly was beautiful.
She had delicate features, skin whiter than snow, and enviably long legs.
She had a unique, ethereal air about her, a pure and pristine beauty. It would be no exaggeration to say she looked like a goddess who had descended to the mortal realm.
And the sight of her, weeping and undone beneath him, was utterly captivating.
"Not enough."
The more Tristan thought about it, the more his mind wandered. He gently caressed her slightly swollen lips with his thumb, his dark eyes thick with desire.
"What else do you want?!"
Holly was choked with anger, desperate to escape his clutches.
"Mrs. Sterling has been telling people we're 'not close.' I suppose I'll have to help Mrs. Sterling remember." His voice was a lazy drawl as his hands began to wander.
"You!"
Feeling the pressure on her chest, she was overwhelmed with shame and fury, yet powerless to resist.
"How about now? Are we feeling a little more 'close'?" he murmured, nibbling her earlobe as his hands grew bolder.
Holly had reached her limit.
She suddenly brought up her knee, aiming for his most vulnerable spot.
But the cunning bastard had already seen her move coming.
The instant she raised her knee, he caught it.
Her leg was now forced to hook around his lean, powerful waist.
The position left her, already at a disadvantage, completely exposed to him.
"Trying to murder your dear husband?"
he snarled against her lips, his breath turning cold.
"I... It was self-defense."
"'Self-defense' from what?"
"Tristan, marital rape is a crime, you know."
She tried to shove him away as she spoke, but then—
"Holly. Holly."
Suddenly, a voice called for her from outside the room.
It was Justin Schofield.
He was looking for her.
"I—" She instinctively started to answer.
"You dare call him in here and see what happens."