Betrayed Wife: Claimed By The Ruthless CEO

The brass door handle was cold against her sweaty palm. Isolde Mitchell stared at the heavy oak door of the private suite, her chest tight with a mixture of dread and reckless fury. The image of Clark's hands roaming over Kelsey Byrd's body in the back of his Mercedes flashed behind her eyelids. It burned away her hesitation. She pushed the handle down. The door clicked open.

The suite was dim, bathed only in the neon glow bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A tall silhouette stood facing the glass, the outline of his shoulders broad and unyielding. Isolde stepped inside, her heart hammering against her ribs. She pushed the door shut behind her, the lock engaging with a solid, final thunk.

She had paid for discretion. She needed a tool, a stranger who could erase Clark's touch from her skin without asking a single question.

"I think we both know why we're here," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "So let's... skip the boring preamble."

The silhouette turned. The city lights caught the sharp angle of his jaw, the straight line of his nose. His eyes were dark, piercing, locking onto her with an intensity that made the air in her lungs turn to ice. He didn't move to unbutton his shirt. He didn't look like a man who took orders.

He took a step forward. Then another. The sheer size of him filled her vision, erasing the rest of the room. Isolde's breath hitched. She took a step back, her spine hitting the door.

"Excuse me?" His voice was a low rumble, vibrating in the small space between them.

"I said..." Isolde swallowed, trying to regain control. "I paid for a service. I want you to start."

A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. He closed the remaining distance, crowding her against the wood. His hand came up, his long fingers wrapping around her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed across her lower lip, the touch burning hot against her chilled skin.

"Do you even know what kind of fire you're playing with?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper that brushed against her cheek.

The scent hit her. Cedar. Smoke. A faint trace of leather. The world tilted sideways. The intoxicating, overwhelming aroma wrapped around her, suddenly triggering a suffocating sense of dread, as if touching a dark, terrifying switch buried deep within her mind. She gasped, her eyes flying wide. No. That was the past. This was now. This was her choice.

She grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, her fingers digging into the expensive fabric. She pulled him closer, desperate to overwrite the old memory with a new reality, desperate to scrub Clark's betrayal off her skin.

Jacques Valdez looked down at her hands, then back at her face. His gaze drifted down, snagging on her collarbone. The silver bracelet resting there, the Mitchell family crest glinting in the low light. His pupils contracted. His body