Chapter 5
Hearing Giselle’s shameless words, Donovan wavered between releasing her and holding on. In the end, he just fixed her with a hard stare.
Anne felt an indescribable thrill watching him get physical to “defend” her. Even with water still dripping down her face, she acted like it was nothing. But the moment she noticed Donovan’s grip still wrapped around Giselle’s arm, a pang of discomfort hit her.
“Don, ignore her. She’s a lunatic. There’s no telling what she’ll do. Just let her go. She’s not worth getting your hands dirty!”
“Yeah, Don,” Renee chimed in, eager to stir the pot. “I get that you can’t stand seeing Anne get picked on. But what you don’t know is that Giselle has picked up all kinds of bad habits overseas—smoking, drinking, popping pills, the whole deal.
“Even Tony can’t control her. For the sake of family peace, we’ve had to bite our tongues and let it slide.”
But Donovan barely registered Anne’s and Renee’s buzzing voices. His eyes stayed locked on Giselle’s face, his grip still tight around her arm.
Growing impatient, Giselle was about to pry his hand away—until her gaze fell on it, every bit as strong and familiar as she remembered. She changed her mind.
Instead, she laid her hand over his, deliberately stroking it in slow, teasing caresses as she met his gaze, her eyes alight with challenge.
As she’d expected, Donovan grew visibly uneasy under her bold, public teasing. Disgusted, he had no choice but to let her go.
“That’s enough. Get the hell out of here!” Anne snapped, her patience shattering the second Giselle touched Donovan’s hand.
Done pretending, she hooked her arm around Donovan’s and made sure Giselle got the message. “If you love seducing men so much, go sink your claws into someone else. But don’t you dare drag my fiancé into your nasty little games. He’s way out of your league!”
Giselle scoffed.
Remembering those wild, passionate nights with Donovan made it all the more ironic to see him now, fussing over his darling wife-to-be. Rich people really knew how to play their fucking games, didn’t they?
She’d had it with these damned snakes. She spared Donovan one last glance before walking out, her shoulders squared. She refused to look like some whipped mutt scurrying off.
She climbed into her blue Panamera and slammed the door shut. With a smooth reverse, she turned the car around, then hit the gas and sped away from the villa.
With one hand on the wheel, she drove numbly, her mind replaying the confrontation at the Holt residence on an endless loop. Donovan’s face lingered in her head like a damned ghost.
…
It was already 8:00 pm when Giselle arrived home.
She lived alone in an ordinary neighborhood, in a modest 970-square-foot house she’d bought outright and renovated for under 500 thousand dollars. It was nothing like the Holt family’s lavish, sprawling villa, but it was hers—her own place in the city, where she felt safe and at ease.
Her highly intelligent, commanding shepherd dog trotted out to greet her the moment she walked in. After playing with the dog for a while, she curled up on the couch and chatted with her best friend overseas for about ten minutes.
Feeling a little hungry, she ordered takeout on her phone. By the time she finished showering and changed into her pajamas, the app notified her that the food had arrived and was waiting at her doorstep, just as she’d requested.
Without thinking twice, she opened the door to grab her order. To her shock, the moment she cracked it open, the door was flung wide, and a man forced his way inside.
Giselle immediately recognized that familiar, icy presence. But before she could say a word, Donovan shoved her roughly onto the couch.
“Fuck,” she spat, unable to hold it back.
She met Donovan’s dark, menacing gaze. “Why the hell did you follow me home? What more do you want?”
