Marching her way out of his flat, Gabrielle yanks the black dress up from her knees, dragging the cool fabric over her cold, naked skin as she storms toward the door.
"Idiot..." she hisses through clenched teeth, her knuckles whitening around the fist she makes. Her face burns not with embarrassment, but with fury.
God, she never reacts like this to anyone. No one has ever pushed her to the point where she genuinely wants to punch them—or murder them.
"Breathe, Gab..."
She squeezes her eyes shut, inhales sharply, then grabs her stilettos, scanning the room for her pouch.
"Stupid idiot..." she mutters again when she doesn't find it.
Just as she's ready to scream in sheer frustration, she notices Vincent's car keys hanging on the hook beside the main door.
Without hesitation, heels dangling from two fingers, she strides to the door, snatches the keys, and swings the door open.
The hallway floor chills her bare feet, forcing her to lean against the wall to slip into her stilettos. She is bracing herself to storm out of this hellish place—
—and then flash.
A dozen blinding lights explode in her face.
Paparazzi.
Of course.
In seconds, they swarm her like starving vultures, shoving cameras at her, peppering her with questions that feel like knives to her temples.
"Gabrielle, is it true you're still seeing other men despite being engaged to the Walton heir?"
"Is your engagement arranged?!"
"Are you two even in a real relationship?!"
"Who are you shagging in that room?!"
The barrage is deafening. The flashes burn her eyes. Their voices claw at her skull. She wants to bolt, but there are too many—at least ten of them hemming her in.
"Gabrielle, do you love Vincent Walton?"
"How did you two meet?!"
"What about Adrian Thorne?!"
"We heard his mother was rushed to hospital after your engagement!"
"Was it a heart attack because they lost the chance to secure your fortune?!"
"LEAVE THEM OUT OF THIS!" she shouts, her voice cracking.
But they keep advancing.
"Is Adrian in that flat with you?!"
"Are you planning a threesome relationship with those hot men?"
A shrill voice cackles, and the others join in, shoving their cameras even closer.
She wants to ram her heel into his face.
"Gabrielle! What are your plans with the two men?"
"Which days for Vincent? Which days for Adrian?"
"Did your father pressure the Walton heir to marry you?"
And then—
"Nobody pressured me to marry her."
A familiar baritone behind her.
Two strong hands settle on her shoulders, steadying her.
The entire corridor freezes.
"It's him! Vincent Walton!"
"Why are you marrying Gabrielle?"
"Is it for a merger?"
"Is it the money?"
YOU ARE READING
Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)
RomanceNOT-FOR-BELOW-18-STEAMY CONTENT! He was perfect... That's what everyone thought, at least. He has everything a man could ever ask for... But like a very funny joke, he had too much of everything. His life turns upside down as he was forced to have...
