Page 196 of Heartless Sinner

They did nothing to help my racing heart.

This wouldn’t haunt me for the rest of the night.

This would haunt me for the rest of my life.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat and pressed a hand to my neck. “Don’t try to blackmail me, Prime Minister.”

“This isn’t blackmail. It’s your only option.” He crowded into my space, his expression turning even more sinister. He snatched my forearm, the grip so brutal that I knew it’d leave a bruise. “Agree to marry Cory, and I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

I jerked my head up and spotted Brooks over Bellamonte’s shoulder, only a few feet away.

Relief and horror collided in my chest as he stalked toward us. His jaw was locked tight and his nostrils flaring.

The man who’d carefully put my tiara into my hair was gone.

Bellamonte never let go.

Brooks grabbed the back of his suit jacket, yanked him away from me, and drove his fist into his jaw.

Oh no.

No. No. No.

This is so not good.

Forty-Eight

Brooks

One minute, I was beating the shit out of Bellamonte, and the next, a swarm of Secret Service agents was shoving me through the heavy double doors of the Red Room.

I stumbled, caught myself against a red upholstered armchair, and immediately spotted Daphne across the room.

Adelina had positioned herself between Daphne and everyone else, one hand wrapped around Daphne’s bare arm.

I started to move toward her, but before I could cross the room, the doors flew back open. My father stormed into the room. Bellamonte and Cory trailed him.

Who the fuck invited Beavis and Butt-Head of Calira?

The doors slammed shut behind them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” my father sneered, shooting a glance at the closed double doors before lowering his voice.

The room was fairly soundproof, but we were still dangerously close to the guests.

Bellamonte took the linen cloth Cory offered and dabbed at his mouth. Blood already stained the collar of his white dress shirt.

I winked at him, wishing I could’ve done more damage to his face.

I expected my father’s fury to land on me first. Instead, it went to Bellamonte.

“I’m going to have to make a call to the king over this,” he told him.

Bellamonte stepped toward him. “Mr. President⁠—”

“No!” my father snapped, pointing toward the Secret Service agents lining the room. “You’re lucky I’m not having my Secret Service throw you out of the White House to become a public spectacle.”