Page 24 of Brutal Heir

Things were moving way too fast.

One moment, Édouard had humiliated me for overstepping. The next, I wore his dress, a diamond rested at my throat, and Sebastian Diamanti’s hand locked around my waist.

We passed several museum security guards who’d done nothing to stop Sebastian’s earlier violence, and they dipped their heads in a way that felt…off. Not polite. Deferential.

“That’s the last man I’d try to stop.”

The others gave quiet grunts of agreement.

A chill curled down my spine.

Who was Sebastian, that even men with guns and authority stepped aside, afraid to look him in the eye?

My fingers shook around the clasp of the necklace, which resisted my effort to open it. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t do this.”

It would be career suicide to piss off Édouard any further.

Sebastian’s hands clamped around my wrists. “Stop.”

I jerked against his hold, but his grip only tightened. “There are at least twenty models who would eagerly compete to wear this gown and showcase your diamond.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your point being?”

I swiveled my head back and forth, desperately hoping someone would hear our conversation and intervene.

“My point is that it would be wildly inappropriate for me to wear this dress and attend the pre-party with you. It’s just not done. There are rules.”

Sebastian loomed over me. “You and I are going to have to establish some rules of our own. Rule number one, don’t disobey me.”

My back stiffened, snapping my shoulders back.

Disobey him? WTH.

How the hell was I supposed to navigate this?

On one hand, I would anger Édouard and possibly ruin my fashion stylist career before it even started.

On the other, I risked pissing off the man behind the powerful House of Diamanti, itself a force within my industry.

There was no winning.

“I’m not trying to disobey you. I just don’t understand…”

He released my wrists and pushed my hair back over my shoulders. “All you need to understand is that I want you on my arm, wearing my diamond.”

I waved my hand over my form, gesturing to the ill-fitting dress and the hem pooling on the floor since it was several inches too long for my height. “I look ridiculous, and I don’t have permission to wear this.”

He placed a hand on the doorjamb, blocking my view of the backstage area, where the activity had reached a fever pitch. “The only permission you need is mine. Remember that.”

“But—”

His hand cupped my jaw as he pressed his thumb over my lips. “No more arguments. Now, you can walk into that party on my arm or over my shoulder. The choice is yours.”

My eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He smirked. “You have until the count of one to decide.”

“This is⁠—”