Chapter 205

Harrison shoved him back, her voice sharp. "Absolutely not!"

She fought against his grip, her hands pressing against his chest.

In the struggle, her elbow accidentally struck his left hand. Nathaniel flinched, a low groan escaping his lips.

Harrison froze, concern flickering in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

He met her gaze, his jaw tight. "My hand."

He lifted his left hand, revealing the deep scar running across his palm—a jagged reminder of the injury that had required twenty-three stitches. The wound had only recently healed, leaving behind a raised, angry mark.

The dim hallway light cast shadows between them, the air thick with tension. Their breaths mingled, hearts pounding loud enough to hear.

"Harrison, look at it. It hurts," Nathaniel murmured, his voice rough.

She frowned. For a man who rarely acknowledged pain, his insistence was strange.

Her lips curled slightly as she studied the scar. "It's hideous."

A scoff escaped him. Then, without warning, he crushed his mouth to hers, silencing any further words.

Harrison tried to pull back, but his fingers tangled in her hair, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. His tongue was demanding, relentless, as if he wanted to devour her.

She gasped for air, her fists pressing weakly against his chest. Only then did he finally ease back, his lips lingering before he pulled away completely.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "Harrison," he rasped, "someone drugged me."

Their bodies were pressed so close she could feel the heat radiating from him—and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal. She tried to retreat, but the wall blocked her escape.

"So?" she challenged.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "You've been with Alexander all this time." His lips brushed her ear. "Tonight, you belong to me."

A shiver ran down her spine. She had suspected why he was here, why he had sought her out so late.

But why wasn't he with Isabella? Why had he left the Whitmore estate?

His words from that night in the presidential suite echoed in her mind—how Isabella was pure, untouched, and how Harrison was the one meant to satisfy his desires.

Had he come to her because he didn’t want to taint Isabella?

The humiliation of that memory burned fresh.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "I don’t want to."

Her refusal was firm, unyielding.

Nathaniel went rigid, his expression unreadable.

Harrison pushed past him, turning to leave.

His hand shot out, gripping her wrist. "Harrison," he demanded, voice thick with disbelief, "do you really not love me anymore?"

She turned back, her eyes steady. "No. I don’t."

His grip loosened. A cold smirk twisted his lips. "Fine."

He pulled out his phone and dialed. "Dominic," he ordered, "send a virgin to Emerald Heights. Now."

The call ended. Without another word, Nathaniel strode away, his footsteps echoing down the hall until he disappeared.

Harrison stood there for a long moment before finally returning to the VIP ward.

Alexander was still asleep, undisturbed by the storm outside.

She lay down on the small bed beside him and closed her eyes.