My Fiancé Dumped Me For A Teen Heiress — Then The Most Feared Man In The Room Stepped In
Part 2
“Miss Megan.”
The voice belonged to Craig, the terrifying Duke of Wickliff.
It sounded like rough gravel dragging across uneven stone.
Gentleness did not exist in his tone.
Instead, it offered an undeniable anchor.
“You promised me this promenade on the terrace.”
He did not break eye contact.
“I am not a patient man.”
Those words dropped into the silent circle like heavy anvils.
My lungs desperately tried to pull in air.
I had never spoken a single syllable to this frightening man in my entire life.
No formal introduction had ever taken place.
He stood at the absolute apex of the aristocracy.
My father was merely a minor, deeply impoverished baron.
Craig slowly extended his arm.
This gesture did not feel like a polite invitation.
It resembled a sturdy lifeline thrown into a raging, violent sea.
His muscle felt rigidly tense beneath the fine wool of his sleeve.
An exit route was being offered right in front of my enemies.
He wielded his unassailable rank like a physical shield.
I looked at the thick fabric of his coat.
Then, my gaze shifted up to meet his dark, piercing eyes.
Absolutely no pity existed in that harsh stare.
A fierce, demanding expectation burned there instead.
He was silently daring me to find my footing.
My gloved fingers reached out.
They shook with violent tremors.
I pressed my hand against his solid arm.
The second my palm rested there, Craig turned smoothly.
He drew me securely against his side.
His chilling, absolute authority swept over the surrounding crowd.
The eager gossips physically recoiled.
They scattered like roaches fleeing a sudden lantern flare.
We walked straight through the center of the devastated ballroom.
My frantic breathing was forced to match his slow, steady strides.
We passed right by Brian.
My former suitor took a weak step forward.
His mouth hung open in pathetic bewilderment.
Craig did not spare the coward a single glance.
He merely pulled me into the cool, dark sanctuary of the night air.
The stone terrace offered immediate isolation.
I staggered toward the balustrade and gripped the heavy ledge.
Oxygen finally rushed into my starved lungs.
Tears stubbornly refused to fall.
The sheer absurdity of being rescued by London’s most feared predator acted as a tourniquet on my grief.
Craig leaned against the opposite wall and lit a dark cheroot.
He let the silence stretch for several long minutes.
When the adrenaline finally drained away, I managed to stand straight.
“I never promised you a promenade, Your Grace,” I rasped.
Blue smoke exhaled slowly into the night.
“No, you did not,” he replied.
“Why pull me from that room?”
His gray eyes locked onto mine.
“Because you did not drop the glass.”
My brow furrowed in utter confusion.
“When he said the heiress’s name, your entire world collapsed,” Craig explained quietly.
“Yet you refused to give them the satisfaction of shattering that crystal.”
He stepped closer, blocking out the moonlight.
“I respect fortitude, and you did not attempt a clean retreat.”
I stared at the formidable monster standing before me.
He possessed a chilling proposition that would require me to walk straight back into the fire.
Would you have accepted a cold, transactional alliance with a monster just to escape the pity of the people who wanted to watch you bleed?
