Chapter 11 - The Breach in the Ballroom
The moment Liam staggered into the pristine, glittering ballroom, a wave of nervous whispers rippled through the high-society guests. Several wealthy patrons stepped back in alarm, pulling their glittering evening wear away from the disheveled intruder as if his very presence was contagious.
Liam didn't care. His bloodshot eyes scanned the massive room until they locked onto the exact spot near the marble staircase where Khloe stood beside Victor Russo.
A twisted, triumphant sneer spread across Liam’s weak jawline. He began marching straight toward them, ignoring the horrified gasps of the surrounding aristocrats.
"Look at you!" Liam shouted, his voice cracking loudly across the silent ballroom, echoing off the crystal chandeliers. "Playing queen of the world in a fancy dress you could never afford on your own! You think you're untouchable now, Chlo? You're nothing! You're just a lying, manipulative parasite who rode my coattails until you found a richer sugar daddy to leech off of!"
Khloe’s face drained of color. The humiliating, paralyzing memories of their toxic apartment flooded back in a sickening wave. Her breath hitched, and her fingers tightened so hard around her champagne glass that the stem threatened to snap.
Nearby, the hotel’s private security guards finally sprinted into the ballroom, shouting for Liam to halt and moving in to tackle him.
But Liam was moving too fast, fueled by sheer, psychotic adrenaline. He lunged forward, ignoring the guards closing in behind him, and shot his hand out with vicious speed.
His fingers clamped down brutally around Khloe’s delicate wrist, digging straight into her soft skin over her pulse point with the exact same violent, possessive grip he had used at the Obsidian Room.
"You're coming with me, you ungrateful bitch," Liam snarled, yanking her hard toward him so violently that Khloe stumbled forward, letting out a sharp gasp of pain as her emerald gown twisted around her ankles.
May you like
For one terrifying second, the entire ballroom seemed to hold its collective breath. Julian Vance, standing nearby, shrank back into the shadows, too cowardly to intervene. The security guards were still six feet away, not fast enough to stop what was coming.
And then, Victor Russo moved.
