Chapter 33 Notorious for Taking Sides

Eleanor woke up the next afternoon, the room was a sharp contrast to the one of last night of the previous night’s events; it was immaculate, including the bed - which clearly hadn't been touched since the turmoil. Even in her intoxicated state, she had been aware of the madness, and Aaron had been relentless. Thankfully, it was the weekend.

She attempted to rise, her bare feet hitting the floor only to give way beneath her, forcing her to sit back on the bed as she massaged her tender lower back and thighs.

Last night, Aaron had brought her back to his private manor. Her purse was casually placed on the sofa, and on the coffee table, lay the business proposal meant for Director Ray's review and the contract she was always ready to present.

With a sense of trepidation, she approached the table. Aaron's bold signature scorched the final page of the contract, its intensity almost causing her physical pain. Clasping the documents, the crinkling sound echoed the tearing sensation in her heart, and her breathing became labored, each breath punctuated with a sharp ache.

The door opened behind her, and she turned to see Aaron, looking refreshed and suave. Without hesitation, she threw the contract at him—but it fell to the floor, short of its target by a few feet.

"What are you trying to say?" Her voice was hoarse, her assertiveness waning, but her bright eyes stubbornly held onto their defiance.

Aaron, dressed in a charcoal cashmere sweater and black slacks, appeared the epitome of refined charm, but Eleanor knew better; beneath that facade was the heart of a wolf, one capable of leaving nothing but gnawed-clean bones in its wake.

He strode toward her with long, measured steps, a low chuckle escaping him as he observed her livid, pale face. "Isn’t this what you've always wanted—the collaboration?"

"If not for your meddling, wouldn't Director Ray have given me the opportunity on his own merit?" Eleanor choked out the question.

He reached to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, only for her to flinch away. The sight of his own love bite behind her ear made him smile more broadly. "Do you think I carry less weight than him?"

"What do you take me for? Sleep with you and you sign the contract—do you think I'm easy?"

Humiliated, Eleanor shook off his hand, and despite the soreness in her legs, she stormed out of the room. Aaron quickly pulled her back.

"Blake's downstairs. Are you seriously going out dressed like that?"

She didn’t have many clothes at Aaron's manor; they were usually brought in at the last minute. After the early morning shower, he had carelessly shirted her in one of his shirts. Eleanor, tall for a woman, found the hem barely covered her upper thighs, exposing her long, pale legs—if she moved even slightly, it left nothing to the imagination.

Aaron tugged her back. "Signing the contract has nothing to do with last night. Is that clear enough for you?"
He had a knack for getting under her skin. Eleanor didn't utter a single word as she put some distance between them.

Ironic, considering how in sync they were last night. But in the cold light of day, she was acutely aware of what they were to each other, and the distance she ought to maintain.

The cause and effect of these two events were indeed delicate matters. Taken separately, they were non-issues, but combined, they became hard to swallow.

Eleanor was proud, and Aaron was too proud to explain himself.

Her aching body reminded her of last night's events, "Did you drug me?"

When her rationale had crumbled, and her brain had stopped functioning, it seemed plausible.

Aaron wanted her, but not through the vile act of drugging.

Neither would Edward – not that she knew Edward well, but she trusted Grayson.

"No."

"Do you know who did?" Eleanor looked him straight in the eye.

But Aaron was calculating, his gaze never betraying any emotion a stranger could decipher; at first glance, it seemed shrouded in fog, and by the time it cleared, there was nothing.

"If it wasn't you or Edward, then last night I..." She attempted.

"No 'ifs,'" he interrupted her.

Her heart sank at his detached look, and she already had a hunch, "Was it Vincent?"

Aaron lit a cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke before he slowly spoke, "Did I not make myself clear that there would be no repeat?"

Eleanor's eyes stung as she turned to the window.

The room overlooked the backyard garden where in spring she had seen a swath of exquisite roses in bloom; though unnamed, their color was a beautiful, blush-like red.

She nodded, a lump forming in her throat, managing a soft "Sorry."

She went to his master bedroom closet, finding a set of clothes from spring. They were not seasonally appropriate, but they'd have to do.

As she dressed, her vision blurred, and tears splattered on the wooden floor, spreading tiny, watery rings.

It didn't matter what she said, Aaron wouldn't believe her.

The Davis family had hosted last night's banquet, and with Eva introducing her to everyone, no one dared lay a finger on her.

Even though preconceptions were fatal, her gut feeling pointed straight at Vincent.

Aaron was known to protect his own, and Vincent was his fiancée.

Even if it were true, would Aaron take action against Vincent for her sake?

No, he wouldn't.

She knew.

After composing herself, she freshened up in the bathroom and noticed a tiny puncture mark in the crook of her elbow.

If her skin hadn't been so pale, it would have been nearly invisible.

When she asked Aaron about it downstairs, he handed her a blood test report, "Ashton took it after you fell asleep to see if there was any drug residue in your system."
The numbers on the lab report were all within normal ranges.

"Thanks, Aaron."

Eleanor tucked away the report and had barely taken two steps when her vision darkened, and a cold sweat broke out down her spine. Low blood sugar—she realized it was already afternoon and she hadn't eaten a thing.

Aaron caught her as her body slumped, his arms securely around her from behind, his voice low with a tinge of reproach, "You with your damn stubbornness, it'll cost you one of these days!"

Forced into a dining chair, she was handed a tube of glucose gel as a small bowl of clear soup and some light appetizers were pushed toward her. "Ashton suggested you should eat something light."

She had no real appetite, but the side dishes, especially the smashed cucumbers and the mixed salad, looked rather appealing. She took a bite—it was not bad. Before she knew it, she had finished half the bowl of soup.

Aaron sat across from her, leisurely sipping his tea.

"I'm full," she said, setting down her utensils.

The man hummed in acknowledgment, "Blake taking you back?"

Taxis were hard to come by around here, and Eleanor wasn't going to be stubborn about it.

Aaron passed her something. Looking down, she saw it was her contract.

"Are you sure you're done?" he asked with a smirk that wasn't quite a smile.

Eleanor was familiar with toughing it out, and she took the contract from him with a breezy nonchalance. "It's been a pleasure."

Sure enough, a shadow crossed Aaron's face the next second, his eyes a silent warning, "Watch your mouth."

Eleanor offered a smile, "Sorry, Aaron, can't help this stubborn streak of mine. Never learned to sweet-talk."

Her phone rang just as she was getting into the car—it was an unusual call from the Family Ancestral Home landline.

Victoria rarely used the landline to contact her.

She answered quickly to find Niro's anxious voice on the other end, "Miss, Madam didn't come home last night, and her cell phone is turned off."

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Fleeing the Embrace of My Obsessed Husband
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