Chapter 2: Mr. Stark, We Haven't Touched Her

Summer's POV

I scrambled to my feet, wincing at the sharp pain in my ankle. Don't cry. Don't you dare cry in front of them. "I... I'm fine. Please, just leave me alone." My voice came out rougher than I'd intended, thick with tears and emotion.

Through my blurred vision, I saw the taller man take a step forward, his expression unreadable. But before he could speak, I turned and limped away as quickly as my injured ankle would allow. God, could this day get any more humiliating?

Behind me, I heard James speak: "Sir, we've arrived at The Plaza. Would you like to proceed to the event?"

The deep voice answered with simple words that somehow held volumes of meaning: "No, the show is over."

I didn't look back. I couldn't. But even as I made my way down the darkening street, I could feel those dark eyes following my retreat, their intensity burning into my skin like a physical touch.

---

The Manhattan Club's crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, their light refracting through my fourth – or was it fifth? – glass of whiskey. I'd never been much of a drinker, and I definitely wasn't the type to frequent Manhattan's elite nightspots alone. But what else can I do? After the nightmare at The Plaza, I needed something stronger than tears to dull the bitter taste of betrayal that lingered in my mouth.

Each sip burned going down, but it was nothing compared to the pain eating away at my heart. I should have known. All those times Victoria asked about my relationship, all those 'sisterly' concerns about Alexander's fidelity - she was testing the waters, wasn't she? The realization made me want to scream, or maybe throw up. Instead, I took another drink.

"Now that's a crime," a male voice drawled from my left. "A beautiful lady drinking alone?"

I didn't bother turning my head. My skin crawled at his tone - that particular blend of entitlement and false charm I'd grown too familiar with in the financial district. "Leave me alone."

"Feisty one, aren't you?" A second voice joined in, closer this time. "Come on, let us show you a good time."

The air around me felt suddenly thick, oppressive. My head was spinning more than it should have been, even with the alcohol. Something's wrong. A creeping dread started to seep through my alcohol-induced haze. This wasn't normal drunkenness.

"Back off," I managed, my tongue feeling strangely heavy. "Now." Why can't I think straight? What's happening to me?

The first man chuckled, and I caught a whiff of expensive cologne as he leaned closer. "Playing hard to get? Let's go somewhere more... private."

I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. The room tilted dangerously, and my vision blurred at the edges. Panic clawed at my chest as I realized how vulnerable I was. Oh god, what did they put in my drink?

"I don't think the lady's feeling well," the second man said, his voice dripping with false concern. "We should help her out."

I felt hands on my arms, and raw terror shot through my fog-filled brain. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Not today. Not after everything else. I tried to pull away, but my muscles refused to respond. The chandeliers above swirled into streaks of light, and I stumbled.

Instead of hitting the floor, I collided with something solid – no, someone. Through my increasingly hazy vision, I made out an impeccably tailored suit and caught the faintest hint of a crisp, winter-fresh scent. My fingers clutched desperately at the fabric.

"Please..." I whispered, hating how weak I sounded but too terrified to care, "help me."

The man I'd crashed into didn't move, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. When he spoke, his deep voice carried an edge that could have cut glass.

"Still here?"

The hands gripping my arms disappeared instantly. I sagged against my unexpected support, my head spinning faster now. Why does his voice sound familiar?

"Who do you think... wait, Mr. Stark? We... we didn't know she was with you."

Stark. The name penetrated my fog-filled mind, sending a jolt of recognition through me. The man from the crosswalk. The one with the Bentley. Of all the people in New York, I had to crash into another Stark? A hysterical laugh threatened to bubble up in my throat.

"Did you touch her?" His voice was deceptively calm, but something in it made me shiver. It wasn't the casual arrogance I'd grown used to from Alexander - this was something else entirely. Raw power, barely contained.

"Mr. Stark, we... we haven't touched her, I swear!"

"James."

"Yes, sir." A new voice, crisp and professional.

"The boss wants to know which hands touched the lady." The professional voice took on a dangerous edge. "Those hands... well, they won't be touching anyone else."

"We're Fortune Corp board members," one of them protested weakly. "You can't—"

"Fortune Corp?" Mr. Stark's chest rumbled against my cheek as he spoke. "Interesting."

The word dropped like ice into the conversation. Even in my drugged state, I could feel the threat in that single word. I tried to focus, to understand what was happening, but everything was getting darker. My skin felt like it was on fire.

"So hot..." I mumbled, pressing closer to the cool fabric of his suit. His cologne was the only thing that didn't make my head spin worse. I should be embarrassed, I thought distantly, but I can't bring myself to care anymore.

There was a moment of absolute stillness. Then strong arms swept under my legs, lifting me effortlessly. The sudden movement sent the room spinning again, and I buried my face in his shoulder with a small whimper.

"James. Deal with them."

"With pleasure, sir."

The world swayed as he carried me toward what I vaguely recognized as a private elevator. Each step was measured, purposeful. I should have been mortified – being carried like a child, probably ruining what felt like a ridiculously expensive suit – but I couldn't focus on anything except the burning sensation coursing through my body.

"Please," I gasped, not even sure what I was asking for. He didn't respond, but I felt his arms tighten slightly around me. The gesture sent an odd shiver through my overheated body. Or maybe that was just the drugs. Everything was getting harder to track, reality dissolving at the edges like sugar in rain.

I tried to focus on his face instead. Even through my blurred vision, his profile was striking—all clean lines and sharp angles, like something carved from marble by a master sculptor. Beautiful, I thought hazily. Dangerous, but beautiful.

The elevator dinged. Then he walked out with me in his arms.