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Why was the jerk still holding me? “Care to let go of me?”
The stranger cocked his head, seemed to have to give the request some thought.
Fucking dominant assholes with zero boundaries.
I grabbed his thumb, jerked it away from me, bent it backward, and held it there.
His only reaction was a slight narrowing of his brows before his expression went completely blank.
Didn’t this guy feel any pain?
Then my father appeared in my line of sight, and I let go of the guy’s thumb.
My father was the source of all evil and misery. Not that rude tank in a suit. “What the fuck, Dad?”
My father narrowed his brows. And the guy finally gave me some space.
I sidestepped him and walked up to my father’s desk. “I said I’m coming home. There was no need to send your men after me and almost have me killed.”
“Fiona, meet Ivan Zotov,” my father said, completely ignoring what I said. He probably didn’t want our dirty laundry aired in front of one of his business partners.
Well, tough luck.
I didn’t fucking care. The same way I didn’t care to meet anyone who was doing business with my father.
But if he didn’t want to talk, great. Let’s never talk again.
“I’m done. I’m out of here, once and for all,” I said and turned.
“Your wedding to Mr. Zotov will take place tomorrow.”
It took a second before the words registered, then another until I gained back control over my frozen body.
I slowly turned back around. “My what?”
“Wedding.”
I snorted. “In your dreams.”
My father’s eyes hardened—a look I knew all too well. “Fiona.”
But this time, I had no intention to cave—I wouldn’t back down.
“I’m not marrying anyone. Especially not one of your dirty business associates.”
I turned to Zotov and said, “No offense,” before I put my hands on my father’s desk, my gaze sweeping across my purse and phone, right there, before I focused back on his tumultuous expression.
The last time I’d mouthed off to him this bad, it had earned me a beating.
But I didn’t care.
This was my last stand.
This was it.
My father straightened and slowly rounded his desk. Like a predator.
I turned to face him and clenched my fists. My heart beat in my chest, and heat flooded my face and ears. Whatever he would do next, I was ready. Nobody could touch me if I didn’t let them. And I was done being my father’s punching bag.
