Forced to Wed: A Billionaire's Demand

Chapter 21

Sarah

Vincent clasps my hand tightly as we enter the party, filled with men in sharp suits and women wearing expensive cocktail dresses. It's one of those extravagant affairs that screams wealth and status.

I couldn't get away with wearing denim shorts for this event, so I'm wearing a velvet dress that falls above my knees and high heels.

My eyes sparkled with anticipation, but Vincent's grip tightened—a silent command to remain at his side.

"Remember, you're here as my wife and I am well respected in this crowd," Vincent mutters, a sneer warping the corner of his mouth. "Don't embarrass me."

My smile falters. Way to ruin my mood already!

"Embarrass you?" I echo, heat rising in my cheeks. "How presumptuous of you."

"Can you blame me for thinking that? You've been nothing but a pain in my ass ever since we got married. So just do me a favor and don't make a scene, Sarah," he says, his voice dripping with condescension.

Oh, hell no. Now I want to make a scene!

I pull away from him, the sting of his disdain lingering on my skin. I stride to the bar without looking back.

"Give me something strong enough to knock me off my feet," I tell the bartender.

"Rough night?" the bartender asks, noting my furrowed brow. He pours something in a glass and hands it to me.

"Something like that," I reply, downing the contents of my glass with more vigor than intended.

I scan the crowd, the sea of strangers suddenly inviting. A man with a roguish grin catches my eye, and I saunter over, the liquor already dulling the edges of my frustration. 

"Hi there, beautiful," the stranger says smoothly.

"Hello," I respond, a wry smile playing on my lips. "I could use a distraction from the suffocating air of expectations."

The stranger chuckles, his mischievous grin widening. "Well, lucky for you, distractions happen to be my specialty. Name's Alex."

"Sarah," I reply, taking a sip of my drink. The burn of the alcohol feels liberating.

"So, Sarah, are you here willingly, or did someone drag you into this glamorous chaos?" Alex asks, genuine curiosity in his eyes.

"Willingly, in the sense that I chose to attend," I admit, casting a fleeting glance back at Vincent, who watches our interaction with a frown. "But forced in the sense that I'm supposed to play the perfect wife."

Alex raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting to a mix of sympathy and intrigue. "Sounds like quite the dilemma. How about we rebel against the expectations together?"

I can't help but laugh at his proposition. "Rebellion, huh? I could get on board with that."

"So you are married. How disappointing," Alex comments.

I arch an eyebrow, amused by his response. "Disappointing, huh? Are you always this forward?"

Alex smirks, unapologetic. "Life's too short to beat around the bush, Sarah."

"I am not usually this forward, but my husband is a complete douche canoe, and you seem like a far better company," I say and flirtatiously touch his arm.

"Well, I..." Alex suddenly stops talking and looks behind me.

I nearly jump as I feel someone's hand on my back.

"Having fun without me, I see," Vincent's cold voice cuts through the warm hum of the party. He is standing behind me, eyes narrowed into slits.

"Vincent, darling," I coo, my words laced with an edge, "I'm simply making friends. Isn't that what you do at parties?"

"Oh. You are Vincent Sterling's wife? Should've said so," Alex says. His mischievous demeanor has changed and is now replaced with fear. "I didn't mean any disrespect, Mr. Sterling. I had no idea she was-"

"Get out," Vincent growls, and Alex skitters away.

Jeez...was Alex on Vincent's revenge list, too?

Vincent's jaw clenches as he looks at me. He grabs my arm and pulls me aside. "You're acting like a child, Sarah. Flirting shamelessly with another man here. You are supposed to be with me."

"Am I?" I challenge, yanking my arm free. "Because it seems like you brought me here just to parade around as your trophy. Maybe I want to be more than an accessory, Vince."

"Lower your voice," he hisses, glancing around to ensure no one had witnessed the exchange.

"Or what? You'll treat me even less than the child you think I am?" I say.

"Let's go," Vincent orders, reaching for me again. "I am taking you home."

"Go ahead." I step back defiantly. "I'm not ready to leave yet."

"You are coming with me," Vincent spits out. "I won't babysit you while you make a fool of yourself."

I stare at him, my gaze icy. "Maybe I will meet someone here. A man who doesn't need to belittle me to feel big."

Vincent sneers, his facade of control cracking. "You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me." I challenge him. After what I saw in that secret room, I didn't care about him anymore.

He steps closer, his breath hot on my cheek. "You're nothing but a childish spectacle, Sarah. You think anyone here sees you as anything more?"

His words strike me, sharp and venomous, but I won't let him see me flinch.

"Maybe that's all you can see," I retort, "but I know my worth, even if you don't."

As Vincent's face contorts with rage, I spin on my heel and make my way through the crowd, feeling Vincent's gaze burning into my back.

I walk toward the buffet and start piling my plate with food. Being angry also makes me hungry.

"Sarah, I was not done talking to you," Vincent's voice is a warning, but it only fanned the flames of my willpower.

"Go away. I want to stuff my face," I murmur to myself, plucking a canapé laden with a rich, dark sauce.

"I said we are going home, Sarah. You are not eating tonight," Vincent says stubbornly.

There he goes, treating me like a child again.

Something possesses me, and with calculated grace, I turn around, facing Vincent. His eyes widen in recognition just a moment too late. My hand flicks upward, and the canapé sails through the air with the elegance of a swan diving into a still pond.

Time seems to slow as the sauce lands with a splat on his jacket—his ridiculously expensive jacket.

"Sarah!" Vincent roars, his composure shattering into a thousand pieces.

"Oops," I say with a mock innocence, a sly smile curving my lips. "Clumsy me."

The partygoers turn, drawn to the spectacle, their whispers rustling like leaves in a sudden wind. I feel their eyes on me, but I stand tall, my heart pounding.

Vincent scrubs at the stain, his movements frantic and futile. He looks up at me, his expression contorted with fury and something else.

He then grabs my plate and slams it on a table nearby. "You are coming with me to clean this shit up."

I don't dare to protest this time as he drags me through the crowd and takes me somewhere.