My fingers tighten around the phone 99

Emma’s POV
I kept my eyes fixed on the opera house entrance, anxiously waiting for the sedative to take effect. Time was limited, and
when Ethan’s attention was diverted by his grandmother and Leo, I immediately made excuses to leave the group of men
and women chatting with me. I slipped into a dark hallway and quickly put on the black wig. Once everything was in
place, I returned to the event.
I couldn’t see Aria anywhere, which disrupted my Plan A—making Ethan heartbroken. Moonlight poured through the
towering windows, and I could feel my wolf stirring restlessly inside me.
When Ethan began staggering toward the restrooms, I knew my opportunity had arrived. I moved swiftly through the
crowd, making sure he followed my scent. His eyes gradually lost focus, and I hid behind a column, walking directly
toward the restrooms and waiting there. I needed him to follow me, or at least believe in me long enough for me to lead
him to the side door where a driver was waiting.
Ethan leaned against the wall next to the men’s restroom, clearly struggling to stay conscious. He called out Aria’s name,
and I rolled my eyes, watching him lean forward. Seriously? I stepped forward, speaking in a low voice: “Ethan?”
I placed my hands on his chest to steady him, then rose to my tiptoes, my lips close to his ear. “Let’s wait until we get
home.”
I grabbed his hand and draped it over my shoulder. I could feel his weight gradually pressing down on me, so I guided
him toward the exit. Ethan buried his nose in the sensitive area of my neck, which made my inner wolf whimper with
satisfaction as desire shot straight to my core. Good, if he was already sniffing me, it would be easy to get him excited
later. I let out a low moan from deep in my throat, tilting my head to give him more access. Ethan suddenly pulled away,
confusion crossing his face, but his eyes were now completely closed.
He moved his arm as if to push me away, but it fell weakly against my chest. I panted dramatically, “Ethan, you’re so
eager. When we get home, you can do whatever you want.”
I helped him out through the side door, where I found the driver waiting. By now, I was practically dragging Ethan, and
the man was simply too heavy. My high heels wobbled under the weight, and I knew I couldn’t take another step. I glared
at the driver, who was still standing there smoking, seemingly unconcerned. I angrily said, “Can you help me?”
The man stared at me with an amused smile. “Why should I?”
“Do you want to get paid or not?” I growled. The driver flicked his cigarette onto the sidewalk and muttered as he walked
toward me. With both of us, one arm each, lifting Ethan became much easier, but we still dragged his legs. I yanked open
the luxury car door, and Ethan fell heavily onto me as we tumbled into the backseat. I tried to move out from under him,
but Ethan’s massive body had me practically pinned. I pushed him with all my strength, and he rolled to the middle of the
car. My dress had ridden up, exposing my lace underwear, and the driver whistled.
I grabbed a bottle of champagne from the car’s bar and drank directly from it. When we arrived at my apartment
building, I got out first, then with the driver’s help, pulled out one of Ethan’s legs at a time. Once Ethan’s entire body was
leaning against the building’s exterior wall, I took out a stack of hundred-dollar bills and stuffed them into the driver’s
hand. “Thanks for the performance.” He smiled as he walked to the driver’s seat and quickly drove away.
I looked down at Ethan, then up at the height of the building, wondering how I’d get him to the elevator when the
doorman opened the door. “Miss Emma?”
I couldn’t help but smile; everything was going according to plan. “Poor Ethan had too much champagne at the opera,” I
explained with a dramatic sigh. “We had to leave early when he passed out. Now I can’t get him to the elevator!”
I flashed my most helpless damsel-in-distress pout, watching the doorman’s piggy eyes light up at the sight. He sucked in
his protruding belly—failing miserably to hide it—and puffed out his chest like a strutting peacock.
“Allow me to assist, Miss Emma,” he wheezed, already sweating at the prospect.
The doorman heaved and grunted as he hoisted Ethan’s limp body. His face turned an alarming shade of crimson, the
veins in his neck bulging with effort. Inside the elevator, he refused to put Ethan down, clearly trying to impress me
despite saliva now dribbling down his double chin. By the time we reached my apartment, the doorman’s shirt was
soaked through with sweat, clinging to his flabby torso.
He practically collapsed after dumping Ethan onto my bed, bending over with hands on knees, wheezing like an
asthmatic bulldog. The pathetic display nearly made me laugh out loud. Instead, I slid next to him, placing my hand on
his damp arm and pressing a kiss to his clammy cheek.
“My hero,” I whispered, fighting back my revulsion at his musky body odor. “Such strong muscles. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
His face flushed with embarrassment and poorly concealed lust. He mumbled something about returning to his post,
backing toward the door like an awkward teenager. I blew him a flirtatious kiss as the elevator doors closed.
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Back in my bedroom, my lips curved into a triumphant smile. Phase two could begin. I approached the bed where Ethan
lay motionless and slapped his face sharply several times. Not even a twitch. Perfect.
Straddling his muscular body, I methodically unbuttoned his formal shirt, propping him up just enough to strip off his
jacket and shirt. His warm skin felt like marble under my fingertips. I moved to his belt buckle next, the metal cool against
my fingers as I unfastened it and unzipped his pants. His chest rose and fell steadily—the only sign he wasn’t a corpse.
I pressed my lips to his chest, trailing kisses down his perfectly sculpted abs. With one decisive yank, I pulled his pants
and underwear down to his ankles. My breath caught in my throat. Even soft, Ethan was impressively endowed—making
that warrior from the other night look positively average. I touched him greedily, anticipating how easy it would be to
bend him to my will once we’d slept together.
One night of passion, and I’d have the leverage I needed. After all, who would believe this was his second “drunken mistake”?
But despite my expert touches, nothing happened. Up and down my hand moved, using every trick I knew, yet his body
remained completely unresponsive. Frustration bubbled up inside me. Determined, I took him into my mouth, using
techniques that had driven countless men wild with desire. Still nothing. Ethan just lay there, snoring softly, his member
stubbornly flaccid.
I sat back on my heels, glaring at his sleeping form. I arranged his naked body under my sheets, then stripped off my
own clothes. The black wig went flying into the depths of my closet. I slid into bed beside him, pressing my bare skin
against his.
As I drifted off to sleep, a satisfied smile played on my lips. By morning, he’d believe whatever story I told him.