Arielle is stunned to return to the Mansion to discover an unexpected Dinner party. Dinner because it's half past 7, and party because all of her close friends and relatives are present.
As she walks in, she sights fiery flames glowing atop scented candles set upon silver candelabras. A hand-tufted lavender carpet runs the entire length of the entrance, and brightened lamps glow from strategic points on the snowy walls.
A life-size oil painting of herself in a crimson gown covers the area between the double stairs. The entire setup screams money. Money and Expensive Culture.
She is just taking in everything when she spots Fallon clear the Chandelier-lit foyer with her 'beloved' husband, Lyter. A lump forms in her gut and she slowly swallows.
Mr. and Mrs. Fiske walk to her, radiant beams on their faces—for totally different reasons. Lyter is glad because he got an Invite. Fallon, because—well, their earlier rendezvous.
The Duo approach her and she struggles not to squirm. Lyter takes her hand in his and delivers a kiss that lasts a little too long. When he lifts up, a lecherous sparkle lights his hazel eyes.
"Miss Hiarton, It's a pleasure."
"Thank you, but I've nothing to do with the party," Arielle replies.
"Oh, I was talking about you. It's a pleasure to behold your beauty,"
"Oh, I..."
Lyter smiles down at her with his signature million-making smile, and Arielle tries to get an out of the situation. Not because she's affected by his smile—or his corny speech, but because of the absurdity of the encounter. For god's sake, she was fucking his wife not too long ago.
Fallon clears her throat.
"Darling, shall we leave Miss Hiarton to get dressed for the party?"
"Oh, sure." Lyter replies.
He turns and claims Fallon in a deep french kiss right there in front of Arielle—no doubt to elicit some kind of wanton reaction from her.
Arielle just smiles politely at him, and when his back turns, she mouths a silent 'thank you' to Fallon.
Arielle hurries up the stairs, debating the cause for the elegant surprise party. No doubt, it was arranged by Michael; her sexy-as-sin fiance. But why? They'd already had the engagement soiree.
As she wades past a couple of doors marking the incandescent hallway, she comes face to face with him. Gorgeous, solid Michael.
He stands leaning at the open partition of her door and room, a carefully-crafted bouquet of lilacs between his tattooed fingers, and a brilliant smile on his lips.
Two gorgeous dips line the space of his cheeks.
At this sight, all of her trepidation melts away.
"Darling," he begins, his voice the tone of timbre.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes.... yes. I'm fine." She replies hurriedly.
He goes silent and peers down at her with worried blue eyes.
She goes hot instantly. All she wants to do is drag him into the room and devour him passionately. But she can't. They can't. She almost lost it earlier with Fallon. Her wolf was so far gone with pleasure, she'd almost come forth. That would have been terrible; for Fallon.
Arielle notices Michael is still peering down at her. She inhales slowly, collects the flowers and gives him a 'we'll fuck later' smile.
"I'm fine. I'll meet you down, alright?"
He nods, but doesn't move away. He grabs her suit skirt and yanks her closer. Seconds later, her crimson thong rests on his palm. A trickle of wetness slips down her thighs and she bites down a small moan. Damn wolf hormones!
Arielle pushes his hands away and slides into the room.
"Go." She orders.
Michael pockets her thong and walks calmly away, in a pressed black suit and polished Grensons' as if nothing had happened.
Arielle bites down on her lip and closes the door.
A faint click sounds and she begins undressing.
She spies a silver backless gown laid out on the Egyptian-style queen-size bed, but she ignores it. Rather, she walks naked, in all her feminine glory to the door-sized windows.
A cold breeze blows in, making the velvet drapes billow in tune to its frigid whispers. She gingerly mounts the silver-plated panes and peers down below. It's a solid 100ft plunge. She lifts up and stares into the black night.
Slowly, her vision becomes clearer and the night becomes dusk. Curious lines spread under her skin like moving veins and her ears perk up when an owl perches on a tree some fifteen metres away.
She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. When she opens them, they're like the ocean on the day of the brightest sun.
Slowly, she spreads forth her hands and plunges down, facefirst. A silent darkness swallows her.