Zachary carried Charlotte out through the back exit, his strides long and heavy with suppressed fury.

Chris was waiting anxiously by the car. The moment he saw them, he rushed over, his face pale with regret. "Zachary, man, I’m so sorry. I had no idea things would—"

Thump!

Zachary didn’t let him finish. He delivered a brutal kick that sent Chris reeling. "If you weren’t my aunt’s son, I would have crushed your throat by now!"

Chris groaned, clutching his ribs as the pain flared, but he didn't dare complain. He could only wheeze out a shaky apology. "It was my fault... all of it. Is she... is she going to be okay?"

Zachary didn't even give him a second glance. He tossed Charlotte into the passenger seat of his Aston Martin and slammed the door.

By now, Charlotte had completely succumbed to the drug Yolanda had slipped her. The heat in her blood had erased all reason. The moment Zachary slid into the driver's seat, she threw herself at him, burying her face in the crook of his neck and inhaling his familiar, intoxicating scent.

"It’s you..." she murmured, her voice a ragged, honeyed plea. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a desperate, frantic kiss.

"Goddammit!" Zachary’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening so hard it hurt. "So, they drugged you."

No wonder you just lay there like a doll back there without fighting back.

Charlotte didn't stop. She shifted in his lap, her body a living flame that threatened to ignite his every desire. Zachary tried to keep one hand on the steering wheel while the other held her back, his own self-control fraying at the edges. He needed to focus on the road, but Charlotte was becoming increasingly audacious, her movements wild and uninhibited.

Finally, unable to fight his own instincts any longer, Zachary veered off the road and into a secluded forest near the Southcastle Shore. He reclined the seat and pinned her beneath him.

"You asked for this," he rasped, his voice a low, primal growl as he bit her earlobe.

He kissed her savagely, the way a predator finally claims its prey. Charlotte, fueled by the fever in her veins, met his passion with an intensity that made it impossible for him to stop. Under the silver moonlight filtering through the trees, their silhouettes intertwined in a night of reckless ecstasy.

The next morning, the harsh glare of the sun forced Charlotte’s eyes open.

She was still woozy, her head throbbing with a dull ache. As her vision cleared, she saw a familiar figure. Zachary was sitting on the hood of the car, a lit cigarette between his fingers. The wind caught his hair, and his white shirt—unbuttoned and billowing in the breeze—occasionally revealed the dark, menacing wolf-head tattoo at his waist.

Charlotte gasped, suddenly aware of her own state. She was naked, wrapped only in Zachary’s heavy wool coat. A sharp, undeniable soreness radiated from her lower body.

Her mind went blank for several seconds before the fragmented memories of the night began to piece themselves together. Her heart rate skyrocketed.

"Ahhh!"

Her terrified scream shattered the morning silence.

Zachary knitted his brows and crushed the cigarette under his boot. He grabbed two bottles of water from the trunk, cracked one open, and handed it to her without a word.

"What is this?!" Charlotte grabbed his arm, her voice trembling with shock. "What happened last night? What did you... you and me... what did you do to me?!"

"What did I do?" Zachary looked at her, his expression stern and unimpressed. "You were the one who wouldn't stop latching onto me. You should be grateful I had the 'decency' to help you work through it."

"You're lying! You filthy scum!" Charlotte raised her hand to strike him, but Zachary caught her wrist in a vice grip before she could connect.

"So, you’re attacking me after the enjoyment? That’s cold, Charlotte."

"Don't you dare slander me! I am not that type of person!" Charlotte roared, her chest heaving with rage. In her disheveled state, the sight was unintentionally seductive.

Zachary’s gaze drifted downward, his body reacting to her proximity, but he remained outwardly composed. He reached over and tapped the monitor of the car's onboard recorder.

"See for yourself."

"Take me... please..." A low moan echoed from the speakers.

The resolution was grainy, but it was unmistakably Charlotte. On the screen, she was draped over Zachary, kissing him with a desperation that was more intense than anything in a movie.

"I..."

Charlotte was flabbergasted, her face draining of all color. She stared at the screen in horror, unable to reconcile the woman in the video with herself. How? Why? How could I have become that person? This isn't me... this isn't me at all!