Trapped in a Secret Marriage with a Dangerous Billionaire - Chapter 70

Chapter 70: He Wanted Her Hands Elsewhere

The heavy bass of the club pounded around Owen as he downed his third drink, his gaze dark and unseeing as he sat isolated at the bar. When he finally slid off his stool to head for the restroom, a tall man appeared suddenly in his path, making him stumble.

“Watch it,” Owen snarled, a bit of his drink splashing onto his shoes. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

The man raised an eyebrow, smirked, and stepped aside without a word, letting Owen stumble past him toward the restroom.

Inside, Owen splashed water on his face, oblivious to the group of men quietly filing in behind him. One checked the stalls, each door slamming with an ominous echo as they ensured the restroom was empty. Satisfied, they exchanged brief nods and fanned out, cutting off any escape.

“What do you want?” Owen muttered irritably, catching sight of their reflections in the mirror.

The men spread into a half-circle, one stepping forward with a mocking smile. “Just here to teach a lesson in manners,” he sneered.

Owen scoffed, turning away dismissively, but before he could respond, the man by the door locked it with a resounding click. In an instant, the first punch crashed into Owen’s side, doubling him over. He gasped, clutching his ribs, barely recovering before a second blow struck his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

Owen threw a drunken punch, missing by a mile, and the men laughed, grabbing his arm and twisting it back. Each hit was brutal, calculated, and merciless, avoiding his face but leaving his body aching and bruised.

“You think you’re untouchable, don’t you?” one of them sneered, wrenching his head back to meet his glare. Owen sputtered weakly, but another punch to his gut made him double over, collapsing to the floor with a groan.

A moment later, the door swung open, and the men walked out, adjusting their jackets as if nothing had happened. Inside, Owen lay on the cold tile, clutching his ribs, his breaths shallow as he struggled to move.

~***~

Xander’s Residence.

The next morning, sunlight streamed softly into the bathroom as Aurora and Xander stood side by side in front of the mirror. They brushed their teeth in comfortable silence until Xander leaned over to peck her cheek, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Could you give me a massage?” he asked with a pleading look. “My back’s killing me.”

Aurora narrowed her eyes, studying him sceptically. “Are you sure you just want a massage?”

“Absolutely.” Xander put on his most innocent expression. With a small sigh and an amused smile, she agreed.

Once back in the bedroom, Xander removed his shirt and lay face-down on the bed. Aurora grabbed a mint herbal oil and knelt beside him, rubbing her hands together to warm it. She began at his shoulders, smoothing the oil along the length of his back, her gaze catching on the intricate tattoos woven over his skin.

“You know, you look like a gangster with these,” she murmured.

Xander chuckled, a deep sound vibrating through his chest. “You think so?” He knew she would comment on them once she saw them.

“Mm-hmm. Why did you suddenly get them?” she asked, trailing her fingers over the swirling patterns.

“It was for my role in the last mission,” he answered, refusing to give more details.

Her fingers paused momentarily. “Are they permanent?”

“Technically no. They can be lasered off anytime I want, but after the pain I went through to get them, I plan to enjoy them a bit longer.”

Aurora shook her head slightly, smiling as she continued working out the tension in his muscles. She noticed him relaxing under her touch, his breathing growing deeper and more even.

“Mmm,” he murmured, his voice heavy with contentment. “You know, I need your hands… in other places.”

Aurora smirked, playing along. “Other places, like your eyes and nose?”

Xander let out a low laugh, knowing he’d been caught. But he couldn’t resist pressing his luck. “No, lower… I mean, just a bit further down—”

With a swift smack, she slapped his backside, raising an eyebrow. “Behave if you want this massage to continue.”

Xander’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but he obeyed, settling back down, and let her work on his back with her firm yet gentle touch. Minutes passed as Aurora kneaded his muscles, her fingers pressing down in slow, circular motions that left him practically melting under her care.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door, and Liam entered with an apologetic expression. “Mr. Scott, Mr. Moore has come to see you. He’s waiting in the sitting area.”

Still sprawled out, Xander raised an eyebrow. “Asher? At this hour?”

Aurora quirked a brow, smiling knowingly. “Maybe your best friend missed you.”

Reluctantly, she removed her hands, and he groaned lightly in protest. She chuckled, patting his shoulder. “Go take a shower while I go downstairs to greet him. Don’t take too long.”

With one last glance at her, Xander sighed and got up, resigned to getting his day started but already looking forward to the next time he could coax her into a massage.

—

The Scott Family Residence.

At the same time, the atmosphere in Adam and Stella’s living room was tense, charged with unspoken judgments as Owen’s parents, Patricia and Richard, sat across from them. They each wore expressions of forced composure, visibly uncomfortable with what they’d come to do.

“We’re here to apologize for Owen’s actions,” Patricia began, glancing at her husband as if for encouragement. “He was… very drunk and confused. He’s been disciplined and understands the gravity of what he did. He won’t make that mistake again.”

Stella scoffed, folding her arms as she leaned back. “Disciplined, was he?” she asked icily, her gaze sharp. “Tell me, then—where is he now? Your son should be the one here apologizing to us. After all, he’s the one who humiliated my daughter in front of everyone.”

A silence stretched between them, Patricia exchanging an uneasy glance with Richard before speaking. “We intended to bring Owen, but… he’s sick,” she said, the excuse weak even to her own ears. “We didn’t want to delay our apology, so we came without him.”

Owen’s parents were shocked to see he was beaten up badly when they went up to his room that morning, so how could they have brought him along in that horrible state he was in?

Stella’s lips curled into a mocking smile, barely concealing her satisfaction as she recalled the report from her men about the ‘lesson’ Owen had received the night before. She knew exactly why he hadn’t come.

“Sick, is he?” she replied. “It should be Olivia who’s ill, shouldn’t it? She’s the one whose fiancé made a fool of her, publicly no less. Or did Owen catch a sudden ailment of conscience?”