Savage Reborn: Dumped Him To Marry The Billionaire

The Proposal

My hand hovered in the space between us, steady as a surgeon’s blade. The room had gone so quiet I could hear the ice melting in Cyprian’s glass.

Cyprian didn't take my hand.

He looked at it, then up at my face, his lip curling in a faint, cruel sneer. "Venom," he repeated, testing the word. "Pretty words, Mrs. Thorne. But I don't make deals with spies. Especially ones wearing their ex-fiancé's colors."

"I'm not wearing his colors," I said, dropping my voice to a lethal whisper. "Red is a warning, Mr. Hale. And if you don't take this deal in the next ten seconds, Lysander is going to drag me off this floor, and you will lose the only chance you have to bypass the Neural-Link fail-safes."

Cyprian froze. The glass in his hand tilted dangerously.

"What did you say?"

"The Neural-Link," I murmured, leaning in until I could see the flecks of silver in his storm-grey eyes. "The prototype in your basement lab. It’s overheating because the cooling algorithm is flawed. I know how to fix it."

It was the ultimate receipt. That project was top secret—a ghost project that didn't exist on paper. I only knew about it because in my past life, I had hacked his servers to steal it for Lysander.

Violence flashed in Cyprian’s eyes. "Who sent you?"

"No one," I said. "I sent myself."

"Vespera!"

Lysander’s voice cracked through the tension like a whip. I heard heavy footsteps behind me—Lysander, flanked by security. He was coming to collect his property.

"Get away from him!" Lysander shouted, his composure shattering. "She's unwell! Grab her!"

I saw Oryn’s hand twitch toward the inside of his jacket. Violence was about to erupt.

I didn't have time to negotiate. I needed to burn the bridge so thoroughly that there was no way back.

I stepped forward, closing the final inch between us.

"Forgive me," I whispered to Cyprian.

"For wh—"

I reached up, grabbed the silk lapels of his tuxedo, and yanked him down.

I crushed my lips against his.

It wasn't a soft kiss. It was a collision. A desperate, hard press of mouths that tasted of adrenaline and scotch.

The room didn't just gasp; it shrieked. A thousand champagne glasses seemed to shatter at once.

For a heartbeat, Cyprian was rigid as stone against me. I felt the shock radiate through his broad chest. He could have pushed me away. He could have broken my neck with one hand.

Please, I begged silently, pouring every ounce of my desperation into the kiss. Don't let me fall.

Then, he moved.

His large hand came up, tangling in my hair, gripping the back of my neck with possessing force. He didn't push me away. He pulled me closer, his other arm banding around my waist like a steel trap, lifting me onto my toes.

He kissed me back.

It was savage. It was territorial. It was a kiss that claimed ownership in a language primitive enough for everyone in the room to understand.

"Get off her!" Lysander screamed, sounding miles away.

Cyprian broke the kiss but didn't let me go. He kept me pressed against his side, his arm heavy and solid around my waist. He turned his gaze toward Lysander, who had skidded to a halt three feet away, his face purple with rage.

"You..." Lysander pointed a shaking finger at me. "You w***e! You're engaged to me!"

"Was," I corrected, my voice breathless but loud. "I was engaged to a fraud."

I looked up at Cyprian. His chest was heaving slightly, his eyes dark and unreadable. He looked at me not as a spy, but as a puzzle he intended to solve.

"Well?" I challenged him, my heart hammering against his ribs. "Are you going to let him take me?"

Cyprian looked at Lysander, then at the frothing crowd of reporters pushing against the velvet ropes. He smirked—a dark, terrifying expression that promised ruin.

He turned to the room, raising his voice so it thundered off the gold-leaf ceiling.

"Thorne is mistaken," Cyprian announced, his voice cool and mocking. "Vespera isn't his fiancée."

He tightened his grip on my waist, pulling me so flush against him that I gasped.

"She's mine."