The Enticing CEO’s Chosen Bride

Azriel took a deep drag on his cigarette, lost in thought as to what he was expecting Phoebe to say at that

moment.

Phoebe was equally at a loss for words. When they had just cup, they saw the “strangely dressed young

ladies who had disappeared one by one on the first floor coming out of this private room. It didn’t take much to

figure out that they were Kane's honored guests and that the evening's entertainment had been arranged with

them in mind. However, the night's offerings weren't limited to the show. There were other indulgences as well.

Phoebe felt a tightness in her chest, an unwelcfeeling, but she had no place to voice her concerns. “I didn’t

know you were here.”

“What difference would it have made? If you knew | was here, would you not have done all this?” Azriel

questioned.

Phoebe’s brow furrowed deeply, “What have | done?”

The private room was dimly lit, with a coffee table separating the two. They couldn't clearly see each other's

expressions on their faces, but their voices betrayed the tension between them.d2

“Phoebe,” Azriel began coolly, “what did you promiselast night?”

She remembered clearly, “If | ever find a boyfriend, | should bring him to you for approval.”

“You said you would be discerning; you wouldn't just choose anyone.”

“I don’t think what | did tonight conflicts with what | said last night.”

Azriel stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, “I'm curious, you've never thought about finding a boyfriend

during your undergrad or grad studies, but suddenly, just one night passes and you're in such a hurry?”

As he spoke, he rose from the sofa, circled the table, and approached her with a noble indifference that seemed

to suck the air from the room. Forcing her to look at him, he grasped her chin with a commanding touch. “Are

you enjoying yourself?” His eyes swirled with a dangerous intensity as his fingers gently stroked her skin.

Phoebe recoiled, trying to escape his grip, but he held her even tighter. “What are you hiding from?”

His voice was hollow and cold, “Answer me.”

Phoebe shook her head, her gaze inadvertently falling on the undone buttons of his shirt. He was always so

meticulous with his appearance; she had never seen him like this before. The images of the women who had left

this room, cooing and cuddling in his arms, flashed in her mind. She hadn't witnessed it, but the mere thought

made her stomach turn with disgust. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“It's not fun.” She spoke truthfully, and Azriel smiled slightly. Phoebe continued. “But | did make sdecent

friends. If it were a different setting, | wouldn't mind these gatherings.”

Azriel never thought his temper could be so volatile, that someone could repeatedly test his patience.

Phoebe pulled away from his hold, “I really don’t like this place, and | don’t know how to enjoy its pleasures like

you do. You have fun. I'm going home.”

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With that, she headed for the door, but before her hand could reach the knob, a gust of wind from behind

slammed the door shut. Frustrated and dazed, she found herself tossed onto the sofa. As she cto, tears

began to fall, “What are you doing?!”

Azriel stood over her, his gaze authoritative.

Her shoulder-length hair was loosely tousled, and she was adorned with delicate light makeup. She wore a fitted

blue knitted dress that fell above the knee, showcasing her long and slender legs. At this moment, she reclined

on the sofa, and he could even see the edge of her leggings beneath the hem of her skirt.

She had dressed up for this occasion. She had chere, flirted with men, and had made an effort to look good.

This realization washed away any sympathy he had felt at the sight of her tears.

“You don't like this place? It seems you enjoy it quite a bit,” he said coldly, sitting down beside her.

Phoebe felt a fear of Azriel that she couldn't explain. His mood swings were too extreme, and the air around him

was charged with anger. Up close, she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“What are you trying to do?” Phoebe rose from the sofa, retreating to a corner and wiping away her tears.

Azriel looked impatient, not saying a word. He simply took out another cigarette, lit it, and the room fell into

silence.

After a while, sensing his mood had calmed, Phoebe spoke up, “I want to go home.”

Azriel didn’t move, his voice cold and unyielding, “No, you're staying here tonight.”

“Why? | told you | don’t like it here.”

Phoebe detested this place. Just thinking of him with those strange women made her sick.

Azriel took another drag on his cigarette, exhaling forcefully and crushing the butt on the coffee table. “Fine.”

He stood up suddenly, pulling her off the sofa and throwing his jacket over her shoulders before striding out the

door. His movements lacked any tenderness.

Phoebe stumbled along, eventually being shoved into the car. The intoxicated man took the driver's seat, the

engine roaring to life.

“Are you insane?!” she exclaimed, but her shock elicited no response from him as the car sped away.

She expected him to drive recklessly home, but instead, they stopped at a hotel entrance. He got out first, then

yanked open the passenger door. “Get out.”

Phoebe clung to her seatbelt, refusing to budge. “I want to go home!”

Azriel sneered, leaning in to unbuckle her seatbelt, then hoisted her over his shoulder.

The doorman, looking anxious, drove the car away.

HS i

“A suite,” Azriel demanded.

“Right away.” said the front desk, not daring to delay.

Phoebe was dumped onto the bed, staring at Azriel in panic. “Azriel...”

“Go take a shower.”

She bit her lip and shook her head.

“Or should I help you?”

“Azriel. Please don’t be like this. You've had too much to drink.” Her words were tinged with fear and distress.

“Phoebe,” Azriel’s gaze was as deep and unfathomable as an abyss, “you should be thankful | didn’t actually get

drunk tonight.”

Once more, he commanded, “Go take a shower.”

Phoebe slid off the bed and casually picked up the phone that had fallen onto the bed, holding it in her hand.

“Leave the phone.”

Phoebe didn’t move, paralyzed by the chill in Azriel’s casual, icy stare. Though she had no idea why he insisted

on her entering the bathroom without her phone, her instincts warned her not to defy him now. At the moment,

the bathroom seemed like a sanctuary.

“Half an hour. If you're not out, I'm coming in.”

Phoebe set the phone down and, under his watchful eye, stepped into the bathroom.

It wasn’t until the bathroom door closed, accompanied by the distinct sound of the lock, that Azriel withdrew his

gaze. He then shifted his attention to the phone she had tossed near the bed.

*

Thirty minutes later, Phoebe emerged, clutching her bathrobe. Azriel stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling

windows, the night casting her reflection clearly onto the glass.

Azriel’s gaze remained fixed through the glass window as he watched her emerge from the bathroom door step

by step.

The white robe made her look almost angelic, a halo of light framing her. A flush colored her cheeks, her hair

half-dry with tips still damp, her clean features tinged with a mix of shyness and apprehension. This careful

demeanor only darkened Azriel’s gazes. A wave of heat surged within him, his Adam's apple bobbing in a silent

struggle.

“Azriel...” Her voice, soft and tentative, broke the silence as she stood by the bed, eyes fixed on his silhouette.

Azriel’s hands, previously in his pockets, clenched. He closed his eyes, forcibly quelling the rising tempest within

him. Finally, he turned and said simply, “Get srest,” then left the room without casting her another glance.

Phoebe quickly locked the door and only then allowed herself to relax and climb into bed. Then, out of habit, she

reached for her phone, but it was gone. She searched the entire bed to no avail.

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The next day, when Phoebe opened the door, she saw Azriel sitting on the living room couch in a bathrobe, arms

crossed, eyes closed, massaging his temples in slow circles.

She bit her lip and approached, asking softly, “Do you have a headache?”

Azriel glanced at her and muttered an affirmative. Phoebe hesitated for a few seconds before sitting beside him.

“Do you want to lie down? | could rub your temples for you?”

Azriel paused, and Phoebe waited, her hands awkwardly resting in front of her. “Or | could go out and get you

sheadache medicine...”

Before she could finish, Azriel suddenly shifted and laid his head across her knees. “Do it.”

Caught off guard, she looked down, her gaze colliding with his indifferent one.

“Aren’t you going to rub them? What are you waiting for?”

Azriel closed his eyes, nestling his head on her lap, searching for comfort before settling down.

Azriel’s hands, crossed in front of him, tightened slightly, and his body gradually tensed up.

Unaware, Phoebe continued in the silence. After a while, she pinched his forehead firmly. Azriel, caught off guard,

furrowed his brows.

She chuckled softly, “Stay still. Pinching it helps with circulation. Just bear with it a little; it shouldn't hurt too

much, right?”

“Are you sure this isn’t your way of getting revenge?”

“Why would I? What grudge could | possibly have against you? It’s all red, quite a deep shade.”

As she spoke, her fingertips lightly tapped his brow, her soft voice and gentle breath brushing against his skin.

Azriel’s lips pressed together.

After a few minutes, Phoebe massaged his temples again and then sighed. “There, that should feel a lot better.”

“Mhm.” Azriel murmured with his eyes still closed, but he didn’t get up immediately.

Every detail about him appealed to her. She didn’t know why; she’d seen more attractive men, Damon and his

friends being prexamples. Yet, it was him she liked, without reason or explanation.

Her hand unconsciously stroked his cheek, her gaze fixated.

Azriel opened his eyes, capturing her expression completely. Startled, she quickly withdrew her hand, her eyes

darting about in evident panic. “I... uh... | should head to school now.”

She tried to rise, but the man on her lap remained still. In her flurry to push him away, her hand slipped inside

his robe. Their skin touched without barrier, a warm and solid sensation meeting her palm.

Phoebe’s hand trembled, her fingertips catching on his skin, feeling the man’s body tense sharply beneath her

touch.