International Manwhore – Part 25 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

I stared at Adrien, the hurt slicing through me clean and deep, like cold steel sliding between ribs. My chest tightened until breathing hurt. The man who had kissed me like he meant it, who had held me after, who had made me question everything I thought I knew about myself — he stood there beside Leona, completely at ease. One hand rested lightly on the back of her chair. A small black taser peeked from his front pocket, half-hidden by the drape of his shirt.

“You two are together,” I managed, my voice rough and cracked. “You both fucking tricked me?”

Leona tilted her head, the corner of her mouth lifting in a faint, satisfied smile. “Are you not happy to see your boyfriend?” She paused, letting the words settle. “Sorry. I mean my boyfriend.”

She leaned in. Adrien met her halfway without hesitation. Their second kiss was slow, unhurried, the kind that spoke of quiet possession and heat. When they parted, Adrien looked straight at me. No regret in his eyes. Only smug satisfaction, the kind that said he had won and was enjoying the view.

“Sorry, love,” he said, voice smooth and untroubled. “But yeah. I’m working with lovely Leona here. To stay alive.” His gaze drifted over her for a second before returning to me. “And because she’s hot as fuck, mostly that.”

The words landed like another punch. My stomach churned. Everything we had done— the way he had touched me, the way I had let myself fall into it — flashed through my mind in humiliating detail. I had believed it. Even for a moment, I had believed it.

“I should have known,” I said, the words tasting bitter. “You already knew everything before I even set foot on that yacht.”

“Of course I knew,” Adrien replied, calm and matter-of-fact, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

My throat worked. “Are you working with my father as well?”

“No.” He leaned back slightly, still perfectly relaxed. “Your father wants me dead. Tried to use you to make it happen. Leona and I are working together to screw him over instead.”

Leona gave a small shrug, her expression cool. “Couldn’t let your father kill this hottie.” Her eyes flicked to me, flat and dismissive. “What happens to you, however… can’t say I care.”

Two muscled goona appeared in the doorway, moving with quiet efficiency. They didn’t speak. Their grips closed around my arms, firm and unyielding. I twisted once, trying to pull free, shoulders straining, but the zip ties bit deeper into my wrists and their hold didn’t waver. They marched me downstairs and out the side door to a waiting black car. The street stayed quiet. No one shouted. No one noticed.

I caught no sign of Hunter.

They shoved me into the back seat. Leona slid in beside me.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, voice hoarse.

“Shut up, or I’ll drug you.” Leona said. “You’ll see in time.”

Adrien returned a moment later and settled into the front passenger seat. He glanced back at me, eyes calm and satisfied, the corner of his mouth still curved in that faint, smug smile.

“Cheer up, love,” he said.

His hand settled possessively on Leona’s thigh. She covered it with her own.

The drive was short. I recognized the route immediately, each familiar turn sending fresh waves of nausea through me. We pulled into the marina, lights reflecting off the dark water. The family yacht waited at the end of the dock — The Legacy — its hull gleaming under the lamps like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

They escorted me aboard without ceremony. My legs felt heavy, uncooperative. But the goon move me as I weighed nothing. Once again I was locked into a suite.

The engines rumbled to life soon after. The yacht eased away from the pier, slipping into the current and heading out into the open water.

I sat on the leather bench in the main salon, wrists still bound, the gag tight and suffocating against my jaw. The city lights receded behind us, growing smaller with every passing minute until they were nothing but distant pinpricks.

The Legacy cut through the night, steady and silent, carrying me somewhere I wasn’t meant to see.

I could still picture Adrien with that satisfied curve of his mouth. The way he had looked at me without a trace of regret.

Devastation settled heavy in my chest, cold and final. Everything had been a lie. Every touch. Every word. Every moment I had started to believe I might actually want something real.

The yacht moved onward into the blackness, and I sat there alone, the zip ties, and the slow, crushing weight of how thoroughly I had been played.

◆◆◆

Time blurred together in the quiet hum of the engines and the gentle rock of the yacht. I sat on the leather bench in the suite they had locked me in, wrists still zip-tied, the gag dry and uncomfortable against my tongue. Every swallow tasted like failure.

Adrien’s smug smile kept flashing behind my eyes. The way he had kissed Leona without the faintest hint of regret. The casual way he had called her “babe.” My chest ached with a hollow, heavy pain that went deeper than anger. I had let myself believe something real was happening between us. I had let my guard down completely, and he had used every second of it.

Suddenly, I heard the distant thump of rotor blades. A helicopter. It grew louder, then faded again as it landed somewhere above us. I couldn’t see land through the window — only endless dark water stretching in every direction.

The door clicked open. Two of the same silent goons stepped in. They hauled me to my feet without a word and marched me down the corridor. My legs felt unsteady after sitting so long, but I forced them to move. They led me into the main dining room, lights low and warm, the long table already set for dinner.

Sebastian, my brother sat at one end, perfectly composed in a crisp button-down, a glass of water in front of him. He looked up when I entered, surprise flickering across his face.

“Bryson?” His eyes widened as he took in the zip ties and the gag. “What on earth—?”

One of the goons removed the gag roughly. I worked my jaw, tasting bitterness.

“Seb,” I rasped. “You have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

He stood halfway out of his chair. “I received a message saying Father wanted dinner on the yacht. I thought it was just another summons. What happened to you?”

I sank into the chair they pushed me toward, wrists still bound behind me. “Adrien played me. The whole thing was a setup. He’s been working with Leona the entire time. They’re together. They used me to get close to Father, and now they’ve got both of us.”

Sebastian’s face drained of color. He stared at me, mouth slightly open, the polished composure cracking. “Adrien… and Leona? But you said—”

“I know what I said.” My voice came out raw. “I was an idiot. He knew who I was before I even boarded The Apollo. Everything — the sex, the way he looked at me — it was all calculated. And Leona… she was never on my side. She was feeding information to him the whole time.”

Sebastian sank back into his seat, hands gripping the edge of the table. “This can’t be right. Father… Do you think he’s in on this?”

The door at the far end of the dining room opened with a soft click.

Our father stepped inside first, impeccably dressed in a dark suit, expression calm and measured as always. Leona followed right behind him. And then, shockingly, Adrien walked in beside her.

I felt the air leave the room.

Father’s gaze moved slowly from Sebastian to me, lingering for a moment on the zip ties still binding my wrists. Leona stood slightly behind him, composed and professional. Adrien, the corner of his mouth curved in that same smug, satisfied smile I had seen earlier. There was no surprise on any of their faces.

The silence stretched.

Father broke it first, his voice smooth and controlled.

“Hello, boys.”