I Belong To My Three Forbidden Masters

Chapter 45: Chapter 45

Lysander’s POV

"H-He’s not—he’s not my boyfriend," I stammered frantically, my voice trembling as Vesper’s mocking question hung heavily in the air.

My hands clenched tightly into the material of my gown as I tried to shrink away, desperately trying to deny the humiliating implication.

I braced myself for Gideon’s immediate, aggressive reaction, expecting him to snarl back at Vesper or tighten his painful grip on my waist.

Instead, the moment Gideon’s eyes fully processed Drake’s face, his entire demeanor shifted in a terrifying split second. I physically flinched when I saw it.

The smug, cruel arrogance vanished from Gideon’s expression, replaced by a look of sheer, wide-eyed astonishment. Gideon’s hand instantly slid off my waist, his posture straightening up so fast he almost dropped his champagne glass.

"Professor Drake?" Gideon breathed out, his voice suddenly stripped of all its condescending venom.

I blinked through my false eyelashes, stunned into absolute silence as I watched my abusive stepbrother turn instantly subservient.

"I... I had no idea you were attending tonight’s gala, sir," Gideon continued eagerly, stepping forward with an almost embarrassing level of reverence. "I’m in your advanced international arts seminar this semester. It’s an absolute honor to run into you outside of campus."

Drake’s cold eyes barely flicked toward Gideon, treating him with the quiet indifference one might offer an annoying insect.

Beside him, Vesper covered his mouth with a gloved hand, stifling a wicked, mocking laugh at Gideon’s desperate groveling.

"Is that so?" Drake drawled smoothly, his voice deep, gravelly, and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Yes, sir," Gideon said quickly, offering a polished, charming smile I had never seen him use at home.

"I’m Gideon Thorne. My father’s name is Darius Thorne."

I stood frozen in my red satin gown, completely surrealized by the sight of Gideon desperately trying to impress the very man holding my leash.

Drake didn’t offer a hand to shake. His chilling gaze shifted slowly off Gideon, locking back onto my trembling, makeup-covered face."And who is your companion, Mr. Thorne?" Drake asked, his tone dangerously neutral, though a dark fire burned deep in his eyes.

Gideon’s eyes darted toward me, a brief flash of irritation crossing his features before he plastered his fake smile back on.

"This is my... stepbrother, Lysander Vane," Gideon explained hastily, subtly trying to downplay the crimson dress and styled wig. "He’s an art student at the university. He’s... assisting me with a private social experiment for one of my classes tonight."

Vesper let out a sharp, amused hum. "A social experiment? How extraordinarily progressive of you, Mr. Thorne."

Gideon cleared his throat nervously, completely unaware that he was standing in front of two apex predators who viewed him as absolute filth.

"Indeed," Drake said softly, his gaze slicing through me like a razor blade. "In fact, I have been meaning to discuss Lysander’s academic standing."

"His faculty advisor mentioned his recent study hours have been suffering. I require a private moment with him to discuss his continuation in the program."

Gideon blinked in surprise, completely caught off guard by the sudden intervention from the university’s most prestigious professor.

"Oh," he stammered, nodding repeatedly like a desperate kiss-ass trying to secure an A on his final exam. "Of course, Professor!"

Gideon leaned in close to my ear, his fingers clamping onto my shoulder with a sharp, warning squeeze that left a bruise beneath the silk.

"Do not embarrass me in front of him, Vane," Gideon whispered viciously into my ear, his breath hot against my cheek.

"Answer his questions, act respectable, and stand right by the bar the second he’s done with you. If you slip up, I’ll destroy you."

"U-Understood," I choked out, my voice trembling as Gideon stepped back and gave Drake a respectful, deferential bow. I gawked at him, wondering if my sadistic brother has been possessed.

"Take all the time you need, sir," He offered smoothly, turning on his heel to blend into the crowd, entirely oblivious to the trap he had just walked away from.

Vesper gave me a sly, sharp-fanged wink before melting away into the shadows of the ballroom, leaving me completely alone with Drake.

Drake didn’t say a single word. He simply turned and began walking toward the quiet, dim corridor leading toward the private gallery.

My kitten heels clicked softly against the marble floor as I followed behind him like a frightened ghost, my heart hammering against my chest.

The moment we passed through the heavy mahogany doors into the deserted, dimly lit art gallery, Drake reacted with blinding speed.

His hand shot out, wrapping tightly around my wrist and hauling me roughly into a dark alcove hidden behind a massive marble statue.

I gasped out loud as he slammed my back against the cold stone wall, his large, imposing frame completely trapping me in the shadows.

His strong fingers reached up, gripping my chin in an iron hold, tilting my head back so the dim light caught my red lipstick and dark mascara.

"What in the hell are you wearing, Lysander?" Drake growled low, his voice dropping into a guttural, terrifying register.

"P-Professor—" I whimpered, my hands coming up to press weakly against the lapels of his immaculate black tuxedo jacket.

"Do not call me that right now," Drake snarled, his thumb dragging brutally across my lower lip, smearing the glossy red makeup across my cheek.

"Look at you," he hissed, his grey eyes flashing with a dangerous, violent crimson hue under the low light. "Paraded around a public ballroom in a dress, painted like a whore, standing beside that pathetic, bottom-feeding vermin."

"It... it wasn’t my choice," I sobbed out softly, tears welling in my eyes and threatening to ruin the heavy mascara framing my sight.

"Gideon... he forced me," I whispered, my voice breaking under the weight of the humiliating truth. "He threatened to tell Darius... to ruin my mother..."

Drake’s grip on my jaw tightened until it hurt, his terrifying presence completely suffocating the small space between us.

"You let that weak, mortal trash put his filthy hands on you?" Drake asked, his breath fanning hot and lethal across my trembling lips.

"You belong to me, Lysander. Your body, your blood, your entire pathetic existence is marked by my teeth."

"He doesn’t know!" I cried out softly, gripping his wrists desperately. "He doesn’t know about you... or the enclave... he thinks you’re just a professor!"

He let out a low, dangerous growl, leaning down until his lips brushed against the exposed, sensitive skin of my neck just above the gown’s neckline.

I felt the sharp, terrifying points of his elongated fangs press lightly against my pulse point, promising absolute ruin if I made a single wrong move.

"He touched your waist," Drake whispered darkly into my skin, sending a wave of violent, conflicting shivers down my spine.

"He put his hands on what is mine, and you stood there and let him smile for the crowd."

"Please, Drake..." I wept, my mind completely shattering between the fear of Gideon catching us and the sheer terror of Drake’s possessive wrath.

"Tell me why I shouldn’t tear his throat out right now in front of every politician in that ballroom," Drake demanded, his fangs grazing my vein.

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