**Chapter 20** Avery felt as though an invisible hand was clenching tightly around her throat, suffocating her with each passing second. The room began to spiral, the opulence of the private enclosure fading into a blur as her mind raced. Elliot was Mr. Z? The realization crashed over her like a tidal wave, drowning her in disbelief. Eight hundred thousand dollars—he had sent that sum to her for an investment in Tate Industries. How could the man standing before her in that wheelchair possibly be connected to such a powerful figure? Yet, if Elliot wasn’t Mr. Z, then what was he doing there, in a plush private room meant for clandestine meetings? The truth twisted painfully in her gut as she faced him. His dark shirt contrasted sharply with his unnaturally pale skin, a stark reminder that this man was indeed Elliot Foster—the man who had so irrevocably altered the course of her life. A shiver escaped her lips as she instinctively retreated a few steps, only to find the door sealed tight behind her. She was trapped. “Running away before you even say hello?” Elliot's voice sliced through her panic, cold and biting. “What are you doing in a place like this?” Avery managed to stammer, her heart racing. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fighting against the urge to tremble. “I… I came here to have dinner with some friends,” she lied, forcing feigned nonchalance as she scanned the opulent room, each lavish detail only amplifying her discomfort. It felt as though she were sitting in a gilded cage. “This is a bar,” he replied, his tone dry and humorless. “Oh…” Avery’s eyes darted nervously, searching for an escape. “I think I might have taken a wrong turn. I’ll just go find them now.” “Avery Tate.” His voice was like ice, each syllable heavy with menace. “Did you not heed my words from this morning?” “I heard you,” she bit back defiantly, her chin lifted. “But I refuse to live my life according to your rules.” The memory of that night burned fresh in her mind—how he had accused her of seeking out other men, she dressed uncharacteristically, and he had leered at her in a way that filled her with rage and resentment. Elliot raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her fiery spirit. He knew she was unlike the others—she had convictions, and she wouldn’t cower before his authority. More importantly, it was clear to him that she harbored little respect for his threats. He picked up a glass of wine, bringing it to his lips with fluid grace, and Avery pressed her own heart back down into her chest. “What are you doing here?” she pressed again, her voice betraying a hint of desperation. “Didn’t you say you were having dinner at the old mansion?” The question lingered between them like a fragile thread, the underlying tension beckoning her to inquire further about his connection to Mr. Z—if he truly was Mr. Z—but the doubt gnawed at her. “Come and drink with me,” Elliot commanded, a glint of challenge in his bloodshot eyes. Avery arched an eyebrow, her heart aflame with both anger and confusion. “No, I told you I don’t drink.” The urgency to escape pressed heavily on her mind. “Just… enjoy the wine. I’m leaving!” She lunged for the door, desperation surging in her veins, only to find it locked tight against her escape. Panic fluttered in her chest as she slammed her palm against the barrier, the echoes of her frustration ringing hollow in the air. “What’s happening, Elliot? Let me out!” she shouted, her cheeks flushing with indignation. “I ordered you to drink with me. Are you hard of hearing, or are you pretending to be stupid?” His voice darkened, a thunderous warning that sent a shiver racing down her spine. Cold sweat beaded on her back, her heart pounding violently. In that moment, Avery realized—she could not drink, not now, not with him looming so dangerously close, fists clenched, the tension thick between them. With no other choice, she took a tentative step toward him, hoping to reason with the man who seemed to hold her fate in the palm of his hand. “I was not entirely truthful this morning," she admitted, lowering her gaze to avoid his piercing stare. "I intended to meet someone tonight—someone interested in investing in my father's company.” “Who is this someone?” Elliot’s eyebrows knitted together, his expression suddenly fierce. “I don’t know his name,” she confessed, anxiety threading through her words. “You don’t even know the name of the man you’re supposed to meet?” he snapped, frustration lacing his tone. “Shaun is with me,” she quickly added, desperation creeping in. “He’s just stuck in traffic.” Taking a deep breath, she raised her watery eyes to encounter his searing gaze. “I’m not a child, Elliot. Even as your wife, I have my own life. You can’t dictate who I meet or where I go.” Elliot’s focus shifted to his wine glass, taking another measured sip. The movements were intoxicating in their own right, and Avery couldn’t help but be momentarily mesmerized by the strong lines of his throat as he swallowed. Would he drink enough to lose control? How would he manage to get home safely under the influence? Just as her thoughts spiraled into worry, she felt his hand grip her arm, yanking her forward as he tossed her onto the plush couch. Soft as it was, the landing jolted her senses, reigniting her anger. What did he think she was? A mere object for his amusement? Gritting her teeth, she steadied herself, preparing to confront him once more. But her resolve faltered as she caught a glimpse of Elliot standing, rising effortlessly from his wheelchair—his posture imposing, declaring a strength she had never witnessed before. The world around her fell silent as shock washed over her. The fire of her indignation extinguished, replaced instead by confusion and awe. She stood paralyzed, words escaping her utterly. “Men bring women here to drink,” he growled, looming over her, raw power radiating from him. “If you’re not here for that, then why did you come?” Before she could respond, Elliot seized her chin, forcing her gaze upward. Her lips parted beneath his grasp, a mixture of dread and defiance swirling within her. His other hand, holding the wine glass, hovered dangerously close as the vibrant red liquid rocked within its confines. Avery’s heart dropped—fear seeped into her bones. Tears prickled at her eyes as she fought against the weight of his presence. She struggled to break free from his grip, but he held her firm—a living embodiment of strength and authority. “You show up uninvited by a stranger,” Elliot’s voice dripped with menace, “and now, you need to face the consequences of your actions.” She recoiled as he tilted the glass towards her, a torrent of liquid spilling into her waiting mouth. Panic surged, and instinct kicked in—she grasped at his collar, yanking it desperately. A button flew off with a sharp pop, clattering to the floor while his chest was bared to the cold air. Elliot’s breath caught at the sight of her flushed face, her eyes brimming with tears of anger and despair. A fleeting wave of compassion washed over him as the warmth between them shifted. He released her chin, the force of his grip easing, and Avery turned her head away, expelling the bitter wine with a violent gag. “I hate you, Elliot Foster!” she screamed, fists clenched by her sides, rage pouring from her very core. “Was that so difficult?” he shot back, frustration boiling beneath the surface as a glimmer of pity flickered in his eyes. His slender fingers made their way to her collar, unbuttoning her shirt with a cruel precision, exposing the delicate curve of her collarbone. Each deliberate movement screamed of the raw power he wielded and the intentions simmering beneath. “If it weren’t me, another man would take advantage of you! These are the repercussions of your deceit!” In that instant, the world around them felt more fragile than ever, and Avery's heart raced as she braced herself for what lay ahead—the inevitable storm that was sure to follow.