Rapine 2: Ravished by the Billionaire (The Trophy Wife)

by Charlotte Rose

  I cling to Julian’s side, clutching his arm as he talks with each of his friends. All his friends have a vibe that is unapologetic and very confident. They talk so fast that I can barely keep up with what they are saying. I try and catch as much as I can. They are talking money, business, gambling, traveling, cars, gadgets, properties, helicopters, and jets.

  A group of three men in their mid-twenties, also in black suits and bright ties join us, greeting everyone. Julian talks to the three men about business, jets, and cigars. They gawk at me, nearly drooling as I cling to Julian’s arm. Julian dangles me in front of them, enjoying their hungry jealousy. I assume they are single.

  I spend the entire night by Julian’s side, meeting and talking to high-profile individuals as we make our way through the entire nightclub. At the end of the night we are back in our VIP space, socializing, drinking, and laughing with Julian’s friends.

  Julian refills my glass of champagne. “Every single man is salivating over you,” he whispers into my ear and smirks.

  “I’m glad you like to show me off,” I whisper back, but I’m not sure I like being treated like an object to show off. However, I know that it’s something I have to get used to as Julian’s trophy wife.

  I begin to succumb to the effects of the champagne I’ve drunk all night. I feel hazy and dizzy. “I’d like to go home,” I whisper into Julian’s ear.

  Julian nods his heads at his friends, takes my hand, and we make our way out of the nightclub, as people left and right say their last words to Julian.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  We are heading to London. I’ve never been, but have always wanted to visit. Julian informs me we are staying at one of Julian’s residential properties in London’s Kensington Palace Gardens, Britain’s most expensive street and regarded as one of the most exclusive addresses in the world.

  As we driven by limo toward the street, I notice there are armed police officers at both ends of the street and security huts, where Crown Estate officials control bollards that sink into the ground allowing cars to enter or leave once they have been cleared. I’ve never seen a road protected in such a way.

  Once we are cleared by an official, we drive onto the street. It’s extremely quiet and there’s a sense of isolation. Some of the houses look uninhabited—I assume that they are simply used as investment vehicles.

  “It’s so quiet here,” I comment, gazing at the extravagantly large palaces lining the street. I realize these homes probably cost hundreds of millions of dollars.

  “Well yes, the super-rich elite keep a very low profile. This street is home to the wealthiest and most powerful businessmen in the world.”

  As we go further down the street I notice each mansion is gated by shining black railings with gold details and large gateposts. Each home has gold lettering marking the house number.

  We stop at a beautiful all white royal-looking home. “We’re home sweetie,” Julian says. The gates open and the car pulls into the circular driveway.

  My mouth drops open. This property is even more impressive than Julian’s home in Switzerland and any of his other homes that I’ve seen thus far. This place looks like a royal palace and not a residential home. It’s a neo-classical themed home. There must be like fifty windows, but there’s just too many windows to count. I’ve never seen a home so large, so up close in my life. I’ve only seen places like this on television and in movies.

  The limo stops right by the extravagant double door entrance. The driver quickly gets out and opens the door for Julian. Julian steps out and offers his hand for me to take. I take his hand and step out, staring up at the home. My head begins spinning and I have to hold onto Julian for support. This is unbelievable.

  Julian’s eyes are sparkling wickedly and I can see through his wide grin that he appears to be amused by my reaction. He can tell I am very impressed and it seems to be giving him new life and excitement. He takes my hand and pulls me toward the door.

  Julian performs a fingerprint and eye scan and we enter through the door. There is a spectacular chandler hanging from the ceiling and a large round table with a bouquet of fresh pink roses in the center—a beautiful, royal, classic foyer.

  There are two curved staircases, one on the left, one on the right, and leading up to the next floor. There are white marble floors throughout the home as far as I can see.

  I am standing gaping at the foyer and Julian pulls my hand, eager to show me around much like a little kid.

  It still hasn’t sunk in how extravagantly wealthy Julian really is. Derek is just as wealthy, but never flaunted it or showed it as much.

  Julian shows me the first floor: the den, the extraordinarily large living room, the library, the kitchen, and the excessively large dining room. The dining room and the living room each have large chandeliers. Every room is filled with very expensive-looking white neoclassical furniture. I am overwhelmed by the extravagance of the home. I feel like a queen in this home and Julian is my king.

  Julian begins to pull my hand up the stairs toward the next floor. Suddenly, dark specks distort my vision and I get light-headed. I feel myself nearly collapse on the stairs but Julian grabs me just in time; I fall into Julian’s arms and black out.

  I awake to see a maid standing over me. “Oh you’re awake, thank goodness,” says a forty-something woman with a strong British accent. She has brown hair that is neatly tied into a bun and she is wearing a traditional black and white English maid’s uniform. “Julian was so worried. I’ll call him in right away.” She scurries off and within minutes Julian comes into the bedroom.

  “How are you feeling?” Julian asks me.

  I sit up in bed and still feel light-headed but a little better than before.

  Julian comes over and sits on the bed beside me, sweeping away a few stray strands of hair away from my face. “I kept checking in on you every twenty minutes, you’ve been sleeping for over three hours.”

  “I don’t know,” I mumble. “I just feel a little light-headed that’s all.”

  “I’ve called in a doctor, and he’s on his way to check on you.” Julian examines me with great concern. “He should be here any minute.”

  Julian hands me a small pill and a glass of water from the bed stand.

  “What is it?” I stare at the small white pill.

  “It’s ginger root. Helps with dizziness and vertigo.”

  I swallow the pill and thirstily gulp down half the glass of water.

  I hear the doorbell.

  “I’ll be back.” Julian gets up and within minutes, he comes in with a doctor.

  The doctor performs a general check-up and checks my heart with a stethoscope. He asks me numerous questions. Finally, he finishes examining me and turns to Julian.

  “She’s appears perfectly healthy,” the doctor says. “Fainting spells could be an early sign of pregnancy. I would suggest a pregnancy test.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Julian shows no emotion at all, thanks the doctor, and walks him out. I am surprised and instantly recollect that I forgot to take my once-a-month birth control pill for this month. I’ve been completely overwhelmed by all the travel and my new life with Julian—it completely slipped my mind.

  Julian comes back and examines me. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll leave a pregnancy test on the bed stand.”

  I am shocked and although I wasn’t expecting it, I am overcome with joy. I smile at Julian.

  His eyes are glowing. “How do you feel?”

  “I am much better. I’ll go check now.”

  I grab the test, go into the elegant master washroom, and check. The results are negative. That’s strange.

  I come out of the washroom to find Julian sitting on the bed, looking deep in thought. When he notices me he waits for my response.

  “No, I’m not pregnant,” I say simply.

  “The doctor told me that if it’s negative to check in another week.”

  Julian pulls back the silk covers and waits for
me to get into bed. I get in and lay down. He takes off his shirt and pants, and gets in with me. He spoons me. I fall asleep rapidly.

  I awake in the early morning, to find Julian gone. I get up, stretch, and go searching for him. Though I am his wife and this is now my home too, I feel uncomfortable and foreign in it and I know I will need time to adjust to every single property owned by Julian as well as the extravagant lifestyle that Julian leads in general. I have yet to see every single home that Julian owns.

  I find Julian in his home office, sitting on his laptop. He appears concentrated on the screen, so I knock on the side of the door. He looks up and smiles.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yes,” I respond.

  “Breakfast will be ready in fifteen. Why don’t you get dressed and meet me in the dining room.”

  I get dressed and meet Julian in the dining room. He is seated waiting for me. He quickly gets up, pulls out my chair for me on the other side of the long dining table and goes back to his seat.

  We are promptly served an extravagant traditional English breakfast by the English maid. She pours us each a cup of English breakfast tea.

  We eat and Julian informs me that he would like to take me to a UFC show scheduled to take place in London’s arena in the evening. I cheerfully agree.

  As we continue to eat breakfast, suddenly my stomach churns, and I get up and run to the nearest washroom—I throw up into the toilet bowl. Julian has followed behind me and as I am throwing up, he quickly gathers the ends of my hair and holds them up for me.

  I stay by the toilet bowl for a while as he waits patiently, holding up my hair from my face. When I’ve finished, I get up. I wash my face and hands in the sink. I turn to Julian, his eyes glow—he knows it and I know it.

  “I’ll be back, wait here,” Julian says quietly.

  He comes back moments later, holding a pregnancy test. “Check again,” he instructs. He closes the door.

  I open the test and pee on the strip. I wait for the results—they turn out positive. My stomach tightens with excitement and happiness.

  I come out of the washroom, smiling from ear to ear. Julian embraces me and I look up into his questioning eyes.

  “I’m pregnant,” I say spiritedly.

  He appears thrilled and proud and holds me tight.

  A part of me and a part of Julian—the man that I adore. This is so exciting.

  Julian kisses the top of my head. I get emotional and tears run down my cheeks.

  “I love you,” Julian whispers.

  In the evening, we get dressed. Julian wears a black shirt, black tie, and a custom-made black suit with platinum cufflinks and a glittering watch on his wrist. As usual, his gun is tucked away in the inside pocket of his suit. I wear a red dress by Valentino, gorgeous, red, strappy, six-inch stilettos by Jimmy Choo and my red Birkin bag.

  We’ve gone down to our home’s underground parking garage fit for thirty cars. I see a line of eight luxury cars parked on one side of the garage—a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, a Bugatti, an Alfa Romeo, a Bentley, a Mercedes-Benz, a Range Rover, and a McLaren.

  Julian takes my hand and leads me through the garage, stopping in front of the shiny black Bugatti Veyron. He opens the door for me, I slip in and he slams the door shut.

  He comes around the car and slides in beside me. He starts the engine and drives us out of the parking garage. We are driving toward the arena to watch the UFC show.

  While we stop at a red light, Julian leans over, touches my belly, and kisses me. My heart flutters with so much love for Julian.

  Twenty minutes later, we pull into an underground parking garage. Julian parks the car and we get out. He takes my hand and confidently strides into the arena. We are greeted left and right by various wealthy-looking men in high-end suits sitting near the front row. I gasp as Julian offers his hand to numerous A-list celebrities sitting in the front row. I realize Julian comes not just to watch the UFC fights, he also comes to see and be seen.

  We finally take our seats in the front row and wait for the show to begin. It’s loud, the lights are flashing, and the crowd is eager to see violence. I gaze at all the celebrities sitting in the front row with us and still can’t believe Julian knows them all. I notice the seat beside me is still empty.

  Julian kisses the dorsal of my hand. I wrap my hand around Julian’s thick arm and rest my head on his shoulder.

  My eyes widen as one of the most popular male celebrities of all time whom I’ve seen in numerous movies, takes his place beside me. I am speechless as Julian reaches past me and offers his hand. The celebrity nods his hand and shakes Julian’s hand.

  Julian introduces me to him as his wife.

  “Good to meet you,” the celebrity offers me his hand. I shake and smile with as much dignity as I can muster. I am still unable to believe what I’m seeing and notice he is even better looking in person.

  “He’s a good man,” the celebrity whispers, glancing at Julian and then turns his attention on the Octagon.

  This is unreal. How does he know Julian? The longer I am married to Julian the more I begin to deeply respect him and where he’s gotten in life.

  I can hear the roar of the crowd as the show begins. The lights flash and the first two fighters of the night come onto the Octagon. They duel with each other, kicking and punching at each for the first part of the fight. They spar on the ground for the next round. One of the fighters lifts himself back up and they go back to fighting standing up. I watch as one of the fighter’s uppercut punch knocks his opponent unconscious and he is declared the winner.

  The next two opponents come onto the Octagon, right before the fight begins they glare with malicious hate and anger at each other. The fight begins and I gasp at how brutally they fight with each other. It’s one of the most violent fights I’ve ever seen, even more so than when I watched Julian takes on Derek. One of the fighter’s knocks his opponent to the ground and is declared the winner.

  I’ve notice each of the two UFC opponents are always fairly equal to each other in terms of weight, height, and build. During the fights, I realize that it’s not as much about muscular strength as it is about skill and endurance. Each round is five minutes and continues for three rounds until one of the opponents knocks out his opponent or an opponent taps out when he’s given up and been taken in a position that is difficult to get out of.

  I know what really draws Julian to the sport: the pure aggression and the absolute dominance. There is something so primal about the Octagon, something that boxing or football or other sports can never match.

  I hear the crowd cheer loudly as two very muscular fighters appear in the Octagon. “The main event of the night.” I hear the announcer broadcast.

  I watch as the two opponents spar with each other viciously. One of the fighters controls his opponent with punches and kicks to various part of his body and he appears very skilled.

  “Wow, that guy is an amazing fighter,” I whisper into Julian’s ear.

  “That he is,” Julian responds.

  We watch as the powerful fighter tackles his opponent to the ground, takes him in a choke hold. The crowd cheers wildly as his opponent taps out.

  I have a surprise for you,” Julian whispers at the end of the show. We do something that I know I wouldn’t be able to do if I wasn’t with Julian. We go backstage and meet all the fighters, hanging out and talking to them.

  Julian approaches the champion fighter of the night. The fighter shakes his hand and nods his head.

  “Good fight Marcel,” Julian says as he shakes the fighter’s hand firmly and claps his back.

  “Who is this young lady?” the fighter says, gazing at me with awe.

  “This is my wife, Cheryl,” Julian introduces me proudly.

  The fighter smiles and shakes my hand. I smile shyly and look into the fighter’s raw eyes—a man whom I can tell only cares about fighting and sex. He looks me up and down once more and turns his attention back to Julian. They talk for a wh
ile about fighting mostly and some personal things as well.

  We approach another fighter, the fighter I watched win the first fight of the night. Julian shakes his hand and introduces me. The fighter smiles broadly and introduces himself to me. His eyes gleam as he meets my eyes and for a split second he holds my gaze, steady and primal. Finally, he rips his gaze away from my face and turns his attention back to Julian. They talk for a while and I cling to Julian’s side, listening and occasionally joining in on their conversation.

  We spend a good hour backstage, talking with various fighters. Julian treats them all like close friends whom he knows very well. I’m feeling tired and we finally head out of the arena to go home.

  “You got those fighters excited backstage,” Julian whispers as we head toward the underground parking garage.

  “Why?” I ask, oblivious to what Julian is trying to tell me.

  Julian chuckles. “They were fucking drooling over you,” he says smugly.

  “I’m glad you like to show me off,” I respond. It makes me feel good that the man I love is proud of me and I would certainly show him off in the same way to my friends.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  We walk through the empty parking garage. I can hear the steady click, click, click of my stilettos echo against the cold concrete. As gorgeous and as expensive as these stilettos are, I can’t wait to take them off; I can feel the straps cutting into my ankles as I hang onto Julian for support.

  I hook one of my arms around Julian’s arm and with my other hand I lace my fingers around Julian’s rock solid bicep as we follow the garage ramp down to where the car is parked. I feel the coolness of the air in the garage hit my skin.

  Julian slows and reaches over, sweeping away a stray strand of my hair from my face. “How did you like the show?”

  “I really enjoyed it, honey.” I smile but I’m not thinking about the fighting anymore. I’m so ready for Julian to take me home and ravish me.