He didn't answer, walking straight into the closet. Moments later, he emerged carrying a deep blue silk nightgown embroidered with delicate lace.
"Put this on." He tossed the dress beside me.
I picked it up but didn't move.
"I said, put it on," he repeated, impatience creeping into his voice.
"I don't like silk," I said calmly. "It's slippery and cold."
"I don't care what you like." He stepped closer, his eyes turning dangerous. "I only care whether you obey."
"What if I don't?" I looked up, meeting his gaze.
I didn't know why I had the courage.
Maybe it was these days of suppression and humiliation that made me unable to continue submitting.
Maybe it was Mother's call that made me realize—if I didn't fight for myself, I'd forever remain just someone else's tool.
He narrowed his eyes, dangerous energy radiating from him.
The next second, he grabbed my arm violently, yanking me up and slamming me against the wall.
"You're challenging me?" His voice was low, suppressing rage.
"I'm just expressing my opinion." I gritted my teeth, though my arm ached from his grip. "I'm your wife, not your doll."
"Wife?" He laughed coldly. "Noelle, get this straight—everything you have now, including the clothes on your back, I gave you. Think about your crumbling family. What makes you think you can negotiate with me?"
His words were like a knife, stabbing straight into my heart.
"Yes, the Bellucci family is declining, I have no right to negotiate," my voice began shaking, "but that doesn't mean you can treat me like property!"
"Property?" He gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. "You're worth much more than property."
Before the words finished, his other hand grabbed my collar.
"Rip—"
The fabric tore from neckline to hem, exposing my undergarments.
"You're insane!" I struggled hard but couldn't budge him an inch.
He remained unmoved, watching me with almost glacial eyes. "Remember, you're mine. Everything about you, from your hair to your toes, only I get to adorn."
He picked up the dress, roughly pulling it over me.
The icy touch made me shudder all over.
"Kholod Morozov, what gives you the right to treat me this way?!" I finally couldn't help shouting, tears bursting forth. "Who do you think you are?!"
My challenge seemed to ignite his long-suppressed fury.
He backed me into the corner step by step, his overwhelming presence making it hard to breathe.
"What gives me the right?" He repeated my words, dangerous light flashing in his eyes. "Because you're a Morozov now. Because your reunion with Lorenzo made me the laughingstock of all Philadelphia."
"There's nothing between us!" I was practically screaming. "I've explained this countless times!"
