The words were a slap. The tone was a dagger.
The hatred in her voice was almost a physical pressure in the room.
I snapped my hand to her chin, fingers clamping around the soft hinge of her jaw with bruising precision. Her breath hitched, her pulse fluttered against my palm, but she didn’t look away.
“Who is your son’s father?”
Her nostrils flared. “That’s none of your business.”
I leaned in until my forehead almost touched hers. My voice dropped into a register that had made generals fold and presidents sign treaties they swore they’d never sign.
“Maybe he’s related to me.”
Her eyes widened—just a fraction—and that fraction made something primal rip through me.
“He looks exactly like me,” I hissed. “Same eyes. Same mouth. Same blood. Did you send him to the altar that day? Is that why you came to my wedding? To parade my own bastard in front of me like some twisted joke?”
Her chest rose sharply. Anger, fear, guilt—I couldn’t tell which, and it maddened me.
“You heard him,” she said, voice trembling with fury. “He came to you himself. I owe you nothing. No explanation. No obedience. And I will never be your wife, your mistress, or your slave.” She leaned forward until our lips were almost touching, as if she wanted me to feel her defiance on my tongue. “Because I will escape this place. And when I do, you’ll never see us again.”
For a split second, everything in me went perfectly still.
Her lips—so close they brushed the air I exhaled.
So close they shook every shred of restraint I had left.
So close I wanted to devour them, bruise them, pray to them.
I wanted to kiss her until she forgot her own name.
I wanted to punish her for every breath she took that wasn’t mine.
I wanted to put her on her knees and worship her until she shattered.
I did none of it.
Instead, I released her chin—slowly, reluctantly—and stepped back half an inch. Just enough to let her lungs fill. Just enough to remind her I controlled the space between us.
“Seraphina is awake,” I said flatly, “from what should have been a months-long coma.”
That got her attention.
Her eyes widened.
“The paralytic I administered was meant to keep her sedated for months,” I continued, voice cold. “It barely lasted a week. And now her family is already threatening war if the wedding doesn’t proceed immediately.”
Pen stiffened.
“If I end up marrying her, remember this—it’s because of you,” I said, voice sharp as broken glass. “Seraphina will destroy your peace. She’ll have full legal access to my estate. And when she decides to hurt you or your boy, I may not be there to intervene.”
The words hit her like blows.
I saw it.
All of it.
The flicker of fear she tried to bury.
