Not from fear.
From the simple truth that I am already hers.
And she has no idea.
Let them puff their chests and sign their papers. Let them throw contracts at my face.
I’ll sign whatever they give me.
It doesn’t matter if they bind me with clauses, penalties, or iron chains.
Because I have no intention of letting her go.
Not now.
I’m pretty sure not ever.
There’s something about the woman that commands me.
It brands me.
It calls to every base instinct I’ve spent years mastering and concealing.
Cecilia Batiste makes me feral.
She makes me violent with want.
She makes me wish I were the kind of man who knew what love felt like—so I could give it to her.
But I’m not. I can’t lie to myself about that.
Love? I don’t know it. Not really.
But worship? That I can do.
I will worship her like a goddess in my bed.
Protect her like a queen in my war.
And treat her like the only thing in my empire that has ever truly been mine.
Because that’s what she is now.
Mine.
Five minutes later, I’m signing the prenup Luc Batiste slams down on the table in front of me.
He doesn’t sit.
He doesn’t blink.
He watches every stroke of the pen like it might draw blood.
When I finish, I slide the document back toward him.
“I’ll send a copy to your lawyer,” he mutters, but I don’t miss the warning beneath the civility.
I nod once. No argument.
