That gets his attention.
His expression shifts into something softer, like he’s studying me for the first time instead of just deciding what to do with me.
“Isn’t that what you want?” he says, voice low. “To never be sure which one it’ll be?”
A tear slips down my cheek.
I shake my head, but the problem is,I don’t know.
I want to scream at him. Hit him. Fall into his arms. All at once.
The silence hangs between us, thick with everything unspoken.
I wipe at my cheek, hating that he can see my tears. Hating even more that part of me still wants him tocomfortme, even after everything.
I don’t know why I say it.
Maybe I want to hurt him. Perhaps I want to test him. Maybe I just want to see what version of him answers.
“Don’t you think Archibald wants me?”
The second the name leaves my lips, I feel the shift.
His body stills, completely.
His eyes narrow, sharp enough to cut glass.
“What did you just say?”
I should take it back. But I don’t.
I lift my chin. “I’mhisChosen, aren’t I? Shouldn’t he be worried about where I am?”
Something in Hayden’s face fractures.
And then helunges.
Not like before, not calculated. This time, it’s fast, raw, unfiltered rage.
His hand slams down on the counter so hard the coffee cup shatters against the marble, shards skittering across the surface. He cages me in, gripping my jaw so hard I cry out.
“I don’t give afuckwhose ‘Chosen’ you weresupposedto be.”
His voice is a thunderous, deep, and violent sound, barely controlled. I flinch, but I don’t move.
Hayden’s eyes blaze, full of something dangerous and wild. “You’d be smart,” he says, each word sharp and deliberate, “to never say his name in this house again.”
My breath catches.
“You want to know the truth?” he growls, stepping toward me, each word cutting closer. “You're mine now. Not because someone picked you out of a fucking file, but becauseIdid. Because I saw you, and I decided you would belong tome.”
His eyes shoot down to where the robe fell open between my breasts, at the painful red scab between them. He lifts his hand and presses his thumb against it sharply. Dragging his nail down and forcing a hiss from my throat.
He towers in front of me, eyes wild, teeth clenched. “I don’t care what blood you carry or whose pathetic golden boy was meant to lay claim to it. I don’t care what ridiculous Legacy your family plotted.”
His voice drops, low and lethal.
“Because you’remywife now. You have my blood inside of you.” He marks the importance of his words with a shove of his finger, pricking open the scab on my sternum.
