He moved faster than I could process, closing the distance between us in an instant. His hands slammed against the bookshelf on either side of my head, caging me in. His body pressed against mine, solid and unyielding, pinning me in place.
“Can’t my future wife read?” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear.
I whimpered despite myself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
“This area isforbidden,” he growled, sending shivers down my spine. “If I catch you here again, the punishment will be far worse than wearing a diamond necklace.”
His eyes bored into mine, fury blazing within them, as well as something darker and more primal.
“Can we stop pretending this fucking dog collar is anything more than what it is?” I spat, yanking at the diamond-encrusted chain around my neck. “You can dress it up with jewels, but it’s still a shackle chaining me to a life I don’t want.”
He pressed me harder against the bookshelf. The carved wood bit into my back, but it was nothing compared to the weight of him pinning me in place.
“Shackle?” he repeated, his voice a low, simmering growl. “Do you think you understand what that means? What it means to belong to someone?”
His finger traced a deliberate, almost cruel line down the curve of my neck, lingering at the hollow of my throat where the necklace rested. His touch burned like fire against my skin. My body betrayed me, heat pooling low in my stomach despite the fear thrumming through my veins.
“Your life, Vivian,” he continued, his tone soft but laced with venom, “is mine. Mine to determine the value of. Mine to decide when it ends. Shall I remind you how fragile you are?”
He tilted his head, leaning in so close his lips brushed the shell of my ear. “Do you know how easy it would be to snap this delicate neck of yours?”
The calm in his voice was worse than it would have been if he’d been shouting. It was surgical, like he was stating an irrefutable fact. I gasped for air, unable to move as his lips skimmed my skin. He didn’t kiss me, but the almost-kiss, the claim it implied, was suffocating.
“Fucking do it, then,” I hissed. “Put me out of my misery.”
He froze, and the tension in the air shifted. His hand trailed lower, resting just above the necklace, his fingers splayed across my collarbone. I thought he would laugh and mock me, but instead his grip tightened just enough to make me feel his strength, to remind me I was at his mercy.
“You think this is misery?” he asked in a sharp, icy whisper. “This is mercy, Vivian. And you don’t want to know what it looks like when I stop showing you that.”
The weight of him against me was unbearable, his presence overwhelming my senses. My heart raced, and my breath left me in shallow gasps. I couldn’t tell where his anger was aimed—at me, at himself, or at the tension sparking between us like live wires.
I couldn’t stop myself from wondering, almost morbidly, if the collar would stop me if I tried to end it all. Would it alert him before I could even finish the thought?
His eyes bored into mine, a tempest of fury and control. His lips hovered near my neck again, his breath warm against my skin as he inhaled deeply, like he was memorizing me. I could feel the hard line of his erection pressing against me, leaving no question about his state of mind.
I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. He traced a maddeningly slow line down my throat before he abruptly stepped back, the sudden loss of contact leaving me breathless and disoriented.
“You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”
He turned, his movements stiff as though he were reining himself in. “Go to your room. Eldora will have your clothing ready for you. There’s a performance in the dining hall tonight, and you will attend.”
And just like that, he was gone, leaving me shaking, my legs barely able to hold me up. I touched the necklace—it felt heavier than ever—and pressed my back harder against the bookshelf.
I didn’t know what terrified me more—the way he had looked at me, or the way I had felt under his gaze.
11
VIVIAN
Istared at the dress laid out on the bed. Black satin, short, and scandalously revealing. The neckline plunged so low it was almost nonexistent, and the hem would barely brush the middle of my thighs. The dress was designed to command attention, to leave nothing to the imagination, and certainly not something I’d ever willingly wear. It was as much a message as the collar around my neck. I washis.
I touched the fabric hesitantly, my mind still whirling from The Shadow’s touch, his fury, his body pressed against mine. A shiver of frustration coursed through me. He’d been angry—no, furious—yet I couldn’t shake the image of his gaze devouring me, or the unmistakable press of his arousal against my stomach.
The idea struck like a stray shard of glass, unexpected and sharp. Was he attracted to me?Surely not.Men like The Shadow didn’t getattracted. They didn’t pine or yearn. They took. They consumed. The thought made my head spin with a chaotic swirl of confusion and discomfort. As unsettling as it was, the possibility lingered at the edge of my thoughts. If hewasdrawn to me, maybe I could use that to my advantage. Maybe his desire—if that’s what it was—could be the weapon I needed. A tool topry open a crack in the iron walls he’d built around himself and gain leverage in this nightmare of an arrangement.
Ineededleverage. But the thought of exploiting his attraction made bile rise in my throat. What would that make me? Manipulative? Pathetic? Or just resourceful?
I stripped down and put the dress on. My reflection stopped me short. For a moment, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me. The black cocktail dress hugged every curve, its fabric a liquid sheath against my skin. The neckline plunged daringly low, exposing the delicate line of my collarbones and the swell of my breasts.
