He never should’ve mentioned my wife—never should’ve threatened her safety. His insensitivity was what unleashed the beast within me. Now, all of his men were dead, and he was next.
I didn’t stop until he stopped breathing. His body was limp beneath me, his face looking like mashed potatoes. Only then did I feel a sense of satisfaction. My chest heaved with heavy breaths as I rose from his body, my eyes fixed on the sight before me.
Sergei stepped forward and handed me a white handkerchief, and with it, I swiped my bloodied hands and face.
I hadn’t planned to kill anyone today. No. It wasn’t on my to-do list. But those assholes forced my hand, and they learned the hard way that no one messed with my wife and survived.
Even now, seated in the backseat of the car, my knuckles still ached from the punches I’d thrown, and my fury had barely settled.
The gravel crunched beneath the tires as Sergei brought the car to a halt in the courtyard. In silence, I unlocked the door and stepped out into the moon’s ethereal glow. I adjusted my tie, brushed off some dust from my suit, and then walked toward the entrance.
My shoes scuffed against the polished marble floor as I strolled down the hallway, anger still coursing through my blood. I couldn’t understand why I’d been so triggered by the thought of losing Scarlett.
Even after sending those bastards straight to hell, I still couldn’t find peace. Deep inside me, I felt empty and restless, as if there was a void no amount of violence could fill.
When I passed by a few maids in the hallway, they bowed their heads in reverence—too afraid to look at my face.
I didn’t slow down until I reached the master bedroom, where the door stood slightly ajar. Through the crack, I saw her lying on the bed, facing the entrance. She looked so beautiful and innocent.
Like magic, this unnatural sight of my wife in a peaceful state tugged at the anger twisted in my chest. A wind of relief blew across my face, my expression softening the longer I gazed at her. Little by little, I felt my anger dissipating into thin air, replaced by something much lighter.
Quietly, I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. My footsteps were soundless against the floor as I waltzed over to the bed, my eyes never leaving her face.
She lay on her side, dressed in a translucent nightgown with one strap hanging off her shoulder. Her cleavage caught my eye, and I found myself drinking in the curve of her breasts. Iwatched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept like a baby.
The hem of her dress grazed her soft skin, allowing a tantalizing glimpse of her alluring thighs. The sight stirred something magical within me, and my heart burned with desire.
She wasn’t just gorgeous. She was sexy too.
As I towered over her, she whispered something inaudible in her sleep, and I could only wonder what she was dreaming about. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket over her.
A soft, harmless moan fell from her lips—and when I tucked some hair strands behind her ear, she responded. It was a small, unconscious shift in her weight like she’d melted at my touch. She didn’t wake up; instead, she let out a sigh that told me she was comfortable.
As I watched her, it dawned on me that all that anger had completely disappeared. As fascinating as it was, it still unsettled me because it meant her effect on me was more powerful than I thought.
I found peace just by staring at her while she slept—how was that even possible? She wasn’t awake, yet her presence filled the room, and her scent was intoxicating.
As I sat there staring at her, I knew in my heart of hearts that I was never going to let her go. Mercer’s daughter, enemy or not, had become more than blood debt; she’d become my possession now.
The line between punishment and desire was gone, replaced by a hunger that felt as dangerous as any war.
Chapter 21 – Scarlett
Fresh out of the shower, I stepped into the bedroom, steam still swirling around my skin, my wet hair clinging to my face. A white towel wrapped snugly around my body as I strolled across the space with slow, measured strides.
The floor was cool beneath my bare feet, and the moonlight streamed in through the windows, silvering everything it touched. The curtains danced to the rhythm of the evening breeze, blowing into the room.
I combed my fingers through my moist hair as I sat on a wooden chair before the mirror. Reaching for the dryer in the cupboard, I turned it on, its low hum filling the air around me.
While using it on my damp hair, I recalled the last two times I surrendered myself to Roman. I couldn’t understand why I was unable to resist him, no matter how hard I tried. He never forced himself on me—never threatened to hurt me if I didn’t submit.
Yet, despite my hatred for him, I still ended up falling for his charms every single time. His hold on me was stronger than he knew, and I despised myself for the way I always let him hit it.
Him claiming my body was one thing; me craving him afterward was an entirely different thing altogether. I was supposed to be repulsed by him—disgusted by his touch. But whenever he was close to me, I always lost my sense of reasoning.
I sat there, staring at my reflection in the mirror while absently drying my hair. If confusion were a person, it’d be me right now. I couldn’t tell my left from my right anymore, couldn’t decide what exactly Roman’s touch stirred up in me.
Why did I always feel so guilty after he was done with me, only to crave him again shortly after? My feelings toward himshifted between hatred, guilt, shame, and an insatiable longing for his cock.
