His face darkens, and his sharp tone has the power to cut someone open. “Stop talking about my wife, Orion. You seem to have an unhealthy interest in what’s mine, and I don’t like it.”
I’ve never in my life seen him possessive over anyone or anything, which lets me know this wife of his…is way more than a revenge plan.
My intercom rings, interrupting our conversation, and I press the speaker button. “Hello, sir,” Elizabeth, my secretary, greets me. Hiring her five years ago was the best decision I’ve ever made. She had just sent her only daughter to college and searched for a job after her husband tragically passed away.
She’s efficient, quiet, strict, and values order more than I do.
“Miss Diana is here to see you. And we have a judge on the first floor saying he has an appointment with you. I don’t see his name on the list.”
“Clear the judge with security and give him a special pass. You can let him in ten minutes after Miss Diana.”
“Will do, sir.”
She hangs up, and instantly, there is a hesitant knock on the door, followed by a soft click, and a woman enters. Her gentle voice puts a halt to all my thoughts at once, for I can’t focus on anyone or anything but her at this moment. “Hi.”
My future bride stands out against my black-and-white office’s dull interior like a rare gemstone amid the endless chaos, drawing attention to her stunning beauty, which should be forbidden for how perfect it is.
Since when am I so fucking poetic?
All I can do is stare at her, and I’m thankful I never asked for a picture because it wouldn’t have done her justice.
Her heavy red locks, cascading down her lower back, sway lightly under the humming AC, their silky texture glistening in the sunlight streaming through the window. The blue tips create a sense of fire surrounding her that one desperately wishes to touch. My body grows tense, imagining running my fingers through it, fisting it hard as she arches her back and lets me leave my bite marks on her pale skin.
So no one doubts who she belongs to.
Restrained, hopeless from the pleasure, while her sapphire eyes would beg me to continue.
Another thought that has never entered my mind when it comes to women, because the idea of anyone truly wanting me was a fantasy I never craved to indulge in.
A raspy breath slips past her full lips, and she lifts her chin, her pointy nose twitching a little in defiance when she notices my intense stare. She skims her fingers over her tight black dress that emphasizes her full breasts, narrow waist, and wide hips that probably don’t fit most beauty standards these days. Not that I give a fuck.
What man wouldn’t want to be cradled between her thighs as she whispers his name into his ear while he takes her over and over again?
The unfamiliar yet powerful possessiveness mixed with fury washes over me, igniting my blood and transforming any potential men who might want her into an enemy that needs to be destroyed—because she’s mine.
Only ever mine.
I hate just the idea of anyone thinking the same thoughts as me, let alone acting on them, and if it were any other situation, I’d find it amusing.
Thirty-five years without obsessions that could rule me, but this beautiful creature with her curious yet cautious gaze and the aura of innocence surrounding her speaks to the primal part in me that wishes to take her far away and lock her up so no one else can place any demands on her.
Or maybe such a reaction was inevitable?
I’ve never liked sharing, and I've never had anything but things to call mine. Now she’d be my wife. And the whole world would know it, and those who fail to realize it?
Well, good luck to them, for they would need it to face me.
Any man who dares to touch her while she wears my ring on her finger is doomed to die in the most painful way.
She gasps, and I wonder what shocked her so much, and that’s when I realize her focus has shifted to my right cheek. After years, I tend to understand that when people see the full impact of my scars. Something akin to fear and pity fills her eyes, pulling me back to the present as the familiar coldness returns.
Coldness and common sense remind me that women such as Diana would never willingly choose to lie with a man like me. They deserve princes, and my scarred self can only be disgusting to her.
And while I always bought women’s attention, I won’t do it with my own wife.
“This should be…interesting.” Rafael’s voice pierces through my thoughts, and I glance at him, shaking my head.
No.
