"So you're not just a control freak," Zoe says, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "You actually have reasons."
I turn to her, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone. "I protect what's mine."
"And am I yours now, Damiano?" Her voice drops lower, taking on a teasing quality I haven't heard before. She tilts her head, those green eyes sparkling with challenge.
My body tenses at her words. "You signed the papers, Zoe. That makes you mine."
"On paper." She leans slightly closer. "But we both know this marriage is just business."
Heat builds in my chest as she plays this dangerous game. I reach over, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her skin. "Is that what we know?"
Her breath catches, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans into my touch for just a moment before catching herself.
"You like playing games, don't you?" I growl, my voice dropping an octave.
"I could ask you the same thing." She holds my gaze, defiant and provocative at once.
My thumb traces her jawline, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my touch. "Careful, Zoe. You might not like what happens when I stop playing nice."
"Maybe that's exactly what I want to find out." She challenges me with those words, her lips curving into a smile that's half-taunting, half-invitation.
Fuck. Every instinct tells me to pull her across the console and show her exactly what happens when she pushes me like this. The car suddenly feels too small, the air between us charged with electricity.
I stare at her lips, so close I can feel her breath against my skin. The air between us crackles with tension, drawing me in like a magnetic force I can't resist. My hand slides to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her soft hair as I pull her toward me.
But just as our lips are about to touch, reality crashes through the haze of desire.
This isn't real. None of it is.
I freeze, jaw clenching as I remember what this arrangement truly is—a business deal. A strategic alliance. Nothing more.
Slowly, I pull back, dropping my hand from her neck. The loss of contact feels like being doused in ice water, clearing my head but leaving a bitter chill behind.
Zoe watches me, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I knew you'd back up," she whispers, her voice carrying a hint of victory.
Her words hit like a bullet, tearing through the last of my self-control. She was testing me. Playing me. And I fucking fell for it.
Rage builds inside me, hot and dangerous, like molten steel ready to burn through everything in its path. Every muscle in my body tenses with the effort to remain still. To not show her how deeply she's gotten under my skin.
I wrench the car door open, needing to escape the suffocating tension. The night air hits me like a physicalblow, cooling the heat that's built under my skin. I adjust my jacket, straightening the lapels with quick, sharp movements.
Zoe slides out gracefully from her side, that satisfied smirk still playing on her lips. She knows what she did. She knows exactly how close I came to breaking.
And she is fucking right.
I follow Byron into the formal dining room, trying to mask my irritation after the tense moment with Damiano in the car. The massive mahogany table gleams under crystal chandeliers, set with the Limoges china and sterling silver that Byron reserves for important occasions. Everything about this dinner feels like a performance.
"Straighten your shoulders, Zoe." Byron's voice carries that familiar instructional tone as he gestures to my chair. "And remember to keep your elbows off the table."
I catch Damiano's expression darkening at Byron's words. He pulls out my chair with unexpected gentleness, his fingers briefly brushing my shoulder.
"I believe Zoe knows how to sit at a table," he says coolly.
Byron smiles thinly. "Of course she does. I spent years ensuring her deportment is flawless." He says.
The familiar knot forms in my stomach. This is how it's always been—Byron treating me like a porcelain doll he's programmed to perform. Usually, I accept his corrections without question, but tonight, with Damiano watching, the humiliation burns deeper.
I fold my hands in my lap, keeping my expression neutral despite the shame flooding through me.
