I hate that a part of me wants to see her live in this space without fear, with me beside her. That I’d love to have her reign here like she belongs, like she’s mine in every sense that matters, even if she doesn’t bend to me yet.
I clench my jaw. Hate. Pleasure. Desire. It’s a mess I can’t untangle.
Her laughter cuts through the noise again, and I realize, maybe the only war I can’t control isn’t outside these walls, but in the way I want her anyway. But the evening doesn’t end peacefully. I should have known that in our world, peace is a luxury.
Just before we all gather for dinner, Dimitri slides into the chair beside me.
“What?” I snap.
“Relax,” he says with that infuriatingly calm smile, slipping a folded note across the table.
I snatch it up and scan the contents. My jaw tightens instantly. One of David Chang’s men has been seen circling Manhattan, asking questions about Elara.
“I know how she ended up as your wife,” Dimitri continues, leaning back casually. “And now it’s time to protect what’s yours.”
“How did you find out about this?” I demand, voice low and dangerous.
“Let’s just say I always have ears in the strangest places. You know that. And David…he won’t rest until he gets her back.”
I feel the cold edge of anger cut through me. My pulse quickens, thoughts colliding—not a scandal. Not her. Not now.
Dimitri shrugs. “It’s only a matter of time before Chang spins this as a kidnapping. Public scandal. Media frenzy. Buyers sniffing around. Your life just got a lot more complicated, Roman.”
I rise from the table, fists clenching. My mind races. I’ve waited, restrained myself, letting her defenses hold. But now? Now there’s no patience left.
I push away from the table and storm toward the garden where the women are gathered. Their laughter dies when they see me coming.
“Elara.” My voice cuts through the hum of conversation. “A word.”
She hesitates, glancing at her new friends before forcing a polite smile and standing. “Excuse me.”
I turn on my heel, and she follows, heels clicking against marble as I lead her inside, through the winding hallways, up the stairs, and into one of the empty bedrooms. The moment the door shuts behind us, she folds her arms.
“What’s wrong with you?” she demands. “You’re ruining the party for no reason.”
I whirl to face her, anger and fear mixing in my chest like poison. “Enough of your attitude, Elara.” My tone comes out as sharp as I intend. “I’m going to ask some questions, and you’re going to answer me honestly.”
Her brows knit. “Roman, what—”
“I said honestly,” I snap, stepping closer, my voice low and edged. “No games. No lies.”
Her chin lifts, defiant, but there’s a flicker of something—nervousness, maybe curiosity—in her eyes.
“What’s this about?” she says quietly.
“Your father,” I answer. “David Chang.”
“I don’t—I—”
I step closer, letting the weight of my presence press against her. “Elara,” I say, my voice low, almost a growl, “tell me everything you know about your father’s operations. Now.”
Her eyes widen, panic flashing across her face. “I… I—I don’t know anything else,” she stammers, voice trembling. “Just…the paintings. And the foreign buyers…it was how…how he repaid his debts.”
Her words strike me like a dagger. David Chang, her father, reduced to pawns and transactions, crawling through his deals to save face and money. My chest tightens, possessiveness sparking like wildfire.
I can feel it—every fiber of me wanting to guard her, to claim her, to make sure no one touches her. Not her father. Not his men. Not anyone. She’s mine.
“I won’t let him take you,” I say, my voice low but firm, a vow carved straight from my chest. “Not your father. Not anyone. Ever.”
