He steps into the room with me. “What are you doing?”
He touches the edge of the vanity, fingers brushing the wood. “Setting expectations.”
I swallow. “I already told you, no touching. No closeness. No—”
“No husbandly duties?” He interrupts.
I nod.
He wets his lower lip with a quiet, humorless laugh. “Relax. For the hundredth time, I don’t want you in my bed.”
The words sting more than they should. I turn away. “Good. Great. Perfect.”
“Victoria.”
I stop, but don’t look back.
“You sleep here,” he says quietly. “You breathe here. You stay here. You belong here.”
My stomach twists. “You don’t own me.”
“I own your future,” he replies. “That’s enough.”
The words hit like ice poured down my spine. I grip the back of the chair so tightly my knuckles ache. “Get out.”
“As you wish.”
He steps past me, his shoulder brushing mine as he pauses at the doorway.
For a moment, I think he has more to say, but then I hear the door click shut.
I stand there, shaking. “I can do this.” At least we aren’t sharing a room.
But something tells me his revenge plan is only getting started.
My knees nearly give out at the thought.
Because for the first time since seeing him again . . .
I realize my life really will never be the same.
34
Lorenzo
An hour has passedsince I placed her in her new room and left her.
It’s too quiet.
Not the usual silence that happens in the dead of night, when my men do their rounds.
No. This is different.
It’s because of her.
I stand outside her bedroom door with a glass of whiskey in one hand and my phone in the other, staring at the carved wood, waiting for an invitation.
It will never happen. Not that I would want her. She’s not here for that. She’s here for my amusement, for her to be as miserable as I’ve been.
