The penthouse feels too big, too quiet, too expensive for oxygen.
When I reach the dining area, I stop—because he’s already there.
Dimitri sits at the long glass table like he owns the entire world and is bored with it.
Shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, expensive watch glinting, blond hair slightly mussed like he ran a hand through it on his way in.
He looks like sin.
Sin wearing control like a second skin.
He lifts his gaze to me.
No smile.
Just possession.
I force my legs to move and lower myself into the chair opposite him.
The air between us feels electric—charged with anger, defiance, and a thread of something I hate myself for noticing.
Amy and two other staff slip in silently, placing dish after dish onto the table—fresh pastries, fruit, eggs, coffee, things I’m too keyed up to even look at.
The moment they finish arranging everything, they vanish discreetly, leaving me alone with the man who’s turned my life into a nightmare.
Silence settles.
Tense.
Tight.
He watches me like he’s waiting for me to break.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
We eat in silence.
Not peaceful silence—no, this one is sharp, serrated, cutting at every inch of calm I’m pretending to have.
Every clink of his fork feels intentional.
Every sip of his coffee feels like a warning.
When I finally push my plate away, he’s already setting his napkin down.
He rises from his chair with effortless grace and turns to leave, as if I’m nothing more than background noise in his immaculate world.
“Hey.”
The word slips out before I can stop it.
He pauses mid-stride…then turns.
Those cold, winter-dark eyes meet mine.
“Why are you doing this?” My voice cracks, anger and fear tangling together. “Why marry me?”
For a moment, he says nothing.
