The hotel crisis had changed something in me.For the first time since my father’s stroke, I had faced a disaster without anyone to save me, and I hadn’t crumbled.I’d organized.I’d commanded.I’d fixed it.The staff had looked at me differently after, with the beginning of respect.
Maybe I wasn’t as helpless as everyone had always assumed.
The manor was quiet as I showered and dressed, choosing clothes that were a shield.A fitted sweater dress in deep burgundy that fell to my thighs, paired with tall boots that clicked against the marble floors.I brushed my hair until it gleamed and studied myself in the mirror.The girl staring back at me wasn’t the same terrified creature who’d signed that contract a month ago.
Good.
His scent hit me before I reached the bottom of the stairs.Rich and dark and male, stronger than usual, with something sharper underneath.Coffee.Sleeplessness.And something else, something almost feral that made the hair on my arms stand up.
Raphael stood in the hallway, arms crossed, blocking the path to the kitchen.He looked like he hadn’t slept.His dark hair was disheveled, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and his eyes held a dangerous edge that made my stomach tighten.He was still wearing yesterday’s shirt, the collar loosened, the sleeves rolled to his elbows.Like he’d been prowling this house all night, waiting.
For me.
“Good morning.”I kept my voice steady.Neutral.Like my heart wasn’t suddenly hammering against my ribs.
“Where were you going?”
“To get breakfast.”
“Without permission?”
I blinked.“I didn’t realize eating required permission.”
Something tightened in his expression.A muscle worked in his cheek.“You seem to have forgotten quite a lot about our arrangement lately.”
The warmth I’d woken with began to curdle in my stomach.“I haven’t forgotten anything.”
“No?”He stepped closer.Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.Close enough that his scent wrapped around me, overwhelming and intimate, filling my lungs until I couldn’t breathe anything but him.“Yesterday you handled a crisis at your hotel.For hours.Without calling me.Without asking for resources or assistance.Without even letting me know it was happening.”
“I handled it myself.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t need to ask.”The words came out sharper than I intended, fueled by the confidence I’d earned yesterday.“I’m capable of handling problems without running to you for help.”
Something dangerous rose in his eyes.Not anger, exactly.Something hungrier.
“Capable,” he repeated.The word dripped with dark amusement.“Is that what you think you proved yesterday?That you don’t need me?”
“I think I proved I’m not as helpless as everyone assumes.”
His hand caught my chin.Not gentle, not violent, but firm enough that I couldn’t look away.His thumb pressed against my jaw, tilting my face up until I had nowhere to look but into those dark, burning eyes.
“You exist in my world because I allow it,” he said softly.“You run that hotel because I permit it.Every breath you take, every decision you make, happens because I choose not to stop you.”
“Let go of me.”
“No.”His grip tightened fractionally.“I think you need a reminder.You’ve been walking around this house like you own it.Like you have choices.Like your body belongs to you.”
My pulse skipped.“The contract says?—”
“The contract says you’re mine.”He stepped closer, crowding me against the wall.The cold plaster pressed against my back, but his body radiated heat, close enough that I could feel it through the thin knit of my dress.“For one year.Every inch of you.And I think you’ve forgotten that.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything.”
“Then why are you fighting me?”His free hand slid to my hip, fingers digging into the soft fabric of my dress.“Why do you flinch every time I touch you?Why do you run to your hotel like it’s a sanctuary from me?”
“Because I hate you.”
