“Safest for you,” I return, arms crossing again. “So you can monitor me.”
“Yes.”
As much as I don’t want his lies, his honesty still gets under my skin, making my chest feel tight as I stare at him. “Consent must be a foreign thing for you.”
“Not at all,” he says without hesitation, gaze not leaving mine. “Not where it counts. But sometimes, we don’t have the luxury of taking our time.”
My eyes narrow in question as I look him over, catching the underlying innuendo. I scoff. “What, marrying me was time sensitive?”
“Yes. And necessary.”
“Save it,” I mumble, growing tired of listening to his weak attempts at justifying just how insane everything has become.
Despite not being aggressive, Wyatt’s presence overwhelms me as he steps closer, brimming with heat, strength, and intent that still doesn’t make much sense to me. The tension still ripples beneath his skin.
“You’re angry, and you should be…”
“Yet, you keep touching me.”
He glances down at my forearm, where his hand rests, as if done subconsciously. For a split second, he almost seemsannoyed by the fact that I even brought it up. Then, he steps back, giving me a moment of relief.
“Rest,” he murmurs, voice low enough for me to almost miss the surprisingly gentle words. He turns toward the door and reaches for the handle. “There are spare clothes in the closet.”
As he opens it, a rush of panic hits me, and I see and feel my window of opportunity closing rapidly.
His proximity distracted me enough to momentarily forget where I am, and the fact that I’m being stored away in the spare room belonging to a man I’m legally supposed to call my husband. One I’ve only known for a few hours at most.
It almost makes me dizzy to even consider it.
“Wait,” I blurt out as the pressure of it all hits me at once.
Wyatt pauses, but he doesn’t turn. His hand rests on the doorframe while he listens.
“You can’t just leave me here. Not after everything—”
“It’s been a long night, Elena. You need rest and distance.”
“From what?”
“Me,” he mumbles, almost like it’s some kind of reassurance.
Instead of making me feel better, it twists a knot into my chest, stirring up a strange kind of sympathy I don’t understand yet. Regardless of everything he has done, he’s oddly self-aware, and I’m not prepared to unpack it.
Something closer to restraint settles in his expression. “Goodnight.”
Without another word, he steps out and closes the door. The lock clicks, and the sound echoes in the sudden silence that feels far too oppressive for my liking.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at the door while every thought churns in my mind, trying to process what this means. To process everything that has happened to me.
When reality sets in, proving that the door isn’t going to open again for some time, I sink onto the edge of the bed with only my pulse in my ears to keep me company.
I should hate him…I do. I hate him for assuming control of me, along with his arrogance and self-righteous need to decide everything for me.
Yet, I can still feel the ghost of his touch. I can feel the thrill that moved through me from how he maneuvered me like it was nothing.
It shouldn’t feel exciting at all, but even I’m not immune to someone like him.
Pressing my palms to my face, I force out a breath and try to get a grip.
