Stepped back into the room, deliberately, leaving the door ajar behind me.
He followed, silent, measured.
I stood at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, bracing myself—not to shrink, but to steel against whatever storm was coming.
He entered with long, deliberate strides, each one carrying a force behind him I had never felt before.
Heat, intent, obsession—he brought it all into the room with him.
Before I could react, his hand was at my waist, pulling me flush against him.
My body pressed against his, helplessly, and he didn’t move.
Not a second.
He just breathed me in, the faint scent of my hair curling around him, possession written in every line of his posture.
Then he spoke, voice clipped:
“No one else will see you like this. Not Ciro. Not any man. You exist for me—and me alone. You are my wife, and certain parts of you... exist only for my eyes.”
I lifted a brow, voice sharp:
“Certain parts? We haven’t even shared a bed since the wedding seven days ago. You’ve barely looked at me, let alone claimed anything. So which parts are yours?”
He exhaled slowly, jaw tight. “I am not ready to sleep beside the daughter of the man who ruined my life.”
Rage sparked in me.
I tried to shove him off, but he held firm, lifting my chin, his eyes locking onto mine.
And then his lips claimed mine—hard, demanding, savage.
I struggled, but he bit, kissed me like a man starved, his need raw and uncontainable.
When I finally pulled back, breath ragged, I spat the words out:
“Don’t you dare kiss me with the same mouth you used on your mistress.”
“I did not kiss her,” he said, panting, heat pressing me against him.
His grip tightened, hands mapping my sides, pulling me closer.
It did nothing to soften my hatred for him.
“You’re mine, Elena.”
Flat.
Absolute.
“On paper. In law. In this house. That means no one else touches you—or worse, sees you like this.”
My breath hitched, small and involuntary.
“I am not yours,” I spat, voice trembling with anger. “Not now. Not ever. My heart... it will never be yours. You hate me, and you humiliated me in front of her—just to make her happy.”
“And I hope you enjoyed your grand dinner with her,” I added, voice laced with sarcasm, even as a dull ache pressed against my chest, the memory of them together replaying relentlessly in my mind.
