I absorbed them without flinching.
She stepped forward instead of back, chin lifted, shoulders squared despite the tremor running through her.
"I signed a contract. Not a fucking deed of ownership." Her voice climbed, heat bleeding through every syllable. "You can have six months of my time. My presence in this house. Whatever the hell else you think you bought." Her hands shook when she pointed at me. "But you don't get me. You don't get my thoughts, my feelings, my—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I will never want you."
The declaration landed exactly where she aimed it.
Dead center.
Meant to wound.
I let the silence sit between us, heavy and charged. Watched the way her chest rose and fell too fast. The way her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides. The way she held her ground even though every instinct probably screamed at her to run.
Good. Fire lasts longer than fear.
Most women I'd known learned to perform. To soften edges, to smile through gritted teeth, to make themselves palatable.
Belle didn't. She stood there burning, refusing to dim herself for my comfort.
I respected that more than she'd ever know. "You're right." My voice came out quieter than before. Steadier. "You're not property."
Her eyes narrowed, suspicious.
I took one step closer.
Then another.
Until we stood close enough that I could see gold flecks in her brown eyes, could smell whatever soap she used—something clean and simple that didn't try to seduce.
"The contract says you're here. It says you'll do what I ask." I paused, let the weight of it settle. "It doesn't say anything about wanting."
Her breath hitched.
"So hate me, Belle." I said it like a dare. Like permission. "Hate me every second of every day for the next six months." I leaned in just enough that my words ghosted across her face. "But you'll still be in my bed when I tell you to be."
She didn't back down. Didn't look away. Just stood there, furious and trapped and refusing to break.
Beautiful.
Her hand flew up faster than I expected.
I caught her wrist mid-swing, fingers wrapping around bone and fury before her palm could connect. The shock in her eyes lasted half a second before rage flooded back in.
I pulled. One smooth motion brought her stumbling forward, chest colliding with mine, close enough that I felt the sharp intake of breath she tried to hide.
I bent my head, let my mouth graze the shell of her ear. "You like it rough?"
She went rigid against me.
"I can do rough." The words came out low, steady, deliberate. "Can hold you down so you can't move. Pin those wrists above your head while I take my time learning every sound you make when you stop pretending you don't want this."
Her pulse hammered beneath my thumb.
"Can fuck you face-down on that bed until you forget your own name. Until the only word you remember is mine." I felt her tremble—rage or something else, I didn't care which yet. "Can make you beg for it. Make you scream for it."
She shoved hard at my chest.
I let her wrist go.
