Panic flutters beneath my ribs. I knew this was coming—knew that marriage meant proximity I couldn’t control, intimacy I wasn’t ready for—but standing here in this bedroom with Felix watching me like I’m a problem he’s still calculating how to solve, the reality feels overwhelming.
“I need time,” I say, hating how my voice wavers.
“Take all the time you need.” His tone doesn’t soften, but something shifts in his expression. “I’m not going to force you into anything you’re not ready for.”
The reassurance should help. It doesn’t. The problem isn’t fear that he’ll force me; the problem is the traitorous heat that’s been building every time he touches me, every time proximity collapses into something dangerous.
My body doesn’t seem to care about hatred when he steps close enough that I can smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating off him.
“You don’t get to dictate my entire existence,” I snap, shoving at his chest with both hands.
He catches my wrists, his grip firm. “I get to keep you alive. That requires certain appearances.”
“I’m not your performing wife.” I wrench against his hold, futile but necessary. “I agreed to marry you. I didn’t agree to play happy couple for your syndicate colleagues.”
“You agreed to become my wife. That includes responsibilities beyond signing paperwork.” His fingers tighten slightly, not painful but unmistakably controlling.
“Responsibilities like pretending this is protection instead of ownership?”
“Like accepting that protection and ownership aren’t mutually exclusive in this world.”
The honesty of it—the blunt acknowledgment that he views me as both asset to protect and possession to claim—ignites something volatile inside me. I shove at him again, harder, and this time he releases my wrists.
We stand inches apart, breathing hard, the air between us charged with anger and something far more dangerous. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingers there long enough that heat floods through me despite every logical reason to pull away.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I tell him, though my voice comes out rougher than intended. “Marriage doesn’t make me yours.”
“Doesn’t it?” He reaches up slowly, giving me time to retreat, and cups my jaw with one hand. His thumb brushes across my lower lip, the touch light enough to feel questioning rather than demanding. “You’re wearing my ring and sleeping in my bed. Bound to me legally in ways you can’t undo. What part of that isn’t mine?”
The possessiveness should repel me. Should remind me that this man let my brother die, that he’s kept me prisoner for weeks, that everything about this arrangement is coercion dressed as choice.
When his thumb presses slightly against my lip, my mouth parts without conscious decision.
The sharp inhale I take betrays me completely. Felix’s eyes darken, recognition flickering across his expression as he catalogs my reaction with the same analytical precision he applies to everything.
“You’ve never done this,” he says quietly, and it’s not a question.
Humiliation burns hot through the desire. I try to step back, but his hand shifts to the back of my neck, holding me in place gently.
“Diana.” My name in his voice sounds different. “Answer me.”
“Does it matter?” The deflection is weak.
“Yes.”
I force myself to meet his gaze, refusing to let shame make me retreat. “No. I haven’t. Are you satisfied?”
Something shifts in his expression—surprise, maybe, or calculation adjusting to new information. His hand slides from my neck down to my waist, fingers spreading across the curve where the dress pulls tight.
“Satisfied isn’t the word I’d use.” His voice drops lower, rough around the edges in a way I haven’t heard before. “It changes things.”
“How?”
Instead of answering, he pulls me closer, eliminating the remaining space between us. My hands come up instinctively to brace against his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath expensive fabric, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat that betrays none of the tension coiled in his body.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper, even as my fingers curl into his shirt.
“Probably.” His mouth hovers near mine, breath warm against my lips. “So tell me to stop.”
