Page 147 of Brutal Heir

I wanted her pregnant. I wanted my flesh and blood growing inside of her.

Not for revenge.

Not for my family.

Not for the House of Diamanti.

But for me.

Because I wanted to bind her to me—forever.

I knew now that even in death, I would give her no peace.

She was mine, and I was keeping her.

My world was a gilded cage, beautiful and inescapable, and once she stepped fully inside, there would be no way out.

Not for her. Not ever.

CHAPTER 40

SABRINA

The first thing I noticed was the soreness—not just the deep ache between my thighs but the sharp sting of bark fragments pressing against my skin.

Then the scent hit me, spiced cologne, warm and rich.

Sebastian.

I bolted upright, my muscles protesting with every move. I flew my hands to my hair, where bits of dirt and tiny twigs were tangled from…last night.

Heat flushed through me while the memories surged back: the courtyard, the fight, his hands on me. Always him.

I wasn’t in my room.

Sebastian’s bedroom loomed around me, vast and imposing. Crimson linens draped the massive four-poster bed, the dark wood as severe as the man who owned it. Sunlight filtered through heavy velvet curtains, casting the space in muted shades of blood and shadow.

The room was luxurious; ornate carvings along the wardrobe doors, frescoed ceilings with soft hues of gold and blue, and a marble floor so cold it made me shiver.

I darted my gaze to the bureau. My perfume bottles. My makeup. My belongings. They’d been moved here without my consent.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the icy marble shocking against my bare feet. The ache in my body, the dirt tangled in my hair, and now this.

It all painted a frightening picture.

I wasn’t a guest. I wasn’t even a prisoner.

I was his property.

Determined to reclaim some semblance of control, I crossed the room to a set of immense double doors. They creaked open to reveal a wardrobe that could have been mistaken for a designer boutique in Milan.

The space stretched far beyond what I imagined, with shelves, racks, and drawers lined in pristine order. Rows of silk blouses, tailored dresses, and stiletto heels gleamed under soft lighting.

I ran my fingers along the delicate fabrics.

These weren’t my clothes.

Every item here reeked of Sebastian’s influence, from the perfectly pressed suits to the cocktail dresses that whispered elegance and submission.