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He swept the chair that separated us aside with a crash that echoed through the room and stormed toward me, his movements swift and determined.

Giving me no opportunity to object, he pulled me into his arms, his hands spanning my waist, fingers digging into the flesh just above my hips. His grip would leave bruises.

I struggled, pressing my palms against his chest. My nails scraped against the silk of his shirt, catching on a button.

He tightened his grasp as his hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing roughly over my lower lip, tugging it down to expose the inner wetness.

The pad of his thumb was calloused—the hand of a man who killed as easily as he caressed.

"Please don't fight me, babygirl," he pleaded.

I shook my head, my hair catching on the stubble of his jaw. "Stop. No. You don't understand."

As my struggles intensified even though my body betrayed me with every accidental brush against his hardness, he finally released me, his hands dropping to his sides.

I paced away from him, my arms crossed around my middle, shivering slightly despite the roaring fire. After putting some distance between us, I turned back to face him, drawn to him even in my desperation to escape.

"I don't want to love you. You are not a good man. You are dangerous and volatile. And while half the time you may make my body crave you in ways I didn't think possible," I admitted, heat flooding my cheeks, "the other half I’m terrified of you."

Blinking back the tears, I threw my head back to stare at the ceiling, the frescoed angels seeming to mock my plight. "You talk about my eyes? When I look into yours…I see nothing. Just a stark, unreadable darkness."

The engagement ring he'd forced onto my finger glowed red as it reflected the flames.

"Just because you love someone doesn't mean they are good for you. It doesn't mean they are the person you're meant to spend your life with." I swallowed past the lump in my throat, each word painful. "Sometimes, Sebastian, love isn't enough."

As much as it tore me apart to say the words, staying with him, staying silent, would hurt more.

"I'm fully aware there are literally millions of women who would fall to their knees and suck your cock on command for a ring like this. To be married to you."

But marrying him would be like disappearing into a black hole. My entire life revolving around his. Losing myself piece by piece until I became a shell of a person.

Until I turned into a woman like his mother.

And that was before I considered the games. The suspicion. The constant, exhausting performance of belonging in his world.

I didn’t trust him now. How could I trust him with the rest of my life?

His shoulders were rigid with tension, his hands fisted at his sides.

Still, he said nothing.

When I couldn't take the silence any longer, when the tension was so thick it suffocated me, making it impossible to breathe, I said, "Aren't you going to say anything? Anything at all?"

The muscle in his throat constricted as he swallowed.

A bead of sweat traced the strong column of his throat, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

My tongue darted out to wet my lips, my traitorous body imagining tasting that droplet, following its path downward. Heat bloomed across my chest, staining my skin crimson. My nipples pebbled painfully against the lace of my chemise, and I hated the way my body still responded to him.

Hated and craved it with equal measure.

Hated how powerful and in command he was, even in this moment. How all the energy in the room gravitated to him. Hated how badly I just wanted to run into his arms, press my ear against the strong heartbeat in his chest, and tell him to forget every horrible thing I’d just said.

But I couldn’t…

The silence stretched between us, taut and dangerous.

Every crack and crackle from the fire grated on my overwrought nerves.