Page 29

“Mr. Ashford said you would need a few things,” Melanie offers curtly as she points to a small pile of boxes on the desk. “A new laptop, phone, and a few other essentials. Everything is already set up, and your new number is on the card on the desk.”

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asks, and I can’t help but notice how her question doesn’t quite carry the same purr as when she asked Vance.

I shake my head, too consumed with my thoughts and my throat too tight to speak. She nods and curtly exits, closing the door behind her, leaving me alone with the grandeur of my new office. After crossing the room to the floor-to-ceiling windows, I stare out at the city, a sprawling kingdom of steel and glass that belongs to the man who owns me. I am the queen of a kingdom I never wanted, a faux ruler of a realm that, until a few days ago, I thought I understood.

The evening has been a tedious parade of false smiles and meaningless chatter. Watching Sophia from across the room has been the only interesting thing in this entire suffocating affair. She is a vision in a strapless emerald silk gown that clings to every curve. Curves I can’t stop thinking about putting my hands on. Or turning a beautiful shade of red. Both of which have been a nightly occurrence for the past week.

Sophia has been testing me since our wedding night. Thus far, my punishments have done nothing to deter her persistent bratty behavior. Tonight has been no different. They might be small acts of defiance that our company doesn’t notice, but I see everything. And tonight, she seems determined to see just how far she can push me in public before I snap.

“Vance,” she murmurs when she approaches, her voice tight with forced civility. “I’ve been circulating as you requested. Telling everyone I meet how happy I am to be Mrs. Ashford…” Every word oozes with disdain and sarcasm. It’s so thick that I nearly expect her eyes to fully roll to the back of her head before she finishes speaking. “And how much I love my new husband.”

I snake my arm around her waist and pull her flush against my side. “That’s a good girl,” I whisper into her ear, feeling her shiver against me. “Maybe you can learn to do it without the attitude.”

Her body stiffens in my hold. “I’m not a dog to be trained.”

“No, you’re not,” I agree, my lips brushing against her temple as my fingers tighten their hold on her hip. “Dogs are much less defiant. And don’t have perfectly round asses that need regular attention.”

Her cheeks flush, and I can almost hear the thoughts racing through her mind. She might hate this life I’ve forced her into, but she can’t deny the way her body responds to me.

Before I can continue, Charles Whittington, the hospital’s board chair, approaches. Sophia pastes on a brilliant smile that could be recognized as fake from space. “Vance,” he greets me, shaking my hand. “A pleasure as always. And this must be the new Mrs. Ashford.”

“Sophia,” she shares when he reaches for his hand.

“I hope you are both having a remarkable time this evening.”

“We are,” she replies, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I was just telling Vance how much more effective direct community investment would be. Rather than grand gestures at galas like this, perhaps the board should consider funding smaller clinics directly in the neighborhoods where they need them the most”

Charles’s eyebrows rise as the muscle in my jaw twitches. “What an interesting perspective,” he replies thoughtfully. “Perhaps we could discuss that further at a more private meeting.”

“Unfortunately,” I interject, trying to maintain my calm demeanor, “my wife is still learning the nuances of large-scale philanthropy. We wouldn’t want her to misrepresent The Ashford Group’s or the family’s position before she’s been fully briefed on all the complexities.”

Sophia’s smile falters, but she doesn’t ease off the brattiness. “Of course not. I’m simply suggesting that sometimes the most meaningful impact comes from smaller, more personal investments, rather than corporate tax write-offs masquerading as generosity.”

An uncomfortable chuckle bubbles from Charles, and I realize how soon this conversation needs to be over. “A fascinating discussion for another time,” I interrupt, tightening my hold on Sophia to steer her away. “If you’ll excuse us, Charles.”

He nods, and I usher her from the conversation. The moment we’re out of earshot, I lean close and gruffly whisper, “What the fuck was that?”

“I was mingling,” she sasses. “Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to show off for you?”

“You know exactly what you’re fucking doing,” I snarl, gripping her upper arm hard enough that my fingertips dimple into her flesh. “Testing me. Seeing how far you can push me in public.”

“Unlike your other puppets, I actually have a brain. I suggest you remember that.”

“Careful, Sophia,” I warn. “You are forgetting your place.”

Her eyes flashing with rebellion, she shoots back, “Or maybe I’m finding it.”

I’ve had more than enough of her insolence this week. “We’re leaving.” Without another word, I grab her hand and pull her toward the exit. She stumbles behind me in her stilettos, but I don’t slow my pace.

“Vance!” she blurts as we’re met with the cool night air when I drag her outside. “Stop! People are staring.”

“Let them stare,” I growl, not breaking stride. “Let the whole fucking city know what happens when my wife can’t behave.”

“Where are we going?” Her lower lip quivers, matching the unease in her voice.

Ignoring her, I walk briskly to the underground garage with her in tow. It’s mostly empty at this hour, save for the occasional footstep or the echoes of a distant engine through the concrete structure. When we reach my Valkyrie, I spin her to face me before pinning her against the passenger side door.

“Vance,” she whines. “You’re hurting me.”