She doesn’t speak to me during the drive.
She sits beside me, spine straight, shoulders stiff beneath the ivory lace of her wedding gown. Her hands stay folded neatly in her lap, fingers clasped so tightly the tips have gone white. She doesn’t look at me, not once—not even when I glance over and my eyes linger.
I don’t blame her.
She’s just been handed off to a man she has never met before. With a name she was raised to fear. A future she never chose for herself.
But she came with me. No fight, or fuss—no trying to run away.
She stood beside me and said the words ‘I do’. She let me slide my ring onto her finger. She kissed me in front of a hundred witnesses and didn’t flinch when I pressed my hand low against her back to lead her away. She came willingly into my fold, into my family, and into my life.
That’s enough—for now.
Still, I can feel her silence like a scream.
When we pull through the iron gates of the villa, dusk has softened the lake to glass. Lights burn low in the windows. The staff have gone—sent home hours ago at my instruction. No witnesses. No interruptions.
No one sees her but me.
I step out first, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt as I round the car. She hesitates for just a moment before placing her hand in mine. Cold fingers. Shaky grip. But she doesn’t pull away.
I guide her up the stone steps, through the heavy front doors, and into the hush of the foyer. The chandelier overhead glows, casting golden light across the polished marble floors. The air smells like rose petals and firewood. Like something sacred waiting to be ruined.
“Where is everyone?” she asks, looking around.
“Gone.”
She swallows. “You cleared the house.”
“Yes.”
“To make sure I couldn’t make a scene or run?”
“No,” I say, and pause. “To make sure no one else could look at you tonight.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t say anything. She just follows me up the staircase, the hem of her gown brushing against the carpet runner like a whisper. I take us to the farthest room—the quietest one. The bedroom I had prepared hours ago, before the ceremony, before the toast, before the ink of our names dried on the marriage register.
When I open the door, the scent of beeswax and roses wafts out.
Candles burn low in wrought-iron sconces. The fire crackles in the hearth. A trail of white petals lines the floor, spilling across the velvet runner at the end of the bed. The mattress is turned down. Champagne chills in a silver bucket by the window.
She freezes in the doorway, not crossing the threshold into the room.
Her eyes scan the room like she’s looking for a trap.
“This was never your choice,” I say, stepping behind her, my voice low. “But it’s still your night.”
She turns to face me, the light catching her eyes. “You promised I’d be safe.”
“You are.”
“Then why did you lock the door behind us?”
I meet her stare, unflinching. “Because I don’t trust myself not to walk away if you ask me to.”
The air thickens between us.
She blinks, and I can see the war playing out behind her eyes. Fear. Defiance. Curiosity.
I step closer. Slowly. Deliberately. Like I’m approaching a wild and untamed animal that is cornered. I stop just in front of her, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin.
“If you want me to sleep somewhere else, say so,” I offer.
She doesn’t speak. But she doesn’t move away either.
Her throat bobs as she swallows. Her lashes flutter once. And then—quietly—she says, “What if I don’t?”
My breaths are heavy.
“Then I’ll show you exactly what it means to belong to me.”
I lift a hand and brush a strand of hair behind her ear. She trembles beneath my touch, but she doesn’t flinch. Her eyes stay locked on mine.
“Take off the dress,” I say softly.
She stiffens.
I let the silence stretch, then lean in to whisper against the bare skin of her neck.
“Let me.”
I move behind her slowly. My fingers find the zipper hidden at the base of her spine, and I lower it one inch at a time, exposing pale skin that glows like silk in the candlelight. She stands dead still, her breaths shallow, her body taut with a tension that isn’t quite fear.
The gown slides down, pooling around her feet with a soft rustle.
She stands in lace and satin. Stockings. No bra. A garter that makes my cock twitch.
I circle to face her again.
And stop.
She’s exquisite.
Hair tousled. Nipples peaked. Hips curving beneath the delicate band of silk.
My voice drops to a rasp. “Have you ever let a man see you like this?”
She shakes her head, barely a whisper of movement.
“Good.”
I trail a finger down the center of her chest, past the valley between her breasts, down over her ribs, her stomach, until I reach her hip. She gasps when I make contact. Not from pain—just surprise.
“You’re mine now,” I say quietly. “No one else gets this. No one else gets you like this. Understand?”
She nods, slow and silent.
I lean in and kiss her.
Her lips are soft and hesitant. She tastes like champagne and fear. Her hands hover awkwardly at her sides until, finally, they lift and rest against my chest.
That first touch. It wrecks me.
I scoop her into my arms and carry her to the bed. She clutches my shoulders as I lay her down between the petals and silk and shadows.
“You don’t have to do anything,” I murmur, settling beside her. “You just have to let me.”
Her reply is a whisper. “Okay.”
I undress slowly. I lock eyes with her as she watches me. Her gaze tracing every inch of bare skin, wide with apprehension.
When I join her, I press soft kisses along her throat, over her collarbone, down her chest.
Her body moves—an arch, a breath, a tremble.
She’s aching for something she’s never had. Something only I can give her.
I drag my fingers down her belly, between her thighs.
She moans.
“Soaked already,” I murmur, my voice thick. “You’re made for this. For me.”
I taste her first. Long, slow strokes of my tongue. She gasps, fists the sheets, writhes beneath my mouth. Her eyes squeezed closed as I hold her hips and whisper praise between every pass of my tongue.
“That’s it. Let go. Let me feel you come on my tongue.”
She shudders. Breaks. Cries out, her chest heaves with each breath she takes.
But I’m not done.
When I finally slide inside my aching cock her, it’s slow. Deliberate. She holds her breath, but she doesn’t tell me to stop. She clutches my arms, her eyes wide, body so fucking tight around me.
“You’re so damn perfect,” I whisper into her mouth. “I’ve got you.”
I move slowly, worshipping her with inch I add inside her. Stretching her open to take me, the wetness and heat of her pussy only making my cock hungry for more.
She moans. Whimpers. Reaches for me like I’m the only thing that can save her and wreck her at the same time.
And I am.
I whisper filth against her ear—promises, praises, possession.
Her body tightens around my cock, she shudders beneath me with a muffled cry. She comes with a broken moan, and I can’t even try hold back, I’m spilling inside her with a low groan even though I wanted this to last.
I don’t move.
I just hold her. Let the fire crackle and the silence consume us. Let myself believe—for this one moment—that having her doesn’t mean I’ve already killed her.
Because she doesn’t know what kind of man I am.
Tonight, she let me pretend I’m something softer. It’s a lie—this is not me.
