Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Everyone here already knows who owns me.
We head down a wide hallway toward the dining room, and the whole time, he never moves his hand. It’s pressed hard enough that it feels like a brand.
“Relax.” His tone drips with a mock concern that makes my skin crawl. “You look like you’re walking to your execution.”
“That’s certainly how it feels,” I answer quickly, trying to sound sharper than I feel.
He huffs a dark laugh. “If I wanted to kill you, Little Bird, I’d do it somewhere prettier.”
“Comforting,” I mutter.
He pushes open the dining room door. A long table sits in the center, set with white china and silver cutlery. An obscene amount of elegance for two people who could barely stand to breathe the same air last night.
He gestures to a chair. “Sit.”
I don’t want to, but I do.
He sits across from me, lounging back like this is a casual brunch and not the breakfast from hell.
A server enters, places a plate of food in front of each of us, and vanishes like a ghost.
Lorenzo picks up his fork and spins it in his hand with a bored flick. “Let’s talk rules.”
My stomach tightens. “Rules?”
He gives me a slow, almost amused look. “You didn’t think marriage came without terms, did you?”
I glare at him, refusing to let him see how much my hand shakes when I lift my water glass.
“What do you expect me to do?” I ask, voice tight. “You blew up my life. My job. My future. What now? Am I supposed to sit around like some . . . decorative hostage?”
He leans in slightly, shadows slicing across his cheekbones. “You hated working for your father.”
My throat closes. “That doesn’t mean I wanted you to take that from me.”
His mouth curves in a slow, vicious smile. “I didn’t take anything you weren’t already desperate to escape.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.” He taps the table once with two fingers. “But don’t worry. You won’t be working anymore.”
My spine snaps straight. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He cuts into his food with surgical precision. “You don’t need a job.”
“I need a life,” I fire back.
“You have one,” he says with a shrug that’s pure sin. “This one.”
“So my only job is to be a prisoner?”
“You’re my wife.”
“That’s not better.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
The air goes razor-sharp between us.
His eyes drop to my untouched plate, then back to me. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“I’ll eat when I’m not nauseous with dread.”
He chuckles, low and dark. “Your stomach will adjust.”
I want to throw the plate at his head.
Instead, I fold my hands in my lap and glare at him, my jaw aching from how hard I’m clenching it.
“What am I supposed to do all day,” I ask, “if I’m not allowed to work, leave, or function as a human being?”
He lifts his glass of coffee and takes a slow sip. “Take up a hobby.”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “A hobby?”
“Knitting, perhaps,” he deadpans. “Or gardening. Or pottery. Something domestic? Maybe something . . . soothing.”
“You’re insane.”
He shrugs. “Occupational hazard.”
“Be serious.”
“I am.” His gaze pins me. “If you need inspiration . . . maybe read.”
“Read what?”
He cocks his head, pretending to think. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe finish Wuthering Heights.”
My mouth goes dry.
His smirk widens. “See how it turned out for Cathy.”
I shove my chair back so hard that when it skids across the floor, the legs screech against polished wood.
Lorenzo watches me stand, completely unfazed or bothered.
It’s infuriating.
“You’re a monster,” I whisper.
His smile turns soft, and now I’m scared. I riled the beast. He’s like a wolf lowering its head before the kill. “Maybe. But you aren’t much better.”
I shake my head, confused.
“You still haven’t taken responsibility for what I’ve become.”
The room feels too hot. I reach the door before I realize my hands are trembling. As I grab the handle, his voice slides across the room.
“Breakfast is at eight every morning. Try not to be late tomorrow.”
I don’t look back.
Not because I’m strong.
But because I’m terrified of what I’ll see if I do.
36
Lorenzo
Victoria’s footsteps echo down the hall. Her retreat should make me happy, but instead, the farther she gets, the more it pisses me off. Every click of her shoes feels like I’m being stabbed.
When she turns the corner and disappears out of sight, I want to demand that she comes back. But something tells me that even if I ordered her to return, she’d tell me to fuck off.
It’s a bit of a turn-on if I’m being honest.
Her defiance.
Her strength.
It makes my dick hard.
As I stand there, staring at the empty doorway like she might walk back in, I have to adjust myself.
She doesn’t.
Obviously.
I drag a hand over my jaw and laugh.
“I’m pathetic.”
Thank fuck, no one is here to hear me.
It’s the one benefit of having an estate no one even knows about. Well, my armed guards are here, but none of them answer me or acknowledge if they even heard me. Having them here is necessary because I’m not allowed to have weaknesses. Not when my uncle is the one wearing the crown, and he would murder me if he knew what I have hidden here—namely, Victoria.