Marley's eyelids fluttered open, the clatter of metal against wood slicing through the silence and dragging her from the depths of sleep. She groaned, a hand pressed to her forehead as she sat up, the bedsheets pooling around her waist. Her mind was still tangled in the remnants of dreams, the kind that left you yearning for a reality that never was.
"Blazes..." she muttered, pushing herself off the bed with a gracelessness that spoke volumes of her disorientation. She needed the bathroom, or at least that's where her half-asleep brain urged her to go. But as she turned, the unfamiliar room came back into focus. Right, not her apartment. The Adams family mansion—Dane's territory.
Bare feet shuffled on the plush carpet, and Marley didn't bother with caution. A muffled thud followed as her hip collided with the cabinet beside the bed. "Damn it," she hissed under her breath, annoyance replacing grogginess. And then, there it was—a glint on the floor, catching the sliver of moonlight sneaking through the curtains.
"Since when?" Her voice was a whisper to herself as she leaned down, fingers closing around the cold metal. It was a pocket watch, gold and ornate, the kind of accessory that screamed old money and secrets.
Recognition slammed into her, clear and sharp. "No way." She stood there, clutching the watch, memories rushing back unbidden. The night she'd snatched Dane's jacket in a rush to leave, the weight of the watch in her palm, the cab driver's quizzical look as she thrust it at him for fare. Why was it here, in front of her, as if mocking her with its presence?
"Of all the things to find here," she breathed, turning the watch over in her hand, heart drumming a frantic rhythm. How did it get back here, to Dane's lair, when it should've been ticking away in some cabbie's pocket?
"Okay, Marley, think," she muttered to herself, a frown etching lines across her forehead. "Did he track it down? Or—"
The thought went unfinished, severed by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Her fingers caressed the cold gold, tracing the intricate engravings, the watch feeling more like an accusation than an artifact. Marley knew all too well the weight of things unsaid, of secrets kept just beneath the surface. And this watch? It screamed silent tales of Dane's past, whispers of a life she'd only brushed against in the darkest hours of the night.
"Guess you're not just any trinket, are you?" she said to the watch, her voice laced with sarcasm, though no one was there to appreciate it. Her thoughts skittered towards Dane, that insufferable man with his piercing eyes and disarming smugness. This watch was a piece of him, a piece of his history, and now it lay in her hands once more, a golden enigma wrapped in mystery and a hint of cologne that seemed to linger from that night.
"Looking for something?"
The voice sliced through the silence, cold as the steel of the watch itself. Marley jerked upright, the watch slipping behind her back as though it could hide along with her racing heart. Dane filled the doorway, his presence like a shadow cast by an eclipse.
"Uh—just—" she stammered, but the words tangled on her tongue, useless.
"Give it to me." His command ricocheted off the walls. There was no room for debate in those four words, sharp as shards of glass.
"Wait, Dane," Marley began, voice laced with an edge of defiance. "About last time, I—"
"Save it." He cut her off, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing into slits. "That watch isn't yours to lose, or give away, or whatever it is you do with other people's things."
"Hey, I didn't know—" Marley protested, but the heat of his glare told her that excuses were as good as ash here. She swallowed hard, the taste of guilt bitter on her tongue. "It's important to you, isn't it?"
"Of course, it is." His voice was a low growl, his steps measured as he closed the distance between them.
Her breath hitched as Dane's fingers dug into the soft flesh of her shoulder, a pointed reminder of his strength. The sharp twinge of pain was enough to silence her impending confession.
"Ouch," she hissed, the sting blooming like a cruel blossom on her skin. "There's no need for—" But the words died in her throat as he plucked the watch from her grasp with an unyielding grip.
"Thinking of keeping it as a memento?" Dane's voice dripped with derision as he toyed with the retrieved timepiece between his fingers. His smirk cut deeper than the physical ache of his hold.
"Hardly," Marley spat back, rubbing her now-throbbing shoulder. "I don't hold onto things that aren't mine."
"Is that so?" He cocked an eyebrow, the mockery clear in his tone. "Then why do I find you here, clutching my possessions, looking every bit the part of a thief caught in the night?"
"Accident. Pure accident." She retreated a step, but her defiance stood its ground. "And since when did returning lost property become a crime in the Adams' moral code?"
"Ah, Marley, ever so quick to justify herself," he drawled, circling her like a predator assessing its prey. The air seemed to thin with each taunt that fell from his lips.
"Keep your thoughts to yourself, Dane," she shot back, chin lifted defiantly even as her heart raced. "They're about as welcome as a storm cloud on a sunny day."
"Touché." His laugh was cold, more chilling than any winter wind. "But tell me, do you really think marrying into the Adams family would make you someone of importance? Dream on, darling."
The words were a slap, cruel and unexpected. His condescension stung, drawing her ire to the surface like oil slicks on water.
"Who said anything about marriage? You?" She folded her arms across her chest, protecting herself against the barrage of his insinuations.
"Please," he scoffed, stepping closer until his presence was oppressive. "We both know you've been dining on dreams of grandeur since you stumbled into my bed."
"Your arrogance is astounding," she retorted, refusing to let him see the hurt coiling inside her. "You think too highly of yourself if you believe I harbor such fantasies."
"Yet here you stand, dreaming," he sneered, his smirk a dagger twisting in her pride.
"Keep your gold watch and your golden surname," Marley countered, her anger a fiery cloak around her trembling frame. "I want nothing from you."
Dane towered over her, a monolith of cold disdain. His shadow draped over her like a suffocating shroud, and Marley felt the weight of his gaze pushing her down. She lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to cower.
He loomed closer, a sneer playing upon his lips. "Still playing the martyr, Marley? Who are you trying to fool?"
"Definitely not you," she spat back, her pulse throbbing angrily in her temples.
"Every woman wants the privilege of being an Adams," he drawled, cocky self-assuredness oozing from every syllable. "But you, darling, you're no different than the rest."
"Privilege?" Her laugh was bitter, acrid. "More like a life sentence."
His eyes narrowed, the blue of them hardening like ice. He leaned in, his breath hot against her face. "You think you're special? You're just Marley Brooks."
"Special? No." She held his gaze, unblinking. "But not desperate either."
The world blurred as Marley's hand cut through the air—an instinctive, desperate bid for control. But Dane was quicker, his reflexes honed by years of boardroom battles and personal wars. His fingers wrapped around her wrist like steel bands, arresting her momentum with ease.
"Know your place," he hissed, a glacier of contempt in his voice. "You're here to bear an heir—that's the deal."
His eyes were twin voids, devoid of warmth as they drilled into hers. Her pulse hammered against his grip, each throb a silent cry for freedom.
"Love? Innocence?" He scoffed, the sound slicing through the tension. "Don't be naive. This is a game for grown-ups, Marley. And your dignity? It's not worth the change in my pocket."
She sucked in a ragged breath, the insult branding itself onto her soul. Fury twisted her features before she could school them into impassivity.
"Go to hell, Dane."
With a snarl, he shed his coat like a second skin, casting it aside with such force that it slapped against the floor at the foot of the bed—a discarded symbol of his simmering rage.
"Adult play?" Marley's voice trembled with anger, her words laced with scorn. "Is that what you call this cruel charade?"
Then, with a predatory swiftness, he was upon her, his body a cage pinning her down to the mattress. She shoved against his chest, her palms a feeble barrier between them.
"Don't—don't touch me!"
Insecurity gnawed at her insides, a worm in the apple of her defiance. His presence loomed over her, an eclipse throwing her world into shadow.
"Touch?" The word rolled off his tongue, icy and detached. "I haven't even started."
Marley's thoughts raced, a frenzied whirlwind. 'This isn't about desire,' she realized. 'It's about power.'
"Get off!" Each word was a bullet, fired point-blank.
He leaned in close, so near she could see the frost in his gaze. "Make no mistake—I can take whatever I want."