Lucia stood in the doorway of Malcolm's room, her fingers brushing the edge of her skimpy silk dress. The dim lighting seemed to amplify the tension between them as she shut the door behind her, her movements deliberate and unhurried.
Malcolm's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "What are you wearing, Lucia?"
She turned to face him, feigning innocence as she batted her lashes. "Clothes," she replied coolly, leaning back against the door.
His brows furrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "We're changing your wardrobe today," he stated, stepping toward her. His tone was commanding, leaving no room for argument. "Pick my outfit for the day."
Lucia tilted her head, defiance shining in her eyes as she stayed rooted in place. "Why do you have maids, Malcolm?" she asked, her voice calm but firm.
Malcolm stopped mid-step, clearly caught off guard. Few people dared to question him, let alone challenge him like this.
"Excuse me?" he said, his voice low and sharp.
"What's the point of having them if you're going to treat me like a servant?" she continued, meeting his gaze without flinching.
For a moment, the room was silent. Malcolm's jaw clenched, his posture stiffening as he processed her words.
"You're testing my patience, Lucia," he said finally, his voice dangerously low.
"What do you want from me, Malcolm?" she demanded, her voice rising slightly. "Why are you doing this to me? We barely know each other, yet you act like I owe you my entire life. Why?"
Malcolm didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers. The weight of his presence was suffocating, but Lucia refused to back down.
"Pick out my outfit, Lucia," he said again, ignoring her questions.
"No," she snapped, her voice firm. "I won't."
His eyes darkened, his temper barely restrained. "Don't force my hand," he warned, his tone icy.
"Why are you behaving like this?" she shouted, her frustration boiling over. "If all you want to do is make my life miserable, then let's speed up the divorce and get it over with. Stephanie is back, isn't she?"
At the mention of Stephanie, Malcolm's expression hardened. His gaze swept over her, lingering on the neckline of her dress, where her skin glowed under the soft light. Her arms crossed beneath her chest, pushing her curves into prominence, and his resolve faltered.
"I can see you're ready to perform your marital duties," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as his eyes roved over her figure.
"Don't even think about it!" Lucia snapped, stepping back as she glared at him. "I'll never sleep with you, Malcolm. Never!"
"Oh, really?" he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Then why are you dressed like that? You like attention, don't you? That's why you went to the club dressed like that, isn't it?"
His words stung, but before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, his hand wrapping possessively around her waist.
"Let me tell you something, Lucia," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "You belong to me—at least for the next six months."
Lucia's heart raced as she struggled against his hold, her smaller frame no match for his strength. "Let me go, Malcolm!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the spacious room.
"Remember the rules, Lucia," he said, his grip tightening as he leaned in closer. "I'm a man of my word. You agreed to this."
His breath was warm against her neck, and the scent of his cologne was overwhelming. For a brief moment, she froze, her mind racing. She couldn't let him win—not like this.
"Where's your integrity, Malcolm?" she spat, her voice sharp. "You're a businessman, aren't you? You made those seven rules so stick to your own rules!"
Her words seemed to snap something within him. He released her abruptly, his expression a mix of frustration and something deeper—something he couldn't quite name.
"Pick my outfit, Lucia," he said one last time before turning and storming into the bathroom.
As the sound of running water filled the room, Lucia sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She needed to stay strong—to find a way to regain control.
Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Malcolm stared at his reflection in the mirror, his hands gripping the edge of the sink. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as he tried to calm the storm raging inside him.
"What's wrong with me?" he muttered under his breath. If he'd stayed a moment longer, he might have lost all control.
Three days ago, he'd handed her a list of rules, expecting her to follow them without question. Now, those rules seemed to mock him. He'd told her not to step into his private space, yet he'd been the one to bring her here. He'd told her not to meddle in his affairs, yet he couldn't seem to stop meddling in hers.
Stephanie's face flashed in his mind, but it was quickly replaced by Lucia's defiant gaze. She was nothing like Stephanie. She was fiery, unpredictable, and maddeningly irresistible.
"If she can make me waver in just two days," he thought, "what will six months do to me?"
Malcolm shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. He couldn't afford to lose focus—not now.
When he finally emerged from the bathroom, his expression was composed, but his eyes betrayed the turmoil within. Lucia was still seated on the bed, her posture tense.
"Pick my outfit," he said again, his voice softer this time.
Lucia glanced at him, her expression unreadable. Without a word, she rose to her feet and walked toward the closet, her movements deliberate. If he wanted a game, she'd play it—but on her own terms.
As she rifled through his collection of suits, a plan began to form in her mind. She wasn't going to let him break her. Not now, not ever.