The door to his bedroom slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing through the oppressive silence. The air was thick, heavy with tension, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. The weight of what was happening, the pull between resistance and something darker, made my skin crawl. The room felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in around us.
Alexander didn't wait for me to gather my thoughts. His hands moved quickly, possessively, finding the curve of my waist. His touch seared through the fabric of my clothes. There was no hesitation, no softness—just a raw, urgent need that made my heart race uncontrollably. His lips crushed against mine again, hot and desperate, and there was something more in that kiss—a sense of frustration, as though he needed to prove something. Not just to me, but to himself.
"You're mine," he murmured, his voice rough and possessive. The words slipped from his mouth like a claim, but there was something in his tone—a barely perceptible break—that hinted at something deeper. Something buried beneath the aggression. Regret? Guilt? I couldn't be sure.
I stiffened beneath his touch, my breath catching, fighting the instinct to pull away. But I couldn't ignore the part of me—disgusting and alien—that responded to his proximity. The confusion inside me churned, making it harder to think clearly.
"Do you think you can just force me into this?" I gasped, struggling to catch my breath. My chest heaved, but the tension in my body betrayed me, as if my very skin was betraying my thoughts.
He didn't answer at first. His gaze burned into mine, and for a moment, I saw it—just a flicker. Something dark flashed in his eyes. Frustration? Maybe even fear. Could it be possible? Alexander, the man who had controlled so much of my life, showing hesitation? It unsettled me more than his aggression did. He could sense my resistance, but he couldn't control it fully, and it seemed to bother him more than I'd expected.
"You have no choice, Emma," he said, his fingers digging into my skin like a reminder of his power. "You're already here. You're already mine."
His words should have made me hate him more, but something shifted inside me. The confusion that had plagued me for so long twisted into a knot of conflicting emotions. I didn't know why, but the weight of his control, his undeniable presence, made me feel... lost.
I tried to look past the haze of my emotions, searching his face for some sign of humanity beneath the hardness. Was it regret I saw, or just more possessiveness? Whatever it was, it threw me off balance, making the fight inside me harder to hold onto.
I wanted to scream at him, but my body betrayed me again. He spun me around so quickly I gasped as my back slammed against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from me, and his body pressed against mine—heavy, suffocating, and I couldn't escape. He leaned in close, his breath hot on my neck. I felt him pause for just a moment. Was he waiting for me to say something? Did he need me to submit? Was that what he wanted?
"Tell me you want this," he whispered, his voice low and insistent, the words like a command wrapped in something else. His lips grazed my ear, and I shuddered as his hands slid beneath my shirt, his fingers tracing the delicate skin of my stomach. I could feel the heat of his touch as my body involuntarily reacted, and it made me sick. But there was something deeper—a part of me that couldn't turn off the pull toward him, even though I hated every second of it.
I hated it. I hated him. But the words I wanted to say stuck in my throat. I couldn't deny the conflicting emotions inside me—anger, shame, desire. It was too much to process.
"You're a monster," I whispered, the words barely audible, shaking as they left my lips. "And yet..." I paused, struggling with myself. "I can't stop wanting you."
His eyes darkened in response, his lips crashing against mine once again. The kiss was harder this time, unforgiving, as though he was trying to erase the hesitation I'd shown. His hands moved with the same urgency, the same intensity, but now, there was something different—an almost tender tenderness. A strange gentleness beneath the cruelty.
"You're not the victim here, Emma," he murmured, his lips grazing my neck, his grip tightening on my hips. "You never were. You always knew what you were getting into."
"No," I whispered, shaking my head, my voice thick with emotion. "I never asked for this." The words felt bitter on my tongue, frustration building as I struggled to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.
His grip tightened further, his lips pressing harder against my skin. The rawness of his touch made me dizzy, as though I might lose myself in the sensation. He lifted me effortlessly, pulling me even closer. The weight of his desire pressed into me in a way that felt suffocating, overwhelming.
"Say it," he demanded, his voice thick with need. His hands slid lower, tugging at the fabric of my clothes. "Say you want me."
I opened my mouth to protest, to push him away, but my body responded before I could voice the words. I wanted to fight, to scream at him to stop, but instead, I found myself clinging to him, the pull of his touch impossible to resist.
"Say it," he growled, his lips brushing against my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, marking me in ways that made my blood run cold.
"I hate you," I breathed, my voice trembling, barely a whisper. The words felt like a lie, a betrayal of everything my body was telling me. "I don't know why you married me," I added, my voice shaking. "But your actions show that you married me out of lust. You just want a body."
For a brief moment, I saw something shift in his eyes. Something softer, almost vulnerable. Was it regret? I couldn't be sure. But before I could process it, the moment passed, and his expression hardened again. His grip tightened, and his voice, when he spoke, was dangerously calm.
"Careful, Emma," he said, his voice cool and detached. "You don't know what you're asking for."
I wanted to say more. To scream at him, but I couldn't. Not when I felt so trapped, so lost, so torn. I wanted to escape, but I didn't know how.
The sound shattered the tension, and I flinched, my heart leaping into my throat. My gaze snapped to the doorway, where Ethan stood frozen, his face a storm of anger, disbelief, and something I couldn't quite name.
"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence like a thunderclap.
Alexander didn't release me. His grip tightened on my waist, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a flash of something raw that I couldn't quite place. It wasn't anger. It was almost—fear? Fear of losing control. Fear of me. He turned to face Ethan with a calm that was as chilling as it was unnerving.
"She's my wife," Alexander said, his voice steady and cold. "This doesn't concern you."
Ethan's jaw clenched, and his fists tightened at his sides. His eyes burned with fury as they darted between Alexander and me. "She's not an object," he spat. "And she's not yours to control."
Alexander's lips curled into a faint smirk, though his eyes remained hard. "She's exactly where she belongs."
Ethan stepped forward, his voice trembling with rage. "Let her go now, or I'll make you regret it."
"You'll what?" Alexander interrupted smoothly, his tone laced with quiet menace. He straightened, his grip on me loosening just enough to be deliberate. "You're playing with fire, Ethan. And you don't even know what you're up against."
The tension crackled like static, the air between them thick with unspoken challenges. I felt Ethan's gaze soften, but only for a moment—before his jaw clenched again. His eyes flicked to me, a silent plea for understanding. This wasn't just about his father. This was about me. He wasn't here to fight Alexander—he was here to save me.
Ethan took another step closer, his eyes blazing. "This isn't over."
Alexander's smirk deepened, his gaze never leaving Ethan's. "No, it's not."
For a moment, no one moved. Then, with a calmness that sent a chill down my spine, Alexander released me and stepped back. His dark eyes met mine briefly—a silent promise that made my blood run cold.
"Remember this moment, Emma," echoed in my mind, and I felt the weight of it like a stone sinking into my chest. As he leaned his face closer to mine, I could feel his breath on my skin, a reminder of the danger that lurked within him. He put his lips on mine and whispered, "I always get what I want." The air around us seemed to crackle with tension as I realized the depth of his control over me. "And I want you."
"I don't know which one of them I'm more afraid of," I whispered, the words leaving my lips like a confession. As I watch Alex's eyes darken with desire, I know I am in deep trouble.