0012 ~ Elodie ~ The door clicked open and Margaret stepped in, arms full of folded clothes and blankets.
She froze the second she saw us.
Her eyes went from Vincent’s undone shirt to the torn neckline of my dress.
My skin was nearly bare.
I looked exactly like what he wanted her to think.
A knowing smile spread across her face.
She blushed, actually blushed, like she’d walked in on something sacred instead of a threat dressed up as passion.
“Oh dear,” she said.
“I’m so sorry.
Was I interrupting something?” “If I said no, I’d be lying,” Vincent said, that same smug grin fixed in place.
“You interrupted us, Margaret.
Don’t worry about it.
It happens.” “Oh, I really am sorry!” She hurried to set the blankets on the armchair, fussing with the corners like she needed something to do with her hands.
“I just wanted to bring you both something to sleep in.
I didn’t mean to barge in on your moment.” “That’s very thoughtful of you.
You can leave them there.
Thank you.” As he said it, his hand slid down to my hip and gripped hard enough to anchor me in place.
I gasped before I could stop myself.
My whole body went rigid.
Every instinct told me to shove him off, to scream, to tell Margaret exactly what kind of man was standing beside her in this room.
I bit it all down.
He looked at me, waiting.
A small, deliberate tilt of his head.
Speak.
I cleared my throat.
“Yes.
Thank you so much, Mrs.
Pemberton.
For the nightwear.” “You’re very welcome, dear.” Margaret smiled, warm and completely oblivious to the invisible blade at my throat.
She looked between us like we were the sweetest thing she’d seen all year.
“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it, then.
Enjoy the rest of your evening.” “Thank you, Margaret.” His fingers tightened on my hip, pulling me an inch closer.
He looked down at me, and for one horrible second it looked real.
“We’ll continue right where we left off.
Won’t we, sweetheart?” Heat flooded my face — humiliation and rage tangled up together until I couldn’t tell which was which.
I couldn’t get a proper sentence out.
“Mmm-hmm,” was all I managed.
Margaret took my flushed silence as bashfulness.
She laughed softly, backing toward the door with one last fond look over her shoulder.
“I’ll leave you both to it.
Goodnight, you two.” “Goodnight,” we said together.
The word came out hollow from both of us, like we’d rehearsed it.
The second the door clicked shut and her footsteps faded down the hall, the warmth dropped out of the room like a stone.
I twisted out of his grip and flung his arm off me like it was something diseased.
I stumbled back, putting as much space between us as the room allowed, chest heaving.
I didn’t bother hiding the disgust on my face.
“For the rest of tonight, you do not touch me,” I said, my voice shaking with the effort of keeping it steady.
“Do you understand?
Do not come near me.” He didn’t look angry.
If anything, he looked entertained, sliding his hands into his pockets like we were having a perfectly reasonable conversation.
“You seem to be forgetting something, Elodie.
I’m the boss in this arrangement.
I don’t take orders.
I give them.
Which means I can touch you whenever I want, wherever I want.” His eyes dragged down my body, slow, deliberate, like he was making a point of taking his time.
My skin crawled.
I crossed my arms hard over my chest.
“You sicken me,” I said.
He let out a low laugh, dry and humorless.
“I’ll sicken you a lot more before this is over, darling.
I’d start bracing yourself.” I clenched my jaw so hard it ached.
Nothing landed.
No matter what I threw at him, his face didn’t so much as flicker.
Arguing with him was like arguing with a wall — a wall that enjoyed watching you break your knuckles on it.
He took a step closer, his eyes dropping again to the ruined neckline of my dress.
I covered myself with my arms, and he rolled his eyes like I’d personally inconvenienced him.
Without another word, I turned and marched to the armchair where Margaret had left the clothes.
I dug through the pile until I found a black silk nightdress with thin straps, and its matching robe.
I clutched the fabric to my chest like it could actually protect me from anything.
I started backing toward the far side of the suite.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice cut across the room and stopped me cold.
I blinked at him.
“The bathroom.
To change.” I gestured toward the door on the opposite wall, like it should have been obvious.
He threw his head back and laughed.
Not the dry chuckle from before — a real laugh, loud and genuine, and it scared me more than his anger ever had.
My confusion curdled into something colder.
“You don’t need a bathroom to change your clothes, darling,” he said, and the laughter dropped out of his voice as fast as it had come.
The humor drained from his eyes.
What replaced it was dark and still, and it made him look like an entirely different person.
He wasn’t playing anymore.
“What…
what do you mean by that?” My voice came out smaller than I wanted it to.
Whatever bravery I’d been running on was already gone.
He didn’t answer.
He crossed the room to the leather sofa facing the bed and lowered himself into the middle of it, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
He crossed one leg over the other and draped his arm along the back of the couch.
A king settling in to watch something.
His expression gave me nothing.
Every nerve in my body was screaming that I was in trouble.
He watched me.
A full minute of it, maybe longer, his gaze heavy enough that I felt it on my skin like a hand.
I stood frozen, throat locked, trying to work out what he wanted from me.
Then he said it.
“Strip.” The word hit me like a slap.
My legs went weak.
The warmth drained out of my hands, my chest, everywhere at once, until I was just standing there, hollowed out, staring at him.
That same slow, wicked grin spread across his face — the one from the courthouse, the one that said he’d already won.
He looked at me like he owned me.
And as my heart slammed against my ribs, loud enough that I was sure he could hear it from the couch, I understood something with sick clarity.
In his world, he did.