Chapter Fourteen: Lingering of a Lover.

Violet Virgilson.

The carriage ride back wasn't a return. It was a punishment.

Rudolpho sat across from me, smugness dripping from every pore, while I sat stiff-backed, forcing my hands to stay still when every instinct screamed to claw the door open and run barefoot through the streets.

His eyes gleamed, hard and satisfied, like a hunter with a wounded animal in his snare.

Vincent's eyes haunted me instead. Dark, desperate, wounded when I said those words. You are just a lover. The lie still burned on my tongue. The wound still bled in my chest.

"You did well," Rudolpho finally said.

My head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"You ended it. You came back with me. That's all that matters."

I leaned forward, voice like venom. "You think I ended anything?"

His jaw flexed, his composure straining. "You're my wife. Not his mistress."

I smirked bitterly. "Then maybe you should've remembered that before you threw me to the wolves."

He twitched, his hand jerking up-ready to strike me. But he froze, realizing where we were.

Because the carriage had stopped. At my mother's house.

---

When I stepped out, the sight of her on the doorstep nearly broke me.

"Violet!" she cried, rushing forward, arms open. "Oh, thank heavens-"

She froze when she saw Rudolpho looming behind me.

"Mum," I whispered fiercely as she hugged me. "You shouldn't have told him where I was."

Her body went rigid. Her eyes darted nervously to Rudolpho, then back to me. But before she could answer, Rudolpho's voice cut through like a whip.

"Mum, leave us."

My mother shrank back.

Rudolpho grabbed my chin, tilting my face to his, his grip bruising. "Next time you think to run, remember this." His eyes slid meaningfully to my mother. "There are always consequences."

I jerked free. "You're a coward, Rudolpho. Hiding behind women."

His hand swung halfway before he caught himself. Even then, the fury in his eyes nearly knocked the breath from me.

He turned on his heel, snapping, "Come. Enough theatrics."

And just like that, he herded me back into the carriage, leaving my mother trembling in the doorway.

---

That night, after he'd paraded me through his estate like a trophy, after his eyes had prowled and accused and threatened, I escaped to the garden.

And she followed.

"Violet," my mother whispered, wringing her hands. "I didn't mean to-I only told him because he said-he said he'd ruin us both if I didn't. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted you to marry him."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "But you did it anyway."

Her eyes shone. "I thought I was protecting you. Please, forgive me."

I looked at her, my chest aching, torn between fury and the weary love that refused to die.

"Mum," I whispered, voice cracking. "You don't protect a daughter by handing her to a wolf."

She broke then, sobbing quietly into her hands, while I stood in the moonlight, heart heavy, lungs burning with the ghost of Vincent's kiss.

Because even in this cage, he lingered.

And God help me, I wanted him more than freedom itself.

---

Vincent Virenson.

The silence after Violet left wasn't silence at all.

It was war drums.

Every tick of the clock was her voice replaying: You're just a lover.

But her eyes-those eyes had betrayed her. They had screamed: Don't believe me. I'm lying for you.

And that was enough to damn me. Enough to keep me pacing the floor of my empty house like a caged beast, fists clenched, whiskey burning down my throat.

The boys avoided me. Smart. They knew better than to laugh when my temper was this sharp.

Still, Anders, bold idiot, asked at the racing spot one night, "Boss-you want us to... take care of the husband?"

I turned on him so fast he stumbled back.

"No," I snarled. "He doesn't get to die so easily. He gets to live knowing she'll never love him."

The boys went silent. Good. Let them feel the weight of it.

---

Nights were hell.

I lit cigars, I drank, I threw myself into races, fists, blood, sweat, but none of it dulled her.

Her lips. Her voice. That whisper, soft as smoke: A lover I wouldn't forget.

I was ruined.

---

One night, without meaning to, I found myself at Rudolpho's estate.

Lurking in the shadows, bottle in hand, staring at the windows like they mocked me.

And then-her.

Violet.

She appeared at the window, half-lit by moonlight. Her hand pressed to the glass like she was trying to claw through it.

And for one impossible heartbeat, she looked straight at me.

My chest split open. My fists clenched.

She wasn't his. Not really. Not ever.

---

Caroline found me at the racing spot two days later.

She slinked toward me, her smile sharp, eyes burning with something dangerous.

"You should forget her," she hissed. "She's poison. She'll ruin you."

I arched a brow. "Funny. You sound threatened."

Her face twisted. "She doesn't love you. She can't. She'll crawl back to him every time. Why waste yourself?"

I leaned close, my smile cruel. "Because she already has me. And she'll never love anyone else the way she loves me."

Caroline's eyes flared, venom sparking. She stormed away, leaving me laughing bitterly under the roar of engines and smoke.

Let her scheme. Let Rudolpho threaten.

They didn't understand.

This wasn't over.

---

I began to plan.

Every thought, every ounce of fire in me burned toward one truth: bringing Violet back.

Not stealing. Not forcing. Not chaining.

But reminding her.

Reminding her she wasn't his possession. She wasn't even mine.

She was the storm.

And I was the only bastard alive willing to stand in it, begging for lightning.

---

The night I made my move, the air itself seemed to tremble.

I would rip through gates, fight Rudolpho, damn the world if I had to.

Because when Violet and I met again, one truth would devour us both.

We weren't finished.

We would never be finished.

And lovers like us?

We didn't linger.

We consumed.

Chapter Fifteen : Reckless Redemption.

Vincent Virenson.

The roar of engines filled the air, sharp and wild like a pack of hungry wolves. Neon lights cut across the asphalt, painting everything in red and blue as if the night itself was bleeding. This was my hunting ground, my kingdom, my madness-and tonight, I wasn't here for the race. I was here because my veins burned with something hotter than gasoline.

Her.

Violet Valley Virgilson.

No matter how fast the cars tore down the tracks, nothing outran her name in my head. Violet Valley Virgilson. Married, yet her laugh still echoed like a sin I hadn't confessed.

"Vincent," a familiar, syrupy voice cut through my thoughts. Caroline.

Of course. She always found me at my weakest, like a vulture circling a dying prey. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she came closer, her dress a shimmering trap under the neon haze.

"You've been distracted," she purred, brushing her hand against my arm. "Don't tell me it's that woman again."

I gave her a sharp look. "Careful, Caroline."

"Careful?" She tilted her head, lips curling. "I've seen the way you look at her. Like you're starving. Like she's the only meal left in the world." She leaned closer, her perfume thick, suffocating. "But she's not yours. She never will be."

Her words struck, but I masked it with a smirk. "Jealousy doesn't suit you."

"I'm not jealous." Her nails grazed my jacket. "I'm reminding you who's here when she isn't. Rudolpho owns her, Vincent. And you? You're chasing a dream that'll wreck you."

I stepped away, letting the distance cut her claws. "Maybe I like wreckage."

Before she could snap back, another voice sliced through the tension. Marco.

"Interesting conversation," he drawled, walking toward us with his usual smirk. Marco lived for chaos. He thrived on it. "What's the score tonight? Vincent the wolf still howling for another man's bride?"

I clenched my jaw. "Watch it."

"Oh, relax. I'm not your enemy." He pulled out his phone and waved it like a weapon. "But news travels fast. Rudolpho and Violet are at Mark's gala tonight. Big investors. Big show. And guess what? Rudolpho already introduced her as his wife."

The words were gasoline on fire. My stomach twisted, my blood boiled. My Violet, standing there beside him, smiling for everyone else, wearing his name like a chain.

"Don't," Caroline warned, reading the storm on my face. "Don't even think about it, Vincent."

But I was already thinking.

Marco's smirk widened, wicked and knowing. "You won't let him parade her around, will you? Not when you've got leverage. Not when you've got... proof."

I knew what he meant. The video. The one of Rudolpho tangled in sheets with another woman. Vicent Virenson never carried a weapon unless he knew how to fire it. And tonight, I was ready to pull the trigger.

Caroline grabbed my arm, panic flashing in her eyes. "If you do this, you'll start a war you can't win."

I yanked my arm free. "Wars are the only thing I know how to win."

For a moment, silence wrapped us, only broken by the screech of tires and cheering racers. My decision was made, carved in stone. Violet wouldn't end the night in Rudolpho's shadow. Not if I had to burn every bridge to drag her into the light.

I swung my leather jacket over my shoulders, eyes locked on the city skyline. The gala wasn't far. My pulse raced with the same reckless rhythm as the engines around me.

"Vincent," Caroline called, desperation cracking her voice. "Don't go. Don't do this for her."

I didn't look back.

Because when obsession turns into destiny, there's no brake strong enough to stop the crash.

Tonight, Rudolpho would learn what it meant to gamble against me.

Tonight, Violet would dance in my arms.

And God help anyone who stood in my way.

---

The gala glittered like a palace dipped in gold. Chandeliers spilled light across the ballroom, violins sang in the air, and the rich and ruthless mingled like predators circling prey. Money wasn't just currency here-it was perfume, power, poison.

I walked in like I owned it. Because tonight, I did.

Every step echoed confidence, arrogance, and something sharper-vengeance. My eyes swept the crowd until they landed on her.

Violet Valley Virgilson.

She stood at Rudolpho's side in a gown that shimmered like liquid midnight, her beauty eclipsing every diamond in the room. But her smile-it wasn't real. I knew it. Her lips curved politely, but her eyes were caged birds, desperate for freedom.

And then, the dagger:

Rudolpho, puffed-up and smug, introducing her to Mark, the host.

"My wife, Violet Valley Virgilson," he declared.

The words stabbed, but I didn't bleed. Not tonight. Tonight, I was the one holding the blade.

I slid through the crowd, and conversations hushed as my presence sank in. Vincent Virenson was not the type you ignored. I reached Rudolpho just as Mark excused himself, leaving them alone-and vulnerable.

"Vincent," Rudolpho sneered, his arm tightening around Violet's waist. "What a surprise."

"Surprise?" I tilted my head, letting the smirk play on my lips. "No, Rudolpho. What's surprising is how quickly you introduce women as wives when they're little more than... distractions."

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. "Careful."

I pulled out my phone. A single tap, and the screen lit with the video. Rudolpho. Half-naked. With someone who definitely wasn't Violet. The proof played silently, damning him with every frame.

Violet gasped softly, her hand tightening around her clutch. Her eyes darted between me and Rudolpho, disbelief and fury warring on her face.

"Where did you-" Rudolpho started, but I cut him off.

"Don't bother asking." My voice was cold steel. "The question is: what do you think Mark will say if I show him this? Investors don't pour millions into scandals, Rudolpho. They run. And when they run, you fall."

For the first time, Rudolpho paled. Sweat prickled his forehead, and his grip on Violet faltered. He was caught in my trap, and he knew it.

"You wouldn't dare," he hissed.

"Oh, I would." I leaned closer, my voice low, lethal. "But I'm merciful tonight. Leave. Walk out of this gala with what little pride you have left. Or stay, and watch your empire crumble before dessert is served."

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Guests glanced our way, sensing tension but not daring to intervene. Finally, Rudolpho cursed under his breath. He released Violet's arm, his eyes spitting venom at me.

"This isn't over," he growled.

"It's already over," I shot back.

And just like that, he stormed out of the gala, leaving Violet standing in the wreckage of his downfall.

Her breath hitched, anger and relief colliding. "You-" she started, but words failed her.

"Yes?" I stepped closer, my smirk softening into something rawer.

"You humiliated him. In front of everyone."

I tilted my head. "Correction: I saved you."

"Saved me?" Her laugh was sharp, bitter. "Do I look like a damsel in need of rescuing?"

"No," I admitted, eyes locking with hers. "You look like a woman who deserves better."

The orchestra swelled as if on cue, a waltz filling the air. Without asking, I extended my hand. "Dance with me."

She hesitated, torn between fury and temptation. But then-she placed her hand in mine.

The world vanished.

Her body fit against mine as if it always belonged there. Her scent was roses dipped in rebellion, her touch electric. We moved across the floor, gliding in rhythm, every step a battlefield of unspoken words.

"People are watching," she whispered.

"Let them." I spun her, pulling her back against me, lips brushing her ear. "Let them see who you truly belong to."

Her breath shivered, her pulse quickened, but her defiance still burned. "I don't belong to anyone."

"Maybe," I said, tightening my hold, "but tonight... you're mine."

Her eyes met mine, blazing with conflict-anger, desire, confusion. The kind of fire that burned and healed at once. For a moment, we weren't enemies. We weren't savior and victim. We were just... us.

The music faded, applause rippled, but I didn't let go. I couldn't.

And when I finally walked her out of the gala, the night air cool against our flushed skin, I knew one thing with dangerous certainty:

This wasn't just obsession anymore.

This was war.

And I was already too deep to surrender.

---

Violet Virgilson.

If my life were a movie, tonight would've been directed by Satan himself.

I stood in the middle of that dazzling ballroom, every eye burning into me, the echo of Rudolpho's retreat still hanging in the air. My so-called husband had stormed out, leaving me like a trophy someone else had just snatched. And who was holding the prize now?

Vincent Valentin Virenson.

Of all men.

The devil I should hate. The criminal I should fear. The one who-God help me-I couldn't stop wanting.

My fingers still tingled where his hand had held mine. My pulse still raced from the waltz we'd shared, each step a dangerous confession I hadn't spoken aloud.

I should've slapped him. I should've told him he ruined everything. I should've reminded him he was the reason my father was gone.

Instead, I let him lead me out of the gala, into the velvet night, like some heroine in a twisted fairy tale.

The cool air hit my skin, and I finally snapped out of my trance. I yanked my hand free. "What the hell was that?"

Vincent looked maddeningly calm, as if blackmailing Rudolpho and claiming me on the dance floor was just his evening workout. "That," he said smoothly, "was me saving you from a lifetime of humiliation."

"Saving me?" My laugh came out sharp, bitter. "You humiliated him, Vincent. My husband."

His eyes burned hotter than the city lights. "Don't call him that."

My chest tightened. "What else am I supposed to call him? He is my husband. And you-" My voice cracked, traitorous. "You're just..."

"Say it," he demanded, stepping closer.

I forced the word out like poison. "A lover."

The word hung between us, heavy, damning, yet intoxicating. I hated myself for saying it. I hated myself more for how my body reacted-heart racing, knees weak, mouth dry.

And then, softer, when I thought he couldn't hear: "A lover I won't forget."

But of course he heard. His eyes flickered with triumph, with something darker, something that promised he'd use those words against me later.

"Get in the car," he ordered, his tone low, dangerous, final.

"I'm not a child you can order around."

"No," he said, opening the sleek black car door, "you're a queen who deserves a throne, not chains. Now get in before I carry you in."

The audacity of this man. I wanted to smack him. I wanted to kiss him. Instead, with a muttered curse, I slid into the car.

The leather seat felt too soft, too intimate, like it remembered other stolen moments between us. He climbed in beside me, shutting the door with a thud that sealed me into his orbit.

The city blurred past the windows, but all I could feel was his gaze on me-heavy, consuming, inescapable.

"You didn't have to do that," I muttered, staring at my reflection in the glass. "Expose him like that."

"Yes, I did," Vincent replied. "Because every day you stay with him, he breaks you a little more. And I don't tolerate anyone breaking what's mine."

My head snapped toward him. "Yours? I am not yours, Vincent!"

He leaned in, voice rough, eyes dark. "Tell that to your heartbeat."

And damn him-my heart betrayed me, pounding loud enough to be heard over the purr of the engine.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to laugh. Instead, I whispered, "You're insane."

"Maybe." His lips curved into that dangerous smirk that both infuriated and undid me. "But insanity never felt this good, did it?"

My silence was answer enough.

The ride stretched on, tension thick enough to choke me. When the car finally pulled up to my home, I practically bolted out, desperate for air, for distance, for clarity.

But as I reached the door, his hand caught mine, firm and unyielding.

"This isn't over, Violet," he said softly, the kind of softness that was more lethal than a shout.

I turned, my eyes blazing, my body trembling. "It has to be."

He stepped closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You can lie to yourself, but not to me. Not after tonight."

And then he let go, just like that, leaving me standing at my door with my heart in ruins and my soul on fire.

Inside, I leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor, my dress pooling around me like the ashes of who I used to be.

Reckless redemption. That's what tonight had been.

And God help me, I wasn't sure whose soul needed saving anymore-mine or his.

Chapter Sixteen: Forbidden Fervor.

Violet Virgilson.

If guilt had a taste, it would be bitter champagne lingering on my tongue.

If shame had a sound, it would be the echo of applause still ringing in my ears from the gala dance I should never have taken.

But if desire had a heartbeat, it would be pounding in my chest right now.

I leaned against my bedroom door, dress pooling around my ankles like a midnight sin. The sequins that had sparkled under the chandeliers now looked like a thousand tiny witnesses judging me in the silence. My fingers trembled as I pressed them to my lips-the same lips Vincent had leaned too close to, whispered too much to.

God, what was I thinking? Letting him drag me into that dance. Letting him claim me in front of everyone as though I were his. As though my body belonged to him to twirl, to hold, to possess under the scrutiny of flashing cameras and a hundred wealthy onlookers.

No. I wasn't his.

I was Rudolpho's.

At least, that's what the papers said. That's what the gala invitations said. That's what the world believed. That's the chain still clamped around my ankle, disguised in diamond rings and golden vows.

Yet when Vincent's hand had circled my waist, I'd forgotten the weight of the chain. I'd forgotten the vows I'd made under duress. I'd forgotten everything except the dangerous heat in his eyes-the promise, the fire, the forbidden fervor that burned too close to the surface.

I wanted to hate him. God knows I should have. But hate doesn't leave your body trembling hours later. Hate doesn't make you replay every step of a waltz like it was salvation.

Desire does.

And desire was poison.

---

The silence of the room pressed heavy, mocking me. I could still hear Rudolpho's voice in the back of my mind, smug and greedy as he'd introduced me to Mark as his wife. My stomach twisted at the memory. It wasn't a title I'd chosen-it was a crown of thorns shoved onto my head.

And Vincent... Vincent had ripped it away tonight. With that video. With that smirk. With his ruthless declaration that I "deserved better."

He had humiliated Rudolpho, yes-but in the same breath, he'd branded me his.

I pressed my hands to my face, groaning. "God, what am I doing?"

---

A knock rattled the door. My heart stopped.

Not Rudolpho. He wouldn't knock-he'd barge in, slam the walls with his presence, reek of whiskey and entitlement. No, this knock was softer. Familiar. Dangerous.

I didn't need to open the door to know who it was.

"Violet." His voice was low, velvet over gravel. Vincent Virenson. The man who had turned my life upside down in a single night.

I swallowed hard, every instinct warring. Open the door, and I would let in temptation, ruin, danger. Keep it shut, and I would never know if my heart could survive saying no to him.

The knob turned. My breath hitched. I should've locked it. I should've barred myself from him the way a saint bars herself from sin.

But I hadn't.

And he knew it.

The door creaked open, and there he was. Vincent. Dark suit, darker eyes, and that look-God, that look that stripped me bare without ever touching me.

"You shouldn't be here," I whispered.

"Neither should you," he countered, stepping inside, closing the door behind him. "Not in this house. Not in his bed. Not in his chains."

My back hit the wall as he moved closer. "Vincent-"

He stopped just a breath away, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropping to a whisper meant for sin. "Say you don't want me, Violet. Say it, and I'll walk out that door."

My throat tightened. My lips parted. The words I don't want you hovered on my tongue.

But they refused to leave.

Because it would have been a lie.

---

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken truths. His eyes searched mine, daring me to deny what we both knew. My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms as if pain could anchor me.

"You can't," he said finally, a flicker of triumph in his tone. "Because you do."

"I'm married," I snapped, desperation cracking my voice.

"To a man who doesn't deserve you." He leaned in, his breath hot against my cheek. "To a man I could destroy with one tap of my finger. Tell me, Violet-if your marriage is real, why does your pulse race for me?"

I shoved at his chest, but it was weak, half-hearted. My strength wasn't in resistance-it was in denial. "You're dangerous."

His smirk was sharp, wicked. "And you like it."

God help me, I did.

---

The air grew heavier with every second. My body betrayed me, leaning toward him even as my mind screamed to stay away. His hand lifted, fingers brushing a stray curl from my face. My skin burned where he touched.

"This is wrong," I whispered, but it sounded more like a prayer than a rejection.

"Wrong," he murmured, his thumb grazing my jaw, "has never felt so right."

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the tears stinging at the edges. My father's face flashed in my mind, stern and protective, warning me of men like Vincent. My mother's voice, sharp and judgmental, demanding I hold my head high no matter the cost. My vows, the chains of duty-all of it warred inside me.

But when I opened my eyes, all I saw was him.

And in that moment, the world disappeared.

---

I don't know how long we stood there, breathing the same dangerous air. Seconds? Minutes? Eternity? All I knew was that if he kissed me now, I wouldn't stop him.

And that terrified me more than anything.

So I did the only thing I could. I slipped sideways, creating distance, my voice trembling as I forced the words out.

"Leave, Vincent."

For once, he didn't smirk. His eyes darkened, his jaw clenched, his whole body taut with restraint. Then, slowly, he nodded.

But his parting words carved into me like fire:

"This isn't the end, Violet. You can lie to yourself all you want. But that fire you feel? It's ours. And it will burn everything in its path."

He left. The door clicked shut.

And I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in my hands, trembling from the storm he'd left behind.

Forbidden fervor.

That's what tonight had become.

And God help me...

I wasn't sure I wanted it to stop.

---

Vincent Virenson.

The night air bit sharp against my skin as I left her door, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning in my chest.

I should've walked away hours ago. I should've left her at the gala, let Rudolpho rot in his lies, let Violet keep drowning in the cage he'd built around her. That would've been the noble thing to do.

But nobility was never my virtue.

And Violet Valley Virgilson... she was never meant to belong to Rudolpho. Not tonight. Not ever.

---

I replayed the gala in my head like a reel stuck on repeat. The golden lights. The polished marble. The endless clinking of glasses. Rudolpho's smug voice introducing her as his wife.

My teeth clenched at the memory. His hand around her waist like she was property, a trophy to flaunt for business leverage. A diamond cage paraded as devotion.

He had no idea how close he came to losing everything in that moment.

If I had shown Mark the footage-the video of Rudolpho tangled with another woman in the shadows-it would've been over for him. His empire, his investments, his carefully curated reputation, all burned to ashes in one heartbeat.

But I didn't. Not yet. Because leverage is power, and power is patience.

Besides... I wanted Violet to see it herself. To see him for what he was. To know that the only real thing she had tonight was the waltz we shared.

---

Her scent still clung to me. A whisper of jasmine and champagne. Her touch lingered like phantom heat where her fingers had trembled against mine. The look in her eyes when she couldn't say she didn't want me-God, that would haunt me for a lifetime.

She could lie to herself all she wanted. But her body didn't lie. Her pulse didn't lie. The way her breath caught when I leaned close-truth. Pure, undeniable truth.

She wanted me.

And that truth was a weapon sharper than any blade.

---

I lit a cigarette, though I barely tasted the smoke. The ember glowed red in the darkness, but even fire seemed dull compared to the blaze running through my veins.

I thought of her whisper: This is wrong. The way her voice had cracked like a prayer. The way her whole body leaned toward me even as she begged me to leave.

It wasn't wrong. Not to me.

It was inevitable.

Rudolpho might have his paper marriage, but I had something stronger: her fire. And sooner or later, fire consumes paper.

---

The dance replayed again in my mind.

The orchestra's swell. The spotlight that seemed to bend toward us as if the universe itself wanted to watch us burn.

I remembered the way she had trembled, but not from fear. No, it was the tremble of restraint, the kind that comes when every nerve is screaming for release.

I had felt it. Every shiver. Every hesitant breath. Every stolen glance at my mouth.

If I had kissed her then, in front of them all, she wouldn't have pulled away. She would have burned with me.

And God help me, I almost did it.

---

But tonight wasn't about surrender. It was about planting a seed.

And that seed was already growing inside her.

I'd seen it when she looked at Rudolpho afterward-disgust, doubt, a crack in the chains. I'd seen it when she looked at me-longing, fear, and that dangerous hunger she couldn't hide.

All I had to do now was wait.

Because fire spreads on its own.

---

I leaned against the balcony railing outside her room, cigarette ash falling like snowfall into the shadows.

The city pulsed below-cars, neon, strangers laughing in the night-but all I could think about was her. Violet, crumbling inside a house built of lies. Violet, bound by chains she never chose. Violet, daring herself to resist me even as her body betrayed her.

She thought she could run from this. She thought she could bury it under vows, under guilt, under that pathetic excuse of a marriage.

But she was wrong.

She was mine.

Not yet, not fully, but inevitably.

And when she finally admitted it-when she finally let herself burn-there wouldn't be a damn thing left of Rudolpho's hold on her.

Only us.

Only fire.

Only forbidden fervor.

---

I dragged the last of the cigarette, crushing it under my shoe. My reflection stared back at me from the glass doors-dark suit, darker soul, and eyes that had already chosen a woman I shouldn't want.

But want had nothing to do with it.

This wasn't want anymore.

This was war.

And in war, I never lost.