I didn’t answer. I didn’t even look at him.
And when he realized I wouldn’t respond, he didn’t ask again.
But his hands stayed locked around the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white, jaw clenched so tight I could see it flex beneath his skin.
By the time we reached the house, the silence between us had solidified into something brittle and dangerous.
I got out of the car without waiting for him. My steps were quick, clipped. I didn’t look back. The door creaked open. I headed straight upstairs.
Behind me, the heavy thunk of the front door closing echoed.
I walked straight into the bathroom, turned the lock, and stood there for a second, just breathing.
The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the vanity bulb. My reflection in the mirror looked wrong—smeared by steam and smeared by everything I didn’t want to feel. I peeled my clothes off piece by piece, each one feeling heavier than the last, and stepped into the shower.
The water came out scorching.
Good.
I tilted my head under the shower, letting the water burn. But nothing erased the scent clinging to my wrist.
Then I heard the door open.
Soft. Intentional.
I froze.
Vincent stepped into the shower, fully clothed. His boots soaked. Shirt clinging. Hair dripping. He filled the steam like a shadow that wouldn’t dissolve.
“Vincent—”
His hand shot out, gripping both my wrists. Before I could pull away, I heard the metallic click above my head. Cold cuffs locked into place. My arms jerked upward, chained to the showerhead.
“Wait—what are you—”
He turned the water off. The silence after was worse than shouting. It was thick. Punishing.
He stepped in closer. The heat of him made me shiver.
“You let him touch you.” His voice was soft now. Dangerous. “You laughed like you liked it.”
My breath caught. “It wasn’t real—”
“Don’t lie to me, Emilia.”
My knees nearly gave. He wasn’t yelling. He didn’t have to. His stillness was louder than fury.
“You wanted a reaction,” he said. “Now you’ll get one.”
His hand moved down my side. Barely touching. Just enough to make my breath hitch. My back arched toward him without permission.
He pulled away.
I whimpered.
“Too easy,” he muttered.
Then his fingers returned—tracing my ribs, my waist, brushing between my legs.
I gasped. Electricity snapped through me.
Again, he retreated.
“No,” I whispered.
“Oh, now you beg?”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you—”
“You were trying to remind me I could lose you.” His tone was terrifyingly even. “You wanted to see if I’d care.”
Tears pressed behind my eyes. “It wasn’t like that—”
“You thought you could play with fire and not burn.”
“Vincent, please—”
His fingers moved again—rougher now, deliberate. My body curled under the pressure, heat building fast.
Then—nothing. He stopped.
“No,” I sobbed. “Don’t stop—please—”
“You gave him your attention,” he said, voice dark, possessive. “Now you’ll learn what it means to crave mine.”
He dropped to his knees. Hands on my thighs. Mouth so close I could feel the heat of his breath.
His tongue flicked out—just once. A taste. A tease. A punishment.
“Vincent—please—I can’t—”
“You can.” He stood again. Towering over me. “You will.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“You’re not yet,” he growled.
His hand slid up, circling a nipple. My body trembled.
“You’re mine,” he said, voice like thunder inside my chest. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I choked.
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Vincent. Only yours.”
That was all it took.
He kissed me—hard. Deep. Possessive. Not sweet. Not forgiving. A claiming.
My thighs trembled. My arms ached in the cuffs. But I didn’t care.
Because he chose me. Right here. Right now. Over everything.
He pulled back, breath ragged. Eyes black with need.
And then he touched me like I belonged to him—fully, without pause or teasing. No denial. No games.
Just him.
I shattered in his hands. The orgasm ripped through me like wildfire. I screamed his name as my knees gave out, only the cuffs keeping me upright.
Tears streaked down my face—not from pain, not this time. From the relief of finally being seen. Of being claimed.
He caught me as I sagged. Arms unshakable. Voice rough against my ear.
“Breathe,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”