Obsession, she was learning, had many faces, and tonight it wore the mask of jealousy.
The penthouse was a tomb of glass and shadow, the city lights beyond the windows a cold, glittering audience to the storm brewing within. Elara stood in the foyer, the crimson cocktail dress still clinging to her skin, the high slit exposing her thigh, the plunging neckline framing the diamond choker like a brand. Her chin throbbed where Damien's fingers had dug in, the memory of his grip in the car a fresh bruise on her body and soul. The board dinner's tension lingered, her sharp retort to Grayson a spark that had ignited something dangerous in him—a jealousy she hadn't anticipated.
Damien strode to the bar, his movements controlled but laced with a predatory edge, his tuxedo jacket discarded, the white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He poured a tumbler of amber liquid—Macallan, aged thirty years, the kind of indulgence that screamed power—and didn't offer her one. The crystal decanter clinked against the glass, the sound sharp in the silence. He took a slow sip, his dark eyes fixed on her over the rim, assessing, dissecting, a king surveying his disobedient queen.
"You embarrassed me tonight," he said, his voice low, cold, a blade honed to cut. "You forget your place, Elara. You are mine to control, to display. Not to empower."
Her chest heaved, rage and humiliation warring within her. The choker pressed against her throat, the diamonds biting into her skin, a physical echo of the contract that bound her. "I answered a question," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "I used the knowledge you gave me access to for three years. If that's embarrassing, maybe you shouldn't have trained me so well."
His eyes narrowed, the glass pausing mid-air. "Trained you?" He set the tumbler down with deliberate care, the clink of crystal against marble a warning. "You were my assistant, not my equal. Your intelligence is a tool, Elara, one I wield. Not one you flaunt in front of my board to prove a point."
She laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed off the glass walls. "A tool? Is that all I am to you? A womb with a brain you can switch on and off?" Her voice rose, cracking with the weight of her fury. "You parade me in front of those men, dress me like a trophy, let them mock me, and then punish me for defending myself? You're not a husband, Damien. You're a jailer."
He stepped closer, his presence a storm cloud, the air between them crackling with tension. "A jailer?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "I saved your family, Elara. I gave you a life most women would kill for. And you stand there, spitting venom, because I expect obedience?"
"Obedience?" She took a step toward him, her heels clicking against the marble, her hands clenched into fists. "You don't want a wife. You want a puppet. A doll to dress up, to fuck, to breed. But I'm not a doll, Damien. I'm a person, and I'm drowning in your obsession."
His smile was a blade, sharp and cold. "Drowning?" He closed the distance, his hand rising to cup her chin, his thumb brushing the bruise he'd left in the car. "You're alive because of me. Your father's company, your mother's home, your pathetic little legacy—they exist because I allow it. And you dare to lecture me about obsession?"
Her throat burned, tears stinging her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You're obsessed," she whispered, her voice raw. "You don't love me. You don't even want me. You want control. You want your heir. And you'll break me to get it."
His grip tightened, his eyes gleaming with something dark, something that made her heart lurch. "Break you?" he murmured, his lips inches from hers, his breath hot against her skin. "No, Elara. I'll mold you. Shape you. Make you mine in every way. Your mind, your body, your soul."
She wanted to scream, to shove him away, to tear the choker from her throat and run. But his words in the car—your father's fraud, your family's destruction—chained her to the spot. She was trapped, her defiance a spark in a cage of his making.
He released her chin, stepping back, his tumbler in hand again. "You'll learn," he said, his voice calm now, final. "You'll smile at the next dinner. You'll keep your tongue in check. Or I'll find other ways to remind you of your place."
He turned, striding toward the hallway, his silhouette sharp against the city lights. The dismissal was a slap, a reminder of her powerlessness. But something inside her snapped, a thread stretched too thin, a spark igniting into flame. She'd obeyed, performed, submitted, and still, it wasn't enough. She was done bending.
"Are you threatened by me, Damien?" she called after him, her voice sharp, cutting through the silence. "Afraid your little womb might have a brain you can't control?"
He froze, his back to her, the tumbler pausing mid-air. The air thickened, charged with the weight of her words. Slowly, he turned, a predator's smile gracing his lips, slow and lethal, his eyes glinting with something new—something that wasn't anger, wasn't jealousy, but a dark, dangerous hunger.
"Threatened?" he purred, advancing on her, each step deliberate, his tumbler set down on a side table with a soft clink. "No, my dear. I'm… aroused."
Her breath caught, her body tensing as he closed the distance, his presence overwhelming, his heat searing through the thin silk of her dress. He stopped inches from her, his hand rising to trace the choker, his fingers brushing the lock with a reverence that made her shiver.
"It seems I enjoy taming a wild thing," he murmured, his voice a low growl, his lips brushing her ear. "Let's see how sharp that tongue is when it's put to better use."
His hand slid to the back of her neck, his grip firm, possessive, pulling her closer until her chest pressed against his. The choker bit into her skin, the diamonds a cruel reminder of her captivity, but his eyes held her captive, dark and insatiable. The city lights flickered beyond the windows, cold and indifferent, as Elara stood trapped in his grasp, her defiance a spark that had only fueled his obsession. Tonight, he would tame her, and the cost would be another piece of her soul.