Chapter 65

ALEXANDER

"I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my life."

She meant it, too. I could see it in the way her hands trembled as she reached for the pen.

Her voice didn’t waver.

Her eyes didn’t flinch.

Not once did she look at me—but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

Alina.

My wife.

Soon to be, anyway.

She sat across from me like a storm in silk and defiance, the white dress I made her wear clinging to every curve like it was painted on.

She looked like purity, like surrender, like something holy that should’ve never stepped into my world.

And yet, here she was.

Sitting at my table.

Holding my pen.

About to sign my name onto her future.

She signed.

Letter by letter, she signed away the last thread of her freedom—and into my hands.

God, it was the most satisfying sound I’d heard in months. That pen striking the paper like a gavel sealing her fate.

My fate.

Mine.

My eyes swept over the delicate curve of her signature, still fresh. I stared at it longer than necessary, letting the moment settle, letting it brand itself into my memory.

Because I knew something she didn’t: the moment her signature dried, she belonged to me—her inheritance, her name, her loyalty. All mine.

She didn’t even glance at the fine print.

Clauses tucked between legal jargon—about asset control, travel restrictions, conjugal expectations—meant nothing to her in that moment.

She didn’t care.

She was too busy saving everyone but herself.

But that wasn’t what consumed me.

What consumed me was her.

Sitting there in the white dress I’d chosen—simple, elegant, sleeveless.

Not the kind of gown that screamed purity, but one that whispered temptation. Fitted at the waist, clinging to every dip and curve like a sin waiting to happen.

So fucking beautiful.

So damn defiant.

And sexy without even trying.

It infuriated me—how badly I wanted her and how much she hated me.

She was trembling, but not from fear.

No. She was burning.

Seething.

Her hate poured off her like a perfume I couldn’t ignore.

“I’ll make you pay every single day,” she had said, voice full of venom.

“You’ll curse the moment you forced me into this marriage.”

And still… I couldn’t stop looking at her mouth.

That furious, soft mouth.

The way her lips pulled back with disgust, the way her chin lifted with defiance—she wanted to spit in my face, maybe even claw at it, and God help me… all I could think about was how much I wanted to taste her.

She was rage and beauty wrapped in white.

A storm in silk.

That mouth... it drove me fucking insane.

She hated me—every breath she took near me was laced with loathing—and yet, I wanted nothing more than to crush her resistance, to press my mouth against hers and feel her unravel.

That furious, perfect mouth.

Soft and trembling with rage, lips parted just enough to make me wonder how they’d feel against mine.

How they’d taste if I pressed her against the wall and took what was mine.

To shatter that defiance on my tongue, make her forget her own name before I let her moan mine.

To crush her resistance between my teeth, to feel her melt and fight in the same breath.

That mouth was made to scream my name.

And soon… it would.

That mouth would be mine.

Not now.

Not yet.

But the thought was there.

The urge.

The obsession.

Her venom fed it.

Her defiance only made it worse.

I kept my face unreadable.

Calm. Measured.

Like her words didn’t punch holes in my control.

But they did.

She thought she'd make me pay.

That I’d regret chaining her to me.

She had no idea.

No idea that I'd already calculated the cost—and decided it was worth every damn drop of blood.

She would be mine in every way, no matter how long it took.

No matter how hard she fought.

Let her hate me.

Let her curse me.

I could handle the fire—hell, I craved it.

Because one day, that mouth wouldn’t be saying "I hate you."

It would be moaning my name.

Not now.

But soon.

And when it was, she’d never use it the same way again.

My gaze lingered there—too long on her lips—until I forced myself to look up.

Her eyes met mine.

I saw it instantly.

The fire.

The fury.

Of course, she hated me.

I was the bastard who backed her into a corner, who threatened the only people she loved. I’d made her pick between dignity and blood, and she’d chosen the latter—just like I knew she would.

But the sting of her voice stayed.

Not because it surprised me…

But because somewhere deep, some old part of me—rotting and forgotten—almost flinched.

I picked up the contract, eyes trailing over the ink that sealed her fate. Her signature sat there—elegant, determined, utterly blind.

She was mine now.

Not just in name. In law. In binding ink and blood.

Everything she owned, everything she would ever inherit... now belonged to me.

The fortune she didn’t even know she was entitled to—swept right under her nose in the fine print.

She hadn’t even read the smaller clauses.

No rights to annulment.

No financial separation.

No public statements without my written consent.

No exit.

No escape.

I couldn’t help the smirk tugging at my lips as my eyes locked onto hers. She stared back, unflinching—like she wanted to kill me.

And fuck me.

Maybe in that order.

Let her hate me.

As long as she kept looking at me like that—like I was the only thing she wanted to destroy—I could live off it.

Hell, I wanted it.

Because the deeper that hate ran, the closer it danced to the edge of something else.

Leo, of course, had to break the tension with his usual flair.

“Well, thank fuck,” Leo drawled, raising his glass with a smirk.

“The deed is done. I thought we’d be here another hour, but look at that—the bride finally signed her soul away.”

I stepped forward, slow and deliberate, every movement controlled.

I picked up the contract—cool paper beneath my fingers—and looked down at the place her name had settled like it belonged there.

My thumb brushed over the signature, my jaw tightening with the surge that passed through me.

She’d done it.

She was mine now.

Everything she had, everything she would have—now legally bound to me.

She had no idea how deep the clauses ran.

No idea what she’d given up.

Or what I’d taken.

Then, with a slow, calculated motion, I folded the papers and handed them off to Donovan, who had appeared like the quiet, watchful shadow he was.

Efficient as always.

“There,” I murmured, voice low, the words settling like a verdict in the room.

“Legal. Binding.”

“And romantic as hell,” Leo added from the corner, swirling his drink like this was a damn spectacle for his amusement.

“Truly warms the heart.”

I didn’t bother responding to him.

My eyes remained on her—my wife.

And whether she realised it or not, nothing would ever be the same again.

Leo raised his glass in a mock toast, the usual amusement lighting up his features.

"You may now kiss the bride—preferably without traumatising the rest of us."

I heard her sharp intake of breath as her head snapped toward him.

“What—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Because I didn’t let her.

I stepped into her space and kissed her.

Not out of the ceremony. Not for the show.

But because I needed to. Because I couldn’t wait another second.

Because I needed to taste what I owned now.

I’d been waiting—patiently, if you could call it that.

Watching her from the moment she walked in wearing that white dress I’d chosen, like sin wrapped in silk and spite.

She’d signed the contract.

Sealed her fate.

She was mine now—in every way that mattered.

Her body tensed, but I crushed the space between us, capturing her mouth with mine.

Her lips were fire—resistant, angry, soft as sin. She tasted like war and wild roses. I kissed her like she was a battlefield I intended to conquer and burn.

She didn’t melt.

No, not Alina.

Her fingers curled against my chest, trembling slightly as if fighting an invisible war inside herself.

Her breath hitched—quick and sharp. It sent heat coursing through me.

I deepened the kiss, one hand slipping around her waist, pulling her flush against me. Her body was rigid, but her breath hitched. She pushed against me, not to break free, but to push back, to fight.

Good.

I wanted her fight.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of my jacket. Her lips resisted. Then they yielded—barely.

I devoured that defiance.

Everything else disappeared. Just her and me. The sharp press of lips.

The wild pulse beneath our skin.

I pulled back slightly, looking into those storm-filled eyes. Her breath was ragged.

“See?” I said lowly.

“Wasn’t that bad.”

She rasped, “That meant nothing.”

I let the smirk linger on my lips.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, wife.”

Wife.

The word tasted good on my tongue.

Wife.

And tonight, I’d taste the rest of her.

Because tomorrow, we’ll visit the orphanage.

Together.

As husband and wife.

But tonight?

Tonight was our wedding night.

And I intended to make her remember it.