Chapter 66

ALEXANDER

Leo had been watching the entire exchange like it was front-row seats to a private show. I didn’t miss the long whistle he let out—low, amused, and far too entertained for my liking.

“I give it three days before one of you snaps and ends up throwing a vase,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief.

Donovan didn’t even look up from the doorway. “I’m betting on her.”

I smirked.

Three days?

Generous of them.

At this rate, I’d be lucky to walk into the bedroom tonight without getting clocked by whatever object was closest to her hand.

I could practically see it: her standing there in that dress, eyes burning, hands clenched around some overpriced glass centrepiece… just waiting.

Hell, the image alone almost made me laugh.

Still, I almost looked forward to it.

The tension between us was electric—fiery, raw, and deliciously chaotic.

She hated me.

I wanted her.

She was one spark away from exploding, and I was holding the damn match.

Let her try to break something.

Let her scream.

Let her throw the vase.

I’d catch it—and then her.

All that fire?

I’d turn it into something else entirely.

“Is that it?” she asked, her voice tight—controlled, but only just.

“Is there some kind of initiation ceremony next? Branding, maybe?” The sarcasm in her voice was razor-sharp, each word dipped in venom and mockery.

The corner of my mouth twitched.

God, she was infuriating.

And fucking intoxicating.

A low chuckle rumbled from my chest—dark, quiet, dangerous. I took a deliberate step closer, letting the tension stretch between us like a drawn wire.

“Branding?” I echoed, voice smooth as sin. I leaned in slightly, just enough for her to see the devil’s smile playing on my lips.

“I like the way you think, Mrs. Dimitri. If you’re offering, I could have my initials etched somewhere… private.”

My voice dropped, velvet thick with sin.

“Though I prefer to leave my mark in other ways.”

Her eyes rolled at me, her sharp comeback quick as a whip.

“Don’t flatter yourself. The only thing you’ve left so far is the stench of arrogance and expensive cologne.”

I let her walk past, feeling the deliberate brush of her shoulder against my arm—indifference as pointed as a dagger. A warning.

“Oh, and if you ever try to brand me, Alexander,” she added over her shoulder,

“You’d better pray you’re unconscious when I return the favour.”

The challenge was delicious. I chuckled, low and rough. I enjoyed this—this game of sharp words and sharper intentions.

“I really do enjoy this back and forth,” I said, my voice smooth and dangerous.

“It’s like foreplay—with more clothes and sharper words.”

Stepping closer, I let my gaze wander over her with slow, possessive interest. She was mine now—whether she wanted it or not.

“But playtime’s over, wife,” I said, voice hardening.

“For now, you’ll be moving into the master wing.”

Her surprised echo barely hid the wariness in her eyes.

"Master Wing?

I turned to face her fully, keeping my expression maddeningly calm.

“I had it prepared especially for you,” I told her, voice like silk wrapping around iron.

“New linens. A full walk-in closet—though we’ll need to work on your wardrobe. I sent most of your things over already. The room’s bigger than your last one. High ceilings. Fireplace. And a balcony overlooking the gardens.”

She barely had time to register that before I added, almost casually,

“Oh, and by the way, the wing is four floors up. Minimal foot traffic. Zero chance of escape.”

Her eyes snapped to mine, but I was already turning, walking ahead with the ease of a man who owns everything—because now I did.

“You know,” I called over my shoulder,

“Since you have a habit of jumping off balconies… I couldn’t risk my lovely wife getting herself hurt.”

I glanced back, grin sharp as broken glass.

“Wouldn’t want you shattering before I even get to enjoy the honeymoon.”

Her stare was like daggers, but I only smirked wider.

“You’re kidding.”

My eyes gleamed with that signature smirk.

“Do I look like a man who jokes?”

I gave her the kind of amused look a lion might give a particularly feisty lamb.

“We’re married now. You’ll be staying where a wife belongs.”

Her fists clenched tightly. I could almost taste the fury rolling off her, sharp enough to cut through steel.

“You think you can control me with a piece of paper and a kiss?” she spat.

I stepped closer, a smile curling like smoke.

The kind of smile that promised fire.

“No,” I said quietly, confidently.

“I think I already have.”

She glared at me like she wanted to tear me apart.

Good.

Let her.

She’d signed the contract.

That pen had sealed more than ink—it had chained her to me. Legally. Irrevocably.

I owned the rules now.

She knew it.

The silence that fell between us was thick, sharp, filled with everything unsaid.

And I knew—knew she hated me in that moment more than she ever had.

But I also saw it in her eyes—the part of her that flickered in the shadows, that dark, secret corner where fire meets ice.

That same part that made this war between us so damn addictive.

Leo clapped once, breaking the tension.

“Well. I’m off to tell the kitchen to start preparing celebratory drinks. Nothing like forced matrimony to whet the appetite.”

As Leo sauntered off, I turned my full attention back to her, locking eyes with razor-sharp focus.

“Be packed and ready by six,” I said, my voice low, smooth, and impossible to ignore—commanding like a dark promise.

“You’ll be sleeping in my wing tonight.”

Her response was instant and fierce, cutting through the tension like a blade.

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

I closed the distance between us, lowering my voice to a husky whisper that brushed against her ear, thick with implication.

“Yet.”

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she glared at me—fierce, unyielding.

Every inch of her radiated a storm of fury and grace. Her spine was rigid, chin lifted in defiance, eyes blazing with a fire that dared me to test her resolve.

And fuck—her hatred was almost beautiful in its raw intensity.

She didn’t back down.

Then, with that same fierce edge, she said,

“Tell your goons to back off the orphanage. I want to see Maya. I want to see the kids.”

For a second, I didn’t answer. I just looked at her. Really looked at her.

Her chin tilted defiantly, fire in her eyes that refused to bow—even now.

Especially now.

God, she was something else.

I nodded once.

“Fine. They’ll be gone by tonight,” I said, my voice even.

“And I’ll take you tomorrow morning.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious and sharp—like she was searching my face for the catch, the lie, the trap I was surely about to spring.

But there wasn’t one.

The truth was—I had no fucking clue why I said it.

Me. Alexander Dimitri.

The ruthless, untouchable kingpin.

Volunteering to visit an orphanage?

Not exactly the kind of move that bolsters my reputation.

Not the kind of thing that keeps people trembling in fear.

Hell, probably the worst PR stunt I could’ve staged.

But still…

Maybe it was the way she looked at me in that moment.

Like maybe—just maybe—she didn’t quite hate me.

Almost.

Maybe I wanted her to see something else—something beneath the monster she’d painted me to be.

She didn’t say thank you.

Of course not.

Why would she?

I’d just spared her precious orphans and offered to escort her like some dark, twisted Prince Charming.

Honestly, I should’ve sent myself a standing ovation and a trophy for ‘Most Charitable Badass of the Year.'

She shot me a glare, then zeroed in on my men with pure fire before turning on her heel and walking away—spine rigid, head held high.

The guards flanked her like royal executioners, escorting her to the master wing as if she were a queen sentenced to exile.

I stood there, watching her retreat—the way her hips swayed with that fierce defiance, unyielding and untouchable.

And somewhere deep down, I knew—

This was only the beginning.

The sway of that dress around her hips.

That braid trailing down her back.

The soft, exposed line of her throat.

So goddamn beautiful, I nearly forgot this was meant to be her punishment.

The door closed behind her with a soft thud.

Silence settled in its place.

And only then did I realise I’d been holding my breath.

I exhaled slowly, fingers flexing at my sides.

Maybe this arrangement wasn’t a curse after all.

Maybe—just maybe—marrying her wasn’t the end of my freedom…

…but the start of something else.

Something dangerous.

Addictive.

Her parting words echoed in my skull, sharp as glass.

But I shook them off and rolled my shoulders, grabbing the decanter from the bar and pouring myself a drink.

She could throw all the words she wanted. They’d sting. But they wouldn’t break me.

Not yet.

She was mine now.

And tomorrow—we’d visit the orphanage.

Together.

As husband and wife.

But tonight?

Tonight was our wedding night.

And the smirk that curved my lips was slow, wicked, and entirely involuntary—because the real game wouldn’t start in the daylight.

It would start the moment the door closed behind us.