Hate me properly

Hate me properly
ZAYN

The drive was a goddamn furnace of silence.

Since our departure from my grandfather's estate, Rome has not spoken. He didn’t even glance my way. He simply sat there, staring out the window as if the streetlights passing by were more fascinating than me.

His jaw was rigid, his fists rested in his lap, clenched so tightly I could see the tendons beneath his skin.

The chilly shoulders and solemn silences should have come naturally to me by now, but something about tonight's rendition unnerved me.

Maybe I'd done too much by kissing him in front of my Father. Or maybe because I still remembered how he used to look at me, like I was the only thing that made sense.

But now?

Now, I was the villain in his story. Again.

He exhaled sharply and softly through his nose, as if he were trying to hold back from yelling. Well, that is fantastic.

Because I wasn’t in the mood to hear him say something I couldn’t take back.

I tightened my hold on the steering wheel while keeping my eyes on the road ahead, but my mind was constantly racing like vultures. My father. That dinner. Rome’s pale face when my father and brother looked him up and down like a mistake on a balance sheet.

He hadn’t deserved that. But what the hell did he expect?

The warmth in this family is lacking. We engage in politics, power, and calculating smiles, and he was undoubtedly aware of that. And I knew I should have gave him headsup about how the prestigious Sanchez Family can be behind the scenes.

Yet still, I brought him.

Because he’s mine. Because the contract says so. Because I want him where I can see him, where is can control him.

The moment I pulled into the driveway, he was out of the car like the seat was burning him. The sound of the front door slamming open and then closing was so loud that it echoed through the silence.

I remained inside the car for a moment longer, observing the gentle dance of the porch lights' light across the hood. My pulse drummed in my ears, hot and erratic. When I finally stepped inside, I was just in time to hear his voice.

Sharp and low, shaking with fury.

“Next time you want to drag someone into your fucking family feud, leave me out of it.”

I let the door close behind me with a quiet thud. “You’re my husband,” I said calmly. “That means you show up when I need you.”

“That’s not what this is about and you know it.” Rome spun around, his eyes dark with rage. “I didn’t agree to be your fucking shield.”

“Didn’t you?” I asked. “Because you signed a contract. One that gives me every right to bring you where I want. When I want.”

He stared at me like he couldn’t believe I just said that. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re being dramatic.”

His lips twisted. “You dragged me into a dinner where your father humiliated me.”

“My father humiliates everyone. You’re not special.”

His mouth parted slightly, a flicker of something more than anger crossing his face. Hurt, maybe. And I hated how much I still recognized it.

He rushed past me, his shoulders tensed with each step, heading for the staircase.

I followed at a slower pace. “You’ve changed,” I said under my breath, mostly to myself. “Used to cling to me like I was oxygen.”

His response was nonexistent.

I walked toward the kitchen, needing a drink to kill the burn in my throat, when I heard footsteps again. I turned.

Rome was returning downstairs with a puzzled expression on his face and frustration permeating every action.

He muttered, his eyes averted from mine, "I forgot where my room is supposed to be."

I smirked, leaned against the wall. “What room?”

He raised his head, his brows furrowing further.

“Your things were moved to the master bedroom,” I said casually. “You’ll be staying with me.”

Then he blinked twice. “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“Zayn…”

I tilted my head. “Is there a problem?”

“Fucking no!” Rome exploded. “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”

My smile was hardly sustained. “But that’s what this whole marriage is, isn’t it? Sex and business. You said it yourself.”

Something colder crept into his voice as his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah,” he said bitterly. “It is. You think you own me, right? Just like your father owns everything. Cold-blooded control freaks who think people are just things to rearrange.”

“Watch it…” The comment immediately caused me to furrow my brows, as I wondered why he was going there.

If anything, I dislike being compared to my father. I am not sure how Rome knew.

“You’re just like him, Zayn.” Breathing heavily, he took a step forward. "No, you are worse than that. At least he doesn’t pretend to love anyone.”

There was a brief pause. I stood where k was, not moving an inch. No, I couldn’t.

Rome chuckled short and unflatteringly. “You can’t stand that I don’t want you anymore, can you? That I see you for what you are now. Just a rich bastard playing house with someone he broke a long time ago.”

“Rome, you better watch it now!“ I walked toward him slowly, my fists clenched at my sides as I tried to contain my anger.

But he wasn’t done.

“You think dragging me into that family circus will make me come crawling again? I’d rather rot than let you fuck me like one of your whores.”

Something inside me detonated.

In one breath, I crossed the space between us and grabbed him, hoisting him over my shoulder as he yelped and kicked. “You little…put me down!”

“Not a chance,” I growled, teeth clenched.

“This is assault, Zayn!”

I stalked up the stairs with him pounding my back. “You think you can say that shit to me and walk away?”

He elbowed me. “I meant every word.”

I didn’t stop. “Yeah? Then scream them from our bedroom.”

He froze for a beat. “Our… ? Zayn, you’re insane!”

I shoved the door open and threw him onto the bed. “Get used to it,” I snapped.

He sat up quickly, his chest heaving and his face flushed.

“Is this what you want?” Rome hissed. “Me chained to your bed while you pretend it means something?”

"No," I said, moving forward with a gravelly voice. “I want you here, angry or not. Do you believe that just because I asked you to sign a contract, it means I want to mend the long-standing issue between us??

Rome remained motionless as I glared at him, his breath coming out in sharp huffs.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Rome,” I said, a scoff escaping my lips. “You should be grateful I saved your life and paid off your debts.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine but I saw the flicker behind it… the ache he’d never admit. He should have known better than to provoke.

“You are nothing more than a service doll. A service doll disguised as a husband.”

His expression cracked, just a fraction. That was all it took.

I stepped forward and grabbed his jaw between my fingers. “Isn’t that what you agreed to? To warm my bed and play house in public?”
He tried to swat me away, but I shoved him back against the bed and climbed over him.

“You don’t get to act righteous now. Not when I know how badly you begged to be mine back then. You wanted this. You wanted me.”

“Zayn, get off…”

My mouth was on his before he finished, biting the words off. He gasped against me, trying to twist away, but I pinned his wrists above his head with one hand.

“Let me go…”

“No.”

His chest heaved under mine. I kissed down his neck, rough, claiming, and when he hissed, I smiled against his skin. “You can hate me later. Right now, you’ll take what’s yours.”

With my free hand, I yanked his shirt up and over his head, tearing the fabric in the process. Buttons scattered across the bed like shrapnel. He flinched but didn’t stop me.

That only fueled me more.

His belt was next. I undid it with a tug and tossed it aside.

“You signed that contract, Rome,” I said, dragging my palm across his exposed skin. “You said you’d be mine for a year. That means your body too.”

“You’re disgusting,” he spat, eyes glassy with heat and fury.

I licked his bottom lip. “You didn’t think that when you were begging to come on my fingers,” I smirked. “Back in the VIP room."

His body tensed, as if memory betrayed him.

“You want me to stop?” I growled, grinding against him. “Say it, and I will.”

He stared at me, his jaw clenched, but the words didn’t come. His legs shifted, betraying him. And I felt it, the need, the tension, the hatred tangled with desire.

“You hate me, don’t you?” I whispered, unzipping his pants slowly. “Then hate me properly.”

And he did, with a bite that left bruises and a kiss that was like fire. Instead of protesting, his body writhed against mine in a state of desperate surrender.