Chapter 9 The Charade Ends
LEITANA
I pressed my hands to my eyes, but it was too late. The image had already burned itself into my brain. That thing, it really moved.
Oh Lord, I was going to faint. Maybe die right here on this fine white floor and meet my Maker before sunrise.
“Snake?” His voice slid through the air, deep and amused.
I froze.
He was laughing. Not loud, but the kind that told you he found this whole thing funny and I was the joke.
“Where exactly did you see a snake, little wife?”
I swallowed hard. “There! It… it moved between your legs!”
He laughed then, slow, cruel, the sound of someone who enjoyed watching others squirm.
“Tell me,” he said, “how old are you again?”
“Why?” I asked, peeking through my fingers.
“So I know if I should call you innocent,” he said, stepping closer, “or stupid.”
I kept my palms tight over my eyes, my heart beating so loud I was sure he could hear it. My fingers trembled, and my chest felt tight.
Then I heard his footsteps again, slow, careful, unhurried. The floor creaked under his weight as he moved closer, and the sound alone made my knees go weak.
“Look at me,” he said.
His voice wasn’t loud, but it slid through the air like a command. My throat went dry.
“I can’t,” I whispered. My hands pressed harder against my eyes. “Please, sir, I can’t.”
He stopped right in front of me. I could feel the heat from his body, smell the faint trace of smoke and rain that always seemed to follow him.
“Can’t,” he repeated softly, like the word amused him. “Or won’t?”
I shook my head, refusing to move. “I didn’t mean to look,” I said, my voice trembling. “I swear I didn’t.”
His hand came to my arm—firm, steady. He turned me toward him easily, making me gasp as I stumbled a little. Then his fingers brushed under my chin, tilting my head up until I could feel his breath close to my face.
“Open your eyes,” he said.
My lips parted, my voice barely a breath. “No, sir. I can’t.”
He gave a short, quiet laugh. It wasn’t kind—it was dark, dangerous. “Not right?” he said mockingly. “You’re my wife. You think it’s a sin to look at your own husband?”
I stayed still, my lashes trembling against my palms.
He leaned closer, his mouth near my ear now, his voice a whisper that made the back of my neck prickle.
“You’ll have to look eventually,” he said. “Because soon, little wife…”
He paused just long enough for me to forget how to breathe.
“…you won’t have a choice.”
My chest tightened, my heart thudding so hard I could barely stand. I didn’t know what he meant, but my stomach flipped, and my skin burned all over.
He chuckled again, a sound that somehow felt like a threat and a promise.
“Now open your eyes.”
“I can’t,” I said again, barely more than a whisper.
He hummed, low and dangerous. “Careful,” he said, his tone dipping even lower. “Keep refusing, and I might start thinking you enjoy defying me.”
That made my breath catch.
I blinked rapidly, and my heart lurched when I saw he was still naked. I didn’t dare look below. My gaze stayed locked on his face.
“Turn around,” he said.
I shook my head before I could stop myself.
His voice dropped lower, a dark warning. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
My lips trembled. Was he really going to have me…? No. I didn’t want this, not from a man I barely knew, not from someone who looked at me like that.
My fingers dug into the fabric of my wedding gown. His cold, commanding stare never wavered.
“Turn.”
I turned slowly, trembling all over.
The sound of his footsteps filled the silence. Then I felt his fingers at the back of my dress, brushing lightly against my spine. My breath hitched. It was such a small touch, but it sent shivers racing through me.
He began undoing the buttons, one by one, unhurried. Then came the zipper, the soft hiss echoing like thunder in my ears.
The satin and lace slid down my arms, whispering against my skin before pooling around my feet. My chest rose and fell, too fast. That was when I realized I wasn’t wearing anything aside from my underwear.
My entire body burned. I crossed my arms over my chest, trembling.
“I’m… bare,” I whispered, my throat tight.
He said nothing for a moment. Then he leaned closer, his breath brushing the back of my neck. “Good,” he murmured, voice smooth and dangerous. “I like to see my little wife unprepared.”
My knees weakened. I wanted to hide, to disappear, but I couldn’t move.
Then he stepped back. “Go,” he said, voice clipped. “Use the bathroom. Clean yourself. And don’t do anything foolish.”
I nearly tripped over the dress as I hurried away, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it. The cold air hit my skin like a slap.
The bathroom was enormous — sleek marble, gleaming panels, a shower system that looked more like a machine than anything meant for bathing. My hands shook as I reached for what looked like the water control.
A sharp whir filled the air, and before I could react, boiling water shot from the jets.
“Ahh!” I screamed, stumbling back as steam filled the room. My skin stung, my hands scrambling against the marble for balance.
And then…footsteps.
I turned, dripping and gasping. He stood in the doorway, watching me. Water streamed down my hair, my face, my trembling body.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. His eyes trailed over me slowly, unreadable, cold, then his lips curved into a smirk.
“Let’s end this charade, little wife,” he said softly. “You’re not
Avery… are you?”
The words hit like a blade. My stomach dropped, and all the air seemed to vanish from the room.