There’s a smirk on her mouth—the kind of smirk that makes men ruin empires just to see it again.And all I can think about is wiping it off her damn face with my mouth.Or my cock.
Carlo catches my eye from across the kitchen and takes the hint.He nods, wipes his hands on his apron, and slips out the back door before the tension in the room erupts into something unholy.
Smart man.
I need answers, and I need to see her face when she realizes I know exactly what she did.
“You want to tell me something, Bella?”My voice cuts through the quiet with a calm that gets men killed.
Isabella just sets her cup down slowly, as if she has all the time in the world, and drags her eyes over my chest.Stops at the buttons of my shirt.Lets her gaze rise until it meets my eyes.
“Good morning to you too, husband.”
That fucking mouth.
That smug, spoiled little tilt of her lips that dares to be ruined.
She wants me to be angry.She wants to see what I’ll do about it.And fuck, I’m right on the edge of showing her.
I cross the room.“You were in my office.”
She shrugs as if I just asked if she took the last piece of cake.Cool, dismissive.Fingertips brushing imaginary lint off her thigh, even though there’s not a speck on her.
“You left the door open.”
My eyes narrow as my voice sharpens.“You picked the fucking lock.”
“Did I?”she says, all sugar and sweet, lifting her cup again.“I must be smarter than I thought.”
My hand slams against the bench.“That room is not for you.”
Her lashes flick upward and her mouth twitches.
“And those bags weren’t for me either, were they?”
I freeze, confused.“What the fuck are you talking about?”
She stands, rage dripping from every motion.That calm she once had is gone, burned to ash by something colder.
“You sent someone into my room while I was sleeping.”
And then, it hits.She’s talking about the suitcases, the ones I had delivered earlier today.
“First of all, it’s my room,” I say, straightening up.“And I trust my men.”
“Well, I don’t,” her voice snaps.“And in case you forgot, your world isn’t mine.In my world, when a stranger walks in while I’m asleep, I’m not wondering if they’re bringing my fucking wardrobe.I’m wondering if I’m next to have my throat slit.”
Something twists in my gut because, in her world, under her father’s roof, death isn’t a threat—it’s a fact.A knock on the door at midnight.A shadow in the hallway.A favor owed paid in blood.She’s spent her whole life waiting for blood to spill, waiting to see if she’s the message someone sends to her father.
I should have fucking realized.Especially considering what happened to my family.
But I didn’t because this is my place.
Because I walk these halls without looking over my shoulder.Because the men who answer to me know better than to breathe wrong in my direction.And mainly because I forgot that not everyone lives in a world where power equals safety.
She doesn’t trust me yet.
It’s not enough to know that kind of thing would never happen to her under my roof.That I’d tear apart anyone who even looked at her sideways.That I’d spill blood without blinking if someone crossed that line.
