I’m in the office when she finds me, holding a burgundy dress that probably cost more than her monthly Brooklyn rent.
“What is this?” She gestures at the garment with barely contained frustration.
“Clothing appropriate for your position.”
“My position.” She sets the dress on my desk with more force than necessary. “You mean the position you’ve put me in.”
“The position you accepted when you married me.” I lean back in my chair, studying her. “You’re a captain’s wife now. That carries expectations about presentation.”
“So you’re dressing me up like a doll.” Her dark eyes flash with anger that makes her more beautiful than the controlled composure she usually maintains. “Molding me into whatever image suits your needs.”
“I’m ensuring you’re dressed appropriately for the world you’re now part of.” I stand, moving around the desk until I’m close enough to see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat. “You carry my name now.”
The statement comes out more territorial than I intended, possessive in ways that cross lines between protection and ownership. Diana’s expression shifts—recognition settling across her features that this isn’t about clothing at all.
“Everything here is about control,” she says quietly. “The clothes, the bedroom, the meals, the appearances. You’re trying to remake me into someone who fits seamlessly into your life.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive in a world that will use any perceived weakness as leverage.” I reach out, catching a strand of her hair between my fingers the way I did in the library. “The dress isn’t about control. It’s about making certain everyone who sees you understands you’re mine.”
Her breath hitches. “I’m not yours.”
“Aren’t you?” I let the hair slide through my fingers, the touch deliberate. “You wear my ring. What part of that suggests you belong to yourself?”
She should pull away. Should slap me or storm out or reinforce boundaries I’m deliberately eroding. Instead, she holds my gaze with defiance layered over awareness we both feel crackling in the shrinking space between us.
“The part where I haven’t given you permission to touch me beyond what happened against that wall,” she says, voice steady despite the tremor I can see running through her.
The reminder of that night—her gasping my name, coming apart beneath my hand—sends heat straight through me. I step back before I do something that proves her point about control.
“Keep the dresses,” I tell her. “Wear them or don’t, but understand that appearances matter in this world, and I won’t apologize for caring how you’re perceived.”
She picks up the burgundy dress from my desk, her expression unreadable. “You’re impossible.”
“Frequently.”
Diana leaves without another word, taking the dress with her. I watch her go, aware that the tension between us has shifted into something sustained and electric that affects every interaction.
Chapter Sixteen - Diana
The argument starts when I overhear Felix on a phone call in his office, door slightly ajar, his voice carrying an edge I haven’t heard before. I’m passing through the hallway on my way to the library when fragments reach me.
“Two warehouses raided simultaneously isn’t coincidence, it’s coordination… Senator Ruvik issued a public statement distancing himself from Rudenko Strategic Consulting… I don’t care what it costs, reroute the shipments through Baltimore and make sure the trail doesn’t—”
I stop walking, pressing closer to the wall to hear better.
“Lorenzo is freezing joint assets. He’s forcing us to choose between operational continuity and… Yes, I’m aware of the timeline… No, she stays here. That’s not negotiable.”
He’s talking about me.
The call ends with a sharp curse I’ve never heard Felix use. Silence follows, then the sound of something hitting the desk with enough force to rattle.
I push the door open without knocking.
Felix stands behind his desk, both hands braced against the polished surface, shoulders tight with tension that radiates through his entire body. He looks up when I enter, his expression shifting from frustrated to controlled in the space of a heartbeat.
“How much did you hear?” he asks.
“Enough.” I close the door behind me and cross my arms. “Sartore is retaliating because of me.”
