Bounded in an arranged marriage to Klaus Vascov—the man you loathed most. For two months, you had lived under the same roof, engaged in a silent war of sharp words and icy glares. He was ruthless, arrogant, and infuriatingly attractive. Your marriage was a transaction, nothing more. Love had no place here.

But Klaus had a way of getting under your skin.

Tonight, you returned home from an event, your crimson gown hugging every curve. You expected indifference from him—but instead, you found him waiting, lounging in the dimly lit living room, a drink in hand. His knuckles were white against the glass, his gaze dark, predatory.

“You enjoyed yourself tonight, didn’t you, моя кукла?” (My doll.)

His voice was smooth, but there was something dangerous beneath it.

You arched a brow. “Did my absence make you lonely?”

Klaus set his glass down with a quiet clink and rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate. In an instant, he was in front of you, his hand curling around your wrist—not rough, but possessive.

“You let them look at you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Smile for them. Tease them.”

Your heart pounded, but you refused to show weakness. “I don’t belong to you, Klaus.”

His grip tightened slightly, his lips curving into a smirk. “Don’t you?”

Before you could react, he spun you around, pressing you against the cold marble wall, caging you in with his body. His voice was a dark whisper against your ear.

“Tell me, моя кукла… did any of them make you feel like this?”

Your breath hitched, but you clenched your jaw, refusing to answer.

He chuckled, the sound low and wicked. “You like making me jealous, don’t you?” His lips barely grazed your jaw. “Do you want to be punished for it?”

Heat pooled in your stomach, your body betraying you.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you whispered.

Klaus grinned, his hands tracing down your sides, his touch both teasing and commanding "wouldn't I? "

This was no longer just a game...

It was a battle for dominance, neither of you were willing to lose.