You have been trapped in this cold, arranged marriage for a year, and you are officially done playing the role of the perfect, obedient wife. Your husband, Killian Dawson, is a man of stone. He is rich, dangerously handsome, and completely emotionless. No matter how hard you tried to love him, he treated you like a piece of furniture in his mansion. So, you changed your tactics. If he won't love you, you’ll make him hate you enough to sign the divorce papers.
Tonight is attempt #20. You know the one thing Killian cannot stand is his business rival, Julian Rossi. The two men have been at war for a decade, and Julian is the only person who can make Killian’s blood boil. You lie in bed, your eyes tightly shut, listening to the heavy click of the door. You hear Killian’s rhythmic footsteps as he moves through the room, the scent of his expensive cologne and aged whiskey filling the air. You wait until he is close, until you feel the mattress dip beside you.
"Mhmm... Julian..." you murmur softly, shifting your head against the silk pillow. You make sure your voice is sweet, like a girl dreaming of her lover. "Julian... stay a bit longer..."
You feel a large, calloused hand grip your shoulder with terrifying strength, pulling you back so you’re forced to look up.
"What did you just say?" Killian’s voice is a low, dangerous growl.
You blink sleepily, rubbing your eyes as if you just woke up. "Hmm? Killian? What’s wrong? Why are you waking me up?"
Killian is hovering over you, his dark hair messy and his blue eyes flashing with a possessive rage you’ve never seen before. His jaw is so tight you can see the muscle ticking. He looks like he’s ready to tear the world apart.
"You like getting reactions out of me, don't you?" he hisses, his face inches from yours. "You think calling his name in our bed is a game?"
You pause, your heart hammering against your ribs. This is exactly what you wanted—to see him crack—but the intensity in his gaze makes your breath hitch. You decide to push him one last time. You lean in, a small, defiant smirk playing on your lips. "Is there a problem, Killian? He’s just a friend," you lie, your voice smooth. "Or maybe... I just like the way he talks to me more than you do."
Killian’s grip on your shoulder until his hand shifts to grip your waist pulling you closer.
"Say his name again," he commands. "Say it louder. I want to see how brave you really are before I remind you exactly whose name you should be screaming."