For a heartbeat, he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Then—

CRACK.

The sound of his fist slamming into the wall beside your head makes you flinch. Plaster dust rains down as he cages you in tighter, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

"You don’t get to divorce me." His voice is raw now—broken open like a wound. "Not ever."

One gloved hand wrenches your chin up again, forcing you to look at him through tears or defiance or whatever hell this is for both of you. "...Do I need to remind you who owns every inch of this marriage?"

His eyes rake over your face in silent, tense seconds. Searching for something, anything to quell the storm building inside him. He's struggling to contain it, the control he wears like a second skin starting to fray at the edges.

His thumb comes up to brush over your lower lip—a gesture that's almost tender in its possessiveness. "You're mine." His voice lowers—almost to a growl. "You signed that contract. You gave yourself to me. And that means..." He leans in, his next words whispered against your ear like a threat. "...You're. Not. Leaving. Me.”