She had always found a way out of trouble—sweet words, sharp wit, or sheer luck. But this time, luck had abandoned her.

The room was suffocating, thick with the scent of sweat and bad intentions. The men before her were not the kind to be reasoned with, and she could already feel the weight of their suspicion pressing down on her. She had no weapons, no backup, nothing but a single name—his name.

Her voice was steady, but her pulse betrayed her. “I’m his wife.”

Silence. A dangerous kind of silence. Then, a murmur rippled through them, some laughing under their breath, others exchanging wary glances.

“His wife?” one of them echoed, disbelief laced in his tone.

She held her ground, back straight, chin high, willing herself to look like she belonged to a man feared by all. She had played dangerous games before, but never one like this.

Hours later, she realized she had underestimated him.

By the time she opened her eyes again, the air was different—richer, perfumed, laced with something undeniably his. The sheets beneath her were silk, the walls dark and imposing.

Then, the voice came. Smooth. Amused. Lethal.

“Welcome home, wife.”

And there he was, standing at the doorway, watching her like a predator who had just caught his prey.