Page 59 of Possessive Mr. Pen

“Almost is not enough,” he snarls.

“Wait, rewind.Cheesy inheritance plot.This has nothing about a will or illegitimacy or marriage—”

“Alex Koch is a vile piece of shit.He doesn’t care about the bastard he abandoned so long ago.I don’t need an inheritance to take everything from him.”

“Then why the marriage contract?”

He slides a folder closer to me.

I read through it several times.It makes sense, but I don’t like it.At first, I don’t understand why, but then I close my emotions into a little box and work through only facts.

“You have the order wrong,” I decide.

He leans closer and asks, “How so?”

“You can’t protect me until we’re legally wed.Marry me in secret, flaunt me as your fiancée, move assets to my name, and then move to the next step.”

“No.You deserve a grand wedding.”

“Ew.No thanks.I don’t want a big wedding, but if it’s that important to you, we can have a massive vow renewal ceremony and hire all the news channels to broadcast it so the Koch’s can watch it in prison.”

“You’re evil.”

“Thanks.”

He chuckles and reaches for me, but I kick off the desk and swivel the chair out of reach.

“I may be evil, but I have my limits.We will ensure Destiny isn’t clumped in with her parents.”His amusement fades into cold disapproval, but I continue as he stalks toward me.“We’ll protect her from the fallout, including her financial, educational, and emotional well-being.”

He leans down and grabs the armrests, caging me in and towering over me.Despite my racing heart and throbbing clit, I quirk an unimpressed brow.

“No,” he growls.

I scowl, lean forward, and tilt my chin, daring him to refute me.

“Yes.She’s a child.Was she even conceived when her mother killed yours?”

His brow gives the slightest twitch.

“She’s a victim, too.Both Alex and Jocelyn act like she’s baggage they lug around just for clout.There’s no connection between them.”

My words spark something in his eyes, so I press onward.

“It’s not her fault.She’s innocent.”

For several tension-filled moments, we stare into each other’s eyes, neither of us willing to relent.

He gives a disgruntled huff, rises, and runs his hand through his hair as he begins pacing back and forth.

I can’t peel my stare away from him.His long legs carry him with mouthwatering ease, and his ruffled hair fills me with the yearning to touch and tug.

“We can’t protect every poor soul you feel sorry for,” he argues.

“Yes we can.”

“Hilary—”

“I saved you.”