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He freezes above me, his eyes flying open, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that burns. For a moment, I think I’ve made a mistake, that I’ve broken the spell and his tenderness will shatter, revealing the devil hiding in plain sight. But his expression crumples, something like relief flooding his features, and he buries his face in my neck.

“Again,” he begs, his voice ragged as his hips stutter, losing their steady pace. “Say it again, sweetheart. I need to hear you say it.”

I arch beneath him, my body meeting his thrusts as my hands clutch at the broad expanse of his back, his shoulders, anything I can to keep him close. “Yours,” I breathe my surrender again over his skin. “Yours… Daddy… All yours.”

He groans, the sound torn from somewhere deep and wounded, his movements becoming more urgent. Still tender but desperate, his cock drives into me with a purpose that pools deep in my core, pushing me toward another release.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, his hand sliding between us to find my clit. His slick fingers circle it with the same devastating patience he showed with his tongue. “That’s my perfect, beautiful wife. Come for Daddy. Let me feel you. Let me feel how much you want this. How much you want me.”

I shatter beneath him, my second orgasm rolling through me like a tidal wave, my body convulsing around his cock, my cries muffled by his shoulder as I bite into his flesh hard enough that copper coats my tongue. His thrusts become erratic, and his body goes rigid above me as he follows me over the edge. A long broken moan spills over his lips as he pulses inside me, marking me like he has countless times before. Only this feels like it has nothing to do with contracts and everything to do with whatever is growing between us.

He collapses beside me, drawing me against his chest. His heart hammers a frantic rhythm beneath my ear as he strokes my hair with one hand and my hip with the other. Constant touches that say everything he can’t put into words.

As we lie in the dark, my body cradled in his warm embrace, I listen to his breathing slow and understand with a bone-deep terror that I’m in trouble. The brutal, controlling man who forced me into this marriage and took everything I had is the same man who just made love to me like I’m the only thing in his world that matters.

I don’t know how to protect myself from that. I don’t know how to shield my heart from a monster who suddenly seems so desperately, terrifyingly human.

“Daddy?” I whisper, the word barely audible.

“Don’t.” He pauses for a moment as his arms tighten around me. “Don’t ask me to be something I’m not, sweetheart.” His voice is low and resigned. “I don’t know how to give you what you want. What you need. This is the best version of me you’re going to get. I hope someday that’s enough.”

He presses his lips to my forehead, and I close my eyes, letting his words settle inside me. They should probably frighten me and make me pull away. Instead, I curl my fingers into his side as I nuzzle closer to him.

For the first time since Vance Ashford forced his way into my life, I realize his greatest weapon over me may not be his power or his control. It’s the part of his soul he never meant for me to see—the part that makes me want to stay.

My fingers skim across cold sheets—my thoughts still muddled with the remnants of slumber—slowly realizing that Vance is gone. The warmth from his body has already faded from the mattress, but when I manage to open my eyes, I find his pillow still carries the faint impression of his head. As I lie there alone, staring at the empty space beside me, I wonder where he went, when he left, why he didn’t wake me, and whether last night was reality or a dream.

I throw off the covers and slide from bed before finding Vance’s discarded dress shirt on the floor. When I pull it on, the soft fabric still carries the subtle trace of his tobacco-scented cologne as it swallows my frame. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I pause for a moment to smooth my sleep-tousled hair before stepping into the hallway.

The penthouse is quiet as I pad barefoot into the kitchen. I start the coffee maker and lean against the marble island as I wait for the pot to percolate. As the rich scent slowly fills the room, I idly flip through today’s Tribune on the counter and skim the headlines to pass the time.

It’s the same recycled news posted by every media outlet, day after day, until I reach the third page.

SOUTH SIDE TERRORIZED: TENANTS REPORT THREATS AND VANDALISM.

The crisp crinkle of pages fills the room as I hastily lift them from the counter, rereading the headline before skimming the article. The blood drains from my face, and a cold wave of horror washes over me with every word. Slashed tires. Smashed windows. Dead rats. The details are a litany of cruelty, and a blatant slap in my face.

Our agreement that I had three weeks. The tender way he worshipped me last night. All of it was a lie. Nothing more than a manipulative trick to placate me and keep me docile while he unleashed his hounds. He never intended to honor his word. Or me.

A hot, sharp surge of righteous fury propels me from the kitchen. With the newspaper clutched in my fist, I storm across the penthouse. I shove open his office door to find him behind his desk, his attention focused on the paperwork in front of him.

“You promised me,” I choke on my anger at his betrayal, my voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. “I trusted you.”

He slowly raises his head, his cool, assessing eyes meeting mine. “Trusted me with what, sweetheart?” he asks in a low rumble.

“With this!” I slam the newspaper on his desk so hard it echoes around the room like a gunshot. “With them! With our agreement!” My voice grows stronger with every word, fueled by the rage burning in my gut. “You promised me three weeks. That you would let me try this my way. This”—I jab my finger at the damning headline—“is not my way. This is the way of a thug and a bully. This is your way.”

Leaning back in his chair, his steepled fingers lightly tap his lips as he listens to my tirade with terrifying patience. His silent calmness is more unnerving and intimidating than any explosion of anger. His eyes cold and his expression remaining unreadable, he lets me rage and spit my venom. “You did this. While I was sleeping in your bed, you were⁠—”

“Handling business,” he interrupts, his ton devoid of what little emotion it held a few hours ago. “Your generous timeline wasn’t working.”

“I still had two days!” I protest, the words each cracking with desperation. “I was almost there. I had a follow-up meeting scheduled with their lawyer this afternoon. We were on the verge of an agreement.”

A slow, cruel smile touches his lips. “And while you were waiting to meet with their lawyer, my investors were getting nervous. My brothers were growing impatient. Time is money, sweetheart. And your sentimental little project was costing me both.”

He rises and rounds his desk, his gaze never leaving mine as he stalks toward me. Instinctively, I take a step backward, and he continues his deliberate advance until my back hits the cold, hard wall. He stops in front of me, his body a mere inch from mine. The comfort of his presence has been replaced with a suffocating weight that forces the air from my lungs.

Vance places one hand on the wall beside my head as his other hand traces the line of my jaw, a touch both intimate and terrifying. “You look disappointed,” he observes. “Did you truly think you could fuck the monster out of me, Sophia?”