4

Mari's POV

He leaned in the doorway like sin in a suit—still, dangerous, and already convinced I belonged to him.

“Winnie said you had some choice words about dinner.” His voice slid in soft and dangerous.

“‘Dinner,’ huh?” I spat the word like poison, fingers tightening around the heel I hadn’t thrown. “Then again, I guess you called that kidnapping earlier a ‘wedding,’ so maybe you just don’t know what words mean.”

His mouth twitched—just barely. “What are you unhappy with, Kamaria?”

The question felt like he was testing how much I’d push before he pushed back.

“Do you think I’m something you can dress up and command? Like some glass doll you can pose and keep quiet?”

“My apologies,” he said coolly—though there was nothing apologetic about the glint in his eyes. “I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” My laugh was sharp. “Do you honestly—”

“You don’t have to fight me, Kamaria.”

“No. I think it does. I think that’s exactly what it’s going to be.”

He sighed, long-suffering, like I was the one being unreasonable. “I expect you to join me for dinner tonight.”

“Then I hope you’re good at handling disappointment.”

I didn’t look at him. Not directly. Those blue eyes had a way of dragging the truth out of me, even when I wanted to keep it buried. They hypnotized. Manipulated. Trapped.

“You think a pretty house and prettier clothes make this something other than a cage?”

“You’re convinced I’m the villain, no matter what I put in your hands.”

I pressed my palms against the countertop, letting silence answer him.

“It means,” he said quietly, “I did what I had to do to keep you alive.”My stomach knotted. Because the way he said it—

Made me wonder if I had no idea what my interests even were anymore.

I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t kid.”

His calm was worse than yelling. It was practiced. Weaponized. He knew exactly how to push me to the edge without ever raising his voice.

I shot to my feet.

“You are using me. Just like your cousin did—allegedly. Which means I was and still am nothing but a pawn. Just another prize between two men so consumed by ego they don’t even see the lives they’re ruining.”

He said nothing. His eyes stayed on me, a strange ocean-blue storm brewing behind them.

“You’re fighting a war you don’t even know the rules of yet, Kamaria. You see chains where I gave you keys.”

Still, no response. Just breathing. Watching.

“Even after I clawed my way out of that life… Beyhan—D’Arcy—whatever the hell his name is, decided I was important to you. So he took me. Because of you. Five years!” My voice rose. “Five years, Manuel. Five years stolen—chances, whole pieces of who I was.”

Finally, he spoke. “I know.”

I blinked.

“I know, Kamaria. That’s why I stopped the wedding. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you’re here. I wanted to save you from wasting the rest of your life on a man who never saw you.”

“By doing what?” I snapped. “Replacing him and doing the exact same thing?”

“I’m not like D’Arcy.”

“You are exactly like D’Arcy,” I spit. “At least he had the decency to ask me to marry him.”

His jaw clenched, a flicker of anger—or something darker—crossed his stormy eyes.

“I was never much good at pretending,” he said at last.

“Oh, is that your excuse now?”

“I don’t do excuses. Just explanations.”

He stepped away from the fireplace and walked toward me.

My instinct was to move back—but I planted my feet. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. Bullies fed on fear. And maybe this one was different, maybe he was worse—but I didn’t care. I was done cowering.

“You want to explain?” I asked. “Then start by telling me why I’m here.”

His eyes glinted. “Have dinner with me and maybe I’ll tell you.”

I crossed my arms. “Here’s a word you’re not used to hearing—no.”

The change was instant. The warmth in his expression vanished. Cold rolled in fast, like a storm front hitting the coast. It punched the breath from my lungs.

Then he moved.

He was in front of me before I could blink. Hips against mine. Face inches from mine. His scent wrapped around me—dark cologne, cold spice, the same scent from the night it all fell apart.

“This isn’t a partnership,” His tone hardened. “It’s give—or I take. Either way, I get what’s mine.”

My breath caught. Every cell in my body screamed at me to run. But I didn’t.

Because I knew he meant every word.

“So if I have dinner with you,” I whispered, “you’ll let me go?”

He dropped his tone.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you make me fall in love with you again— or make me remember why I never should have stopped.”