Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Sleep was impossible now.
It always was after I woke up from a nightmare.
A savage fury twisted inside my chest. It was a real, living thing inside me, feeding on my pain, growing stronger with each passing day.
I had learned to channel it into cruelty, into violence, into the destruction of anyone who crossed me.
But nothing I did was ever enough.
No amount of destruction could fix this pain.
Not until the one who caused it suffered.
And I would make him suffer.
I paced the length of my room relentlessly. Back and forth. Again and again.
I dragged in a breath, then forced it back out, but even breathing felt like a struggle.
Nothing worked.
Nothing eased the chaos clawing through my chest.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my palms against them until pain bloomed behind my sockets. A sharp hiss slipped through my clenched teeth as the pressure in my chest tightened painfully.
Then hazel eyes and dark hair crashed into my mind without warning, striking me hard enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
My eyes snapped open.
Serafina.
My wife was sleeping down the hall, oblivious to the storm raging inside me.
Thud.
Something pulled me toward her room, a need I couldn’t explain or resist.
Thud. Thud.
I padded silently through the hallway, my bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor. Her door was unlocked, a small act of trust from a woman who had every reason to keep me out.
I pushed it open slowly and the first thing I saw was her, in the center of the bed. The moonlight filtered through her curtains, spilling into the room, making her pale skin glow luminously.
I walked in and closed the door behind me.
So peaceful. So vulnerable. So fragile.
Serafina didn’t know what truly lied in the depth of my soul, the darkness that truly resided there.
She lay curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, her dark hair fanned across the pillow.
In sleep, her face was soft, unguarded, the sharp edges of her defiance smoothed away.
She looked so innocent, so untouched by the darkness that surrounded us both.
I wanted to hate her for that. For her purity, her light, her ability to sleep peacefully while I was tormented by ghosts.
Instead, I found myself drawn to the armchair in the corner of her room, the same one I sat in diligently every night, the very same one where I’d watched her read that romance book while I recovered from her poisonous kiss.
I sank into it, my body heavy with exhaustion I hadn’t realized was weighing me down.
I hadn’t slept in almost three days.
The darkness in my mind kept me awake, forcing me to relive memories I could never change like a curse, while feeding the hunger for vengeance I had yet to claim.
I was fucking exhausted, but my thoughts had refused to quiet.
Yet now…
In her presence, something shifted.
For the first time in days, the tightness in my chest began to ease.
The anger that had been burning through me like acid receded, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness.
My eyes grew heavy, my muscles relaxing despite my best efforts to remain vigilant.
I hadn’t slept properly in... I couldn’t remember how long.
Too many hours, too many nights spent staring at the ceiling or drinking myself into oblivion, trying to silence the voices in my head.
I watched my wife sleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I could breathe again.
She had asked for time. Time to process everything that had happened between us, time to find herself in this twisted marriage I had forced her into.
Time to come to terms with what we were to each other.
But I wasn’t a patient man.
Patience was not a luxury meant for men like me.
I took what I wanted, when I wanted it. But for her, I would…wait.
For now.
When her time was up, I would take what was rightfully mine.
I would make her mine in ways she could never deny, never escape.
The thought filled me with a dark, possessive certainty as my eyes drifted closed.
Serafina didn’t know…
I was an obsessive man for the things I wanted.
And I wanted her.
Mind, body and soul.
Every inch of her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Serafina
One month later
I stood in the kitchen, staring at the ingredients spread across the marble countertop with a mixture of determination and trepidation.
Cooking had never been my forte. I’d mastered eggs, certainly, but beyond that, my culinary skills were embarrassingly limited. Yet here I was, determined to prepare something that wouldn’t end in disaster.
Elena had looked at me with such surprise when I’d told her to tell the Chef to take the day off. “But Mrs. Salvatore, who will prepare dinner?” she’d asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
“I will,” I had replied with too much confidence. “It’s just one meal.”
Now, I wondered if I had been too hasty.
Arabella’s recipe for lasagna stared back at me from my phone screen, her bubbly text messages filled with exclamation points and emojis.