Chapter 7

The first thing I registered was the weight of his arm, heavy and possessive, draped across my waist like a golden chain. It wasn’t just a casual hug; it was the kind of hold that said *mine*, absolute and unyielding. The light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse suite was soft, diffused by the heavy silk curtains we hadn’t fully drawn the night before. Or perhaps we had crashed there at the gala, amidst the chaos of the champagne flutes and the tuxedo-clad elite, too distracted by each other to care about propriety. I didn’t remember the transition from the ballroom to this king-sized bed, only the lingering scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, like aged whiskey—and the way the city slept far below us, unaware of the storm that had broken inside this room. I shifted slightly, a low groan escaping my throat as my body protested the stiffness in my shoulders. The silk sheets were cool against my bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat that still radiated from his chest. I turned my head, burying my face in the cro of his neck, inhaling deeply. He stirred, his breath hitching against my hair,