By the time the car stopped in front of Adrian Throne's estate, I' had convinced myself this was all a fever dream. That it wasn't real and I would wake up at any minute.
It wasn't. A dream that is.
The gates towered higher than most buildings, wrought iron curling into sharp points. Beyond them, the mansion rose like something carved out of arrogance and steel, too much glass, too much stone, and it looked like too much money.
I stepped out, spine stiff but my chin was raised high. I wouldn't let him see me falter.
The doors opened before I reached them. He was already there, waiting for me.
Adrian Throne.
Black suit, no tie, his shirt was undone just enough to tease. He leaned against the doorframe like he'd been born to command it. That smug mouth curved when he saw me.
"Welcome home, my princess."
My pulse skittered. I shoved past him, my heels clicking against marble that gleamed like ice. "This isn't my home. This is your cage and stop calling me that, you lost that right the moment you laid with my best friend then."
He followed, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling prey. "Semantics."
"Semantics?" I spun, heat flashing in my chest. "You kissed me in public without my permission. You dragged me into this charade without asking. And now you think you can shove me into your house like I'm some trophy wife?"
His eyes darkened, sharp enough to pierce bone. "You think I dragged you? Raine, you came running. Because you need me. Don't forget that."
My stomach twisted. Damn him, he was right.
And I hated him more for it.
"Upstairs." His voice was cool command. "You'll be staying in the east wing. My wing."
I froze. "Excuse you?"
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. His cologne wrapped around me, intoxicating and infuriating.
"Don't play innocent. If the world is going to believe we're engaged, you don't get to hide across the hall like a guest. You live under my roof, Raine. You sleep under my roof." His voice dropped, velvet and dangerous. "And you play the part."
I should've slapped him. I should've screamed, told him to go to hell.
Instead, I found myself locked in his stare, breath shallow, chest aching with something I couldn't name.
Hate.
Hate so sharp it tangled with heat.
"You're a fucking bastard," I whispered.
He smiled, slow and sinful. "And you're mine."
Something inside me snapped. I shoved past him again, my heels echoing through the hallway. I didn't care where the east wing was I'd find it myself.
Behind me, his laugh followed, low and unshakable.
The sound of a man who knew he'd already won.