The silence was suffocating.Justina froze, her body tangled in the sheets, her mind screaming at the absurdity of the moment. Only minutes ago, she had been pinned beneath Carson, lost in the heat of a storm she swore she'd never surrender to. Now, a child stood in the doorway, his gray eyes wide, clutching a stuffed bear like a shield.
Carson moved first. His hand tightened briefly on hers as an unspoken warning to stay silent before he rose from the bed, pulling his discarded shirt over his shoulders with a swift, practiced motion.
"Evan," Carson said softly, his voice shifting into something she had never heard before. A gentle and patient human. "What are you doing out of bed?"
The boy's lip trembled. "I heard voices. And the thunder." He glanced toward Justina, confusion flickering in his eyes, though his innocence kept him from fully grasping what he'd interrupted. "Who's she?"
Justina's throat closed. Her hands clutched the sheets tighter around her, heat and humiliation burning her skin. She had never felt so exposed not even beneath Carson's touch.
Carson crossed the room, crouching down so he was eye-level with the boy. "She's… someone important," he said carefully. His gaze flicked back to Justina for the briefest second, unreadable. "Go back to bed, Evan. I'll be there soon."
Evan shook his head stubbornly. "I can't sleep without you reading the story."
Justina blinked. The image slammed into her like a punch Carson Wills, the ruthless billionaire who had tied her fate to his bed, reading bedtime stories to a child.
It didn't fit. It couldn't fit.Yet the truth was standing right there, clutching a stuffed bear.
"Go on," Carson urged softly, brushing a hand through the boy's hair. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Promise."
Evan hesitated, then nodded, his small shoulders relaxing under the weight of Carson's assurance. He glanced once more at Justina before padding down the hall, the sound of his footsteps fading.
The door clicked shut.
The silence returned, heavier than before.
Justina stared at Carson, her chest heaving. "Who is he?"
Carson straightened, his expression shuttering, all traces of tenderness vanishing like mist under the sun. "Not your concern."
Her anger flared, cutting through her shame. "You drag me into your world, you use my brother as leverage, you break me and now you expect me to ignore the fact that a child just walked into your bedroom?"
His jaw flexed. "Lower your voice."
"No," she snapped, clutching the sheets tighter. "Not this time. Who is he, Carson?"
For a moment, his eyes softened, shadows moving across his face. Then he turned away, his hands braced against the glass wall, the city lights painting his silhouette in silver.
"My responsibility," he said finally. "And that's all you need to know."
But Justina knew, with bone-deep certainty, that it wasn't nearly enough.
Justina couldn't stop shaking. Not from Carson's touch not anymore but from what she'd seen.
A child. Here. In his world.
It shattered everything she thought she knew about him.
"Your responsibility?" she repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief. "That's the best you can give me?"
Carson's reflection in the glass was unreadable, his tall frame outlined in the shimmer of the city. "Yes."
She clutched the sheets tighter, frustration bubbling like acid in her veins. "You dragged me into this… whatever this is. You've stripped me of choices. The least you owe me is the truth."
Carson turned slowly, his eyes locking on hers with a force that made her breath stutter. "The truth," he said, voice low, "is a weapon. And I don't hand out weapons, Justina."
Her pulse spiked. He was too composed, too controlled. And yet she had seen it. The softness in his eyes when the boy spoke. The quiet, protective warmth that no mask could hide.
"You care about him," she whispered.
The faintest flicker crossed his face, gone in an instant. "He's my blood."
"Your son?"
His silence was sharper than any answer.
Justina's heart thudded painfully. For one terrifying second, she thought she saw guilt in his eyes. But then the mask returned, colder than before.
"Don't ask questions you don't want answered," he said.
Her body trembled under the weight of his stare. She was still sprawled in his sheets, the air heavy with the scent of what they had just done. The intimacy clung to her skin like invisible chains. She hated him for it, hated herself for needing to understand him.
But she couldn't stop.
"Why hide him?" she demanded. "You flaunt your power in every other corner of your life, Carson. Why keep him a secret?"
Carson moved then slowly, deliberately. He came to the edge of the bed and leaned over her, bracing his hands on either side of her body. His face hovered inches from hers, his breath warm, his presence overwhelming.
"You're not here to know me," he murmured. "You're here to obey me."
Her pulse skittered, heat sparking in her chest despite her fury. "You think you can keep me in your bed and expect me not to ask who that child is? You think you can use Elias against me and I'll just roll over like some… some puppet?"
His gaze burned with dangerous amusement. "You already did."
The words sliced through her, brutal and true. Her body still ached with proof of it. Shame washed over her, sharp and suffocating.
But beneath it all, beneath the fury and the hurt, was something else.
Curiosity.
Because the Carson Wills who had kissed her into surrender and broken her resolve was not the same Carson Wills who had crouched down to comfort a frightened boy.
And Justina Ashes wasn't sure which version scared her more.
Carson left her with nothing more than a glance. No words. No command. Just that looks like a warning and a promise all at once. Then he slipped out of the room, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
For a moment, Justina sat frozen, clutching the sheets around her. Every nerve screamed that she should stay put, that she should not follow, that whatever secrets Carson kept were dangerous enough to shatter her further.
But curiosity was a living thing inside her, gnawing at her ribs.
Slowly, quietly, she rose from the bed. The gown was gone, abandoned on the floor, so she snatched up the silk robe draped across a chair, pulling it tightly around her. Her bare feet made no sound as she padded down the hall, her heart hammering against her ribs.
A sliver of warm light spilled beneath a door left slightly ajar.
She edged closer.
Carson's voice drifted through low, even, so unlike the commanding tone he used with her. She pressed her palm to the doorframe, holding her breath, listening.
"…and then the knight lifted his sword," Carson murmured, the words patient, measured. "Not for glory. Not for riches. But because someone needed him."
The boy's giggle rang out, soft and sweet. "You always change it. That's not how it goes."
Carson chuckled, the sound rumbling and warm in a way Justina had never heard. "Stories are better when they belong to us, Evan."
Her chest ached. She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the wood. The image formed in her mind even without seeing Carson stretched beside the boy, book open, his voice wrapping safety around a child who clearly trusted him with his whole world.
It didn't match the man who had tied her to his bed, who had used her brother as leverage. But maybe… maybe both were true.
Her breath caught when Evan whispered, voice small but certain: "You won't leave me, right?"
Carson's reply came without hesitation. "Never."
And the conviction in his tone broke something in her.
She stepped back, her throat tight, eyes burning. She had seen enough. More than enough.
When she slipped back into his bedroom, her heart carried a weight heavier than shame, heavier than lust.
For the first time since Carson Wills had pulled her into his world, Justina Ashes saw the possibility that he was not just her captor, not just her enemy.
But a man chained to his own promises.The door opened softly.
Justina sat on the edge of the bed, robe wrapped tightly around her, hands twisting in her lap. She didn't look up at first didn't dare. Her heart still echoed with the sound of Carson's promise to the boy. Never.
The bed dipped as he returned, his presence filling the room like smoke. She finally lifted her eyes, meeting his.
Something had shifted.
His hair was mussed, his shirt half-unbuttoned, but it wasn't his disheveled state that startled her. It was the trace of warmth still clinging to him, the softness from Evan's room that hadn't yet been smothered by steel.
And it terrified her more than his cruelty ever had.
"You followed me," he said quietly.
Her breath caught. "I…"
Carson's lips curved not a smile, not exactly. Something sharper. "You wanted to see what kind of monster reads bedtime stories?"
She swallowed hard. "I wanted to see what kind of man you are."
His eyes darkened, the warmth vanishing like smoke. He leaned forward, his hand closing around her chin, tilting her face up to his. "And what did you find?"
Her pulse skittered beneath his touch. The scent of himmrich, masculine, maddening wrapped around her again. She should have lied, should have hidden the truth to protect herself. But the words fell anyway, unguarded.
"You care."
For a long moment, he said nothing. His gaze bored into hers, sharp and dangerous, like he was weighing whether to punish her honesty or devour it.
Then he leaned closer, his mouth brushing her ear, his voice a low, sinful rasp.
"Don't mistake care for weakness, Justina. I'll destroy anyone who threatens him. Just as I'll destroy anyone who threatens what's mine."
Her breath hitched as his hand slid down from her chin to the edge of her robe, tugging it loose with deliberate slowness. The silk parted, exposing her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the marks he'd left hours earlier.
Carson's thumb traced one of them, possessive. "And you," he murmured, "are mine too."
Her body betrayed her, trembling under his touch. Anger and desire clashed inside her, shame burning hot in her veins. "You don't own me," she whispered, though even she could hear the weakness in her voice.
His eyes gleamed, triumphant and dark. "Say that again when you're not trembling."
Her breath caught, fury and longing warring within her. She hated him. She wanted him. She feared him. She wanted to strip away every layer of his armor until she found the truth.
And she knew whatever this was, whatever was happening between them it was only the beginning.
Carson's thumb lingered on her skin, slow, deliberate, as though every inch belonged to him by right.
Justina gripped the robe tighter around herself, but the gesture was useless. His hands, his presence, his power made the silk feel like nothing at all.
"You terrify me," she whispered.
Carson tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something that made her heart stumble. "Good. Fear keeps you honest."
Her throat tightened. "And what about him?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice trembling. "Do you want him to fear you too?"
The air was still.
For the briefest moment, his hand froze against her skin. A muscle ticked in his jaw, his eyes flickering with a storm she couldn't read.
Then his grip tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against him, the robe falling open as though he'd willed it away.
"Don't," he growled softly, his lips brushing her ear, "speak his name in this bed."
Her pulse raced, heat flooding through her despite the warning. His breath seared her neck, his body pressed hard and demanding against hers. She wanted to push him away, to claw free of the magnetic hold he had over her but her hands betrayed her, sliding up to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt.
"You twist everything," she whispered, half-broken. "Even the good."
Carson's mouth found hers, the kiss brutal and consuming, stealing the words from her lips. His tongue swept against hers with devastating certainty, his hand sliding down her thigh, anchoring her against the mattress.
"You don't get to define good," he said between kisses, his voice a dark promise. "You get to survive me."
Her body arched against him, fire and fury burning together until she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. Every nerve screamed at the contradiction hating him, wanting him, resenting the way he made her crave the very chains she swore she'd resist.
His hand slid lower, pushing her further into the sheets, and a whimper escaped her throat before she could stop it.
Carson's lips curved against her skin. "That's the sound I wanted."
Tears pricked her eyes, tears of frustration, of shame, of desire too sharp to deny.
And in the silence that followed, she realized something terrifying.
For all her rage, for all her resistance, a part of her was starting to crave not just his touch, but the man himself.
The man who could break her brother.
The man who read bedtime stories.
The man she could never afford to want.
Carson's weight pressed her deeper into the sheets, his mouth trailing fire down her throat, his hand claiming her with ruthless certainty.
Justina's breath came in gasps, shame and desire warring in every sound that left her lips. She hated the way her body arched to meet him, and hated the weakness trembling through her veins.
And yet she couldn't stop.
His touch was a brand. His kiss, a chain. Every inch of her screamed his name, even as her heart whispered another truth,Elias. I have to protect Elias.
Her voice broke as she gasped, "You can't use him forever"
Carson's mouth silenced her, bruising, demanding. When he pulled back, his eyes burned with the intensity of a storm. "I'll use whatever I must," he growled. "Because I don't lose. Not in business. Not in war. Not in this bed."
The words sank into her, brutal and intoxicating. And then soft footsteps again.
The door creaked.Both froze.
Evan's small voice whispered into the silence: "Uncle Carson…?"
Carson moved instantly, shielding Justina with the robe, his body a wall between her and the boy's wide eyes.
"What did I tell you about knocking?" Carson's tone was sharp, but beneath it was something protective.
Evan hesitated, clutching his bear tighter. "I had a bad dream."
Justina's chest twisted. The innocence in his voice cut deeper than Carson's dominance ever could.
Carson exhaled, his jaw tight. He crouched down, his hand resting gently on the boy's shoulder. "Dreams can't hurt you, Evan."
The boy looked up at him, eyes glistening. "They can if they're about her."
The room stilled.
Her breath caught. Carson's muscles went rigid.
Her.
Justina.
"What do you mean?" Carson asked slowly, his voice dangerous in its calm.
Evan's lip trembled. "The woman with the fire hair. Mama said she'd come back one day."
The blood drained from Justina's face. Her stomach dropped, ice flooding her veins.
Fire hair. Mama.
Carson's gaze whipped toward her, suspicion and something sharper cutting into her like a blade.
"Justina," he said, his voice low, lethal. "What aren't you telling me?"