The applause had faded, the champagne glasses drained, and the men of power had left the chapel behind, their voices echoing faintly down marble halls as they dispersed into the night. But the weight of what had happened clung to Aria like a second skin. She walked beside Lorenzo in silence, her steps heavy, her hands trembling at her sides. Every corridor they passed, every locked door, every armed guard reminded her of what she had just lost. Freedom. Future. Herself.
The diamonds at her throat felt heavier with each step, the gown tighter, suffocating. She wanted to rip it all off, to tear the fabric until nothing remained, until she was herself again. But she wasn't. Not anymore.
They reached a set of double doors, carved from dark oak and inlaid with gold. Without a word, Lorenzo pushed them open and ushered her inside. The room was vast—a private study, lined with shelves of leather-bound books and a desk carved from mahogany. The fireplace roared, throwing shadows across the floor, and the air smelled of smoke and expensive whiskey. The guards did not follow. The doors shut with a soft but decisive thud, sealing them inside.
For the first time since the ceremony, they were alone.
Aria spun on him, fury blazing through her veins. "What the hell was that?"
Lorenzo moved past her as though she hadn't spoken, loosening his tie with a practiced tug. He crossed to the bar cart in the corner, poured himself a glass of amber liquid, and took a measured sip. Only then did he glance at her, his gaze calm, maddeningly unreadable.
"You'll have to be more specific," he said, his voice smooth as silk, laced with quiet amusement.
Her hands clenched at her sides. "That kiss. That circus. That—" She choked on the words, heat rising to her face. "You humiliated me in front of everyone."
His lips curved faintly, though it wasn't a smile. "It was a wedding, Aria. A kiss is tradition."
"That wasn't a kiss." Her voice cracked, but she didn't back down. She stepped closer, fire in her chest, words tumbling out before she could stop them. "That was branding. That was you making sure every single one of those men knew you owned me."
He swirled the glass in his hand, the ice clinking softly. "Perceptive."
Her breath caught, fury surging. "You admit it?"
Lorenzo set the glass down with a soft click, then turned fully toward her. In the firelight, his features were carved from shadow and flame—sharp jaw, cold eyes, the kind of beauty that wasn't meant to soothe but to wound. "I don't need to admit anything," he said softly. "It's obvious. You are mine now, Aria. That kiss wasn't for you. It was for them."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. "Don't you dare talk to me like I'm property."
In a blur, he moved. One second he was across the room; the next, he was in front of her, his hand slamming against the wall just above her shoulder. She gasped, stumbling back until her spine met the wood. He didn't touch her—he didn't need to. His presence alone was a cage, the heat of his body closing in, his scent—smoke, spice, something darker—curling around her like a chain.
Her breath hitched, but she forced her chin up, her voice trembling but defiant. "What are you going to do, Lorenzo? Lock me up? Break me? You think standing this close will make me afraid of you?"
His gaze flicked down to her lips, then back to her eyes, and for a moment she swore the air itself caught fire between them. His voice dropped, velvet over steel. "No. Standing this close makes you angry. And anger…" His mouth curved into something dark. "…is far more interesting than fear."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her heartbeat thundering against her ribs. She wanted to slap him, to shove him away, to scream. But the heat of his nearness betrayed her, sent sparks skittering across her skin.
She hated it. She hated him.
And yet, she couldn't move.
"Get away from me," she whispered, hating the tremor in her voice.
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer until his lips brushed her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "You mistake me, cara mia. That kiss today?" His words were a whisper now, intimate, lethal. "It wasn't for you. It was for them."
Her stomach dropped, her throat tightening.
"For them to know you are untouchable. For them to know you belong to me."
He pulled back just enough for her to see the fire in his eyes, the dangerous calm that made her knees weak even as rage surged inside her. His hand slid from the wall, and just like that, the cage opened. He stepped back, leaving her trembling in the space he'd filled, the firelight flickering in his shadow.
Aria's hands balled into fists, her nails biting into her palms. She wanted to scream, to claw, to fight. But the truth burned in her chest: he hadn't kissed her for affection, and he hadn't kissed her for himself.
He had kissed her to make a statement.
And the worst part? It had worked.