- D O M I N I C • P O V -
The night had been a whirlwind-one I'd barely been able to stomach. Faces blurred in front of me, the clinking of glass, the soft murmur of pretentious pleasantries that did nothing to ignite my interest.
But all the while, I couldn't stop thinking about her.
Raven.
I could feel her presence everywhere, even though she wasn't there. Every move I made, every word I spoke, my mind was only on the aftermath of what had happened. The mess I'd cleaned up. The body I'd disposed of. David, that fucking scumbag who dared to touch what was mine.
I never allowed anyone to think they could lay a hand on her and get away with it.
Not David. Not anyone.
And now, I had the small reminder of my commitment to that belief: my bruised knuckles, the scrapes on my skin still red and fresh, the damage from the fists I had so eagerly thrown.
I was sitting at the table, pretending to listen to some low-level politician drone on about trade regulations, when I felt her eyes on me.
My wife.
She was sitting next to me, as always, her smile frozen in place as she laughed at some joke I hadn't even heard.
But then, her gaze shifted. It landed on my hands.
The moment her fingers brushed across the red scrapes on my knuckles, I felt the tension crackle between us. Her eyes widened as she stared at the rawness of it.
"Did you get into a fight?"
I went still.
Not because I was surprised.
Because I was deciding how much of her delusion I was about to tolerate.
Slowly, I turned my head and looked at her.
Really looked at her.
She was sitting there like she had the right.
Like she had any fucking claim over the violence in my life.
Over me.
My jaw flexed.
"A fight," I repeated flatly.
She hesitated. "Your knuckles are-"
"I know what my fucking knuckles look like."
She flinched.
Good.
I leaned back in my chair, spreading my legs slightly, my posture loose. Relaxed.
Dangerous.
"You think I got into a fight," I said, my voice calm in that way that made men start praying. "Like I'm some teenager behind a school building."
Her lips parted. "I was just-"
"No." I cut her off instantly. Sharp. Absolute. "You were asking a stupid question."
Silence slammed into her.
Her face shifted. Hurt. Confusion.
I didn't care.
I leaned forward slowly, resting my elbows on my knees, my scraped hand hanging between us where she couldn't ignore it.
"Let me explain something to you," I said quietly. "I don't get into fights."
My eyes locked onto hers.
"I end them."
Her breathing stuttered.
"I don't swing unless I intend to break something," I continued. "Bone. Teeth. Spine. Whatever needs breaking."
Her fingers curled into her dress.
"And I sure as fuck don't owe you an explanation."
That one landed exactly where I wanted it to.
She went pale.
Good.
Because I was tired of this act.
Tired of her pretending she didn't know what she signed up for.
"You knew what I was before you ever put that ring on," I said coldly. "You knew what I do. What I am. What kind of man stands in front of you."
My voice dropped lower.
"And you still thought asking me that was a good idea."
She swallowed hard. "I wasn't trying to-"
"I don't care what you were trying to do."
My tone snapped like a gunshot.
She shut up instantly.
Fear crept into her eyes now. Real fear.
Not the polite kind.
The survival kind.
I leaned back again, dragging my thumb slowly across my split knuckle. The bleeding had already stopped. It always did.
Because it was nothing.
"You don't ask me questions like that," I said flatly. "Ever."
Silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Then I tilted my head slightly, my voice dropping into something quieter.
Something worse.
"You live your life," I said. "You wear the ring. You show up when you're told. You keep your mouth shut."
My eyes held hers.
"And you don't question things that don't concern you."
She didn't speak again.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Good.
She could pretend all she wanted. I knew she didn't matter.
She never had.
★ ⋆｡°✩ ★
As the night went on, her attempts to speak to me were fewer, less frequent. Her fake concern seemed to drop in favor of something else. Maybe she was finally realizing that her place was no longer beside me. She'd never been the one I cared about.
I'd already known what I was capable of.
The bruised knuckles, the red scrapes, they were just a reminder of the lesson that needed to be learned.
Mess with Raven, and the consequences would be swift and brutal.
And I wasn't done yet.
I turned my attention back to the crowd, my gaze sweeping the room. There were plenty of dangerous men here, but none of them mattered.
Because as much as I'd painted this picture-perfect life, with this woman by my side, the reality was I was always going to be a man who did what was necessary. I protected what was mine, even if no one else understood it.
I let out a deep breath, feeling the weight of my choices.
Raven was the only thing that mattered.
She was mine.
And nothing or no one was ever going to change that.
I should have been fully present, strategizing, calculating, ensuring my presence was felt.
But my mind was elsewhere.
I adjusted my cufflinks, fingers twitching with impatience as I sat at the grand table reserved for the most influential men in the room. My wife sat beside me, smiling, pretending, talking to some senator's wife about something I couldn't be bothered to care about.
I didn't hear a fucking word.
Because the only thing circling in my head was her.
Raven.
She should have been the last thing I was thinking about. But ever since I saw her-since I saved her-she had latched onto something inside me I couldn't ignore.
I never let emotions interfere with business. I never got distracted.
Yet here I was, surrounded by some of the most dangerous men in the world, and all I could think about was a woman who had no fucking clue what she was doing to me.
I reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone. I shouldn't be doing this, not here, but I had already crossed the line the moment I let myself care.
Tapping into my contacts, I found her number. I'd taken it from her employee forms earlier. The ones she'd filled out for the job.
She had no idea I had it.
Until now.
I hesitated only for a second before typing.
Me: Doll
Possessive? Maybe. But I didn't give a fuck.
I did ownership. I did control.
And Raven?
She was mine. She would learn.
I stared at the screen, waiting, my pulse slow but heavy.
I sent another text.
Me: You okay?
Then the dots appeared.
She was typing.
And then-
MINE: Yeah... I'm okay.
My grip tightened around the phone.
She answered so quickly, so easily.
Like she already knew it was me.
That shouldn't have made my chest tighten the way it did.
She didn't ask who is this?
She didn't hesitate.
She knew.
And that told me everything I needed to know.
She didn't have a boyfriend.
If she did, she would have second-guessed it. She would have hesitated, worried about some poor bastard finding out.
But she didn't.
And even if she did?
I would have killed him.
Slowly.
I exhaled through my nose, my pulse kicking up as another text from her popped up.
MINE: Thanks for earlier. For, you know... everything.
Me: You don't need to thank me.
MINE: Still. I don't know what would've happened if you weren't there.
A slow, lethal heat crawled through my chest.
I knew exactly what would have happened.
And the thought of it made my fingers twitch with the urge to break someone all over again.
I leaned back in my chair, letting my jaw tick before I responded.
Me: I wasn't going to let anything happen to you.
MINE: You shouldn't do that.
Me: And yet, I will.
I didn't look at her when I locked my phone.
Didn't rush.
Didn't explain.
I slid it into my pocket like it meant nothing.
Like she meant nothing.
But I felt it.
Her eyes.
Burning into the side of my face like she was entitled to whatever lived behind my expression.
"Who are you texting?" she asked.
Curious.
Careful.
Testing a boundary she didn't have the authority to touch.
"No one important," I said flatly.
A lie.
Because Raven was the only thing that fucking existed.
I reached for my whiskey, bringing it to my lips, already done with the conversation before it started.
But she didn't stop looking.
I could see it in my peripheral.
Feel it.
That stare.
That silent demand.
My jaw tightened.
She spoke again. "You've been distant all night. Is something wrong?"
I didn't answer.
Didn't even acknowledge her.
Because she wasn't owed that.
Because she wasn't owed anything.
Silence stretched.
Still, she stared.
Still watching me.
Waiting.
Expecting.
That was her mistake.
Slowly, I turned my head.
My eyes landed on hers.
Cold.
Empty.
Sharp enough to cut skin.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked quietly.
She froze.
"I asked you a question," she said, trying to hold her ground.
I held her gaze.
Unblinking.
Unmoved.
"And I ignored it," I said.
Her breath hitched slightly.
Good.
I leaned in just enough for her to hear me.
Not a threat.
Not loud.
Worse.
Controlled.
"You're confusing your position," I said calmly. "You don't monitor me."
Her lips parted.
"You don't question me."
Her fingers curled slightly against the tablecloth.
"And you definitely don't sit there staring at me like you're waiting for answers."
My voice dropped lower.
"If there was something you needed to know, you'd know it."
Silence wrapped around her throat.
She didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Because she understood now.
Understood exactly where she stood.
I held her gaze one second longer.
Then dismissed her completely.
Turned away.
Reached for my drink.
Like she wasn't even there.
Like she never was.
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