Page 12 of His Bride

“All clear, boss,” he says quietly.

I guide Adriana to the passenger door. Her hazel eyes are wide, fathomless pools in the darkness. I’m drowning in them. With effort, I tear my gaze away and open the door.

“After you, wife,” The word feels strange on my tongue. Foreign yet intoxicating.

Adriana hesitates. Her lower lip trembles. God help me, I want to bite it.

Instead, I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. “It’s alright,” I say softly.

She takes a shaky breath and slides into the leather seat. As I close the door, I catch a whiff of her perfume. Jasmine and vanilla. Intoxicating.

I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms. Control. I must maintain control.

But as I round the car, my resolve wavers. The weight of what’s to come settles heavy in my chest. For the first time in years, I feel a flicker of doubt.

What have I done?

I slide into the driver’s seat, the leather creaking beneath me. The car purrs to life, and we pull away from the curb. Streetlights flicker across Adriana’s face, illuminating her delicate features in bursts.

“Are you cold?” I ask, breaking the tense silence.

She shakes her head. “No, thank you.”

Her voice is soft, tremulous. I want to reach out, to comfort her, but I know my touch would only make her flinch. I’m a monster in her eyes. The big bad wolf who’s devoured her future.

We lapse back into silence as I turn onto the private road leading to my compound. The trees loom over us, casting long shadows.

“We’re almost home,” I tell her.

As we approach the gate, I notice her eyes widen at the sight of the armed guards. They nod respectfully as we pass through.

I park in front of the mansion and turn to face her, “We’re here. ”

Adriana’s breathing quickens. I can almost taste her fear in the air.

I exit the car, rounding it to open her door. Adriana steps out, her wedding dress trailing on the gravel. I offer my hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she takes it.

Her skin is soft, warm. I want to pull her close, to taste her lips again, to—

No. Not yet. Soon.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Rossi,” I say, leading her towards the house.

We walk through the entrance of the house, her tiny hand shaking in mine. The opulence of the foyer doesn’t affect me, but I study her response carefully. Her gaze wanders, absorbing the polished hardwood floors, the art on the walls and sparkling light fixtures.

“This way,” I say, guiding her up the sweeping staircase.

We reach my bedroom door. I pause and look at her face. Fear and anticipation war in her eyes.

“Are you ready?” I ask, my voice low.

She nods a barely perceptible movement. I push open the door.

The bedroom is dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls. Adriana breathes sharply as she takes in the massive four-poster bed, the plush rugs, the glint of gold accents.

“It’s… overwhelming,” she replies.

I close the door behind us with a soft click. “You’ll get used to it.”

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