Page 18 of Veiled Vows

“Serena, I’d like you to meet Mr. Thomas Sinclair,” she says. “He’s one of the most influential figures in our industry.”

I extend my hand, shaking his firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Please, call me Thomas,” he replies with a charming smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Serena. Evelyn speaks very highly of your work.”

We chat for a while, and he’s a bit flirtatious, complimenting my dress and my features. I don’t put a stop to it. Why does it matter? It isn’t cheating if I’m only bound to Salvatore on paper. Besides, it feels good to have someone show genuine interest in me.

“Would you like to dance?” Thomas asks, offering his hand.

I hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Sure, why not?”

He leads me to the dance floor, and we begin to move to the music. But as we dance, I can’t help but compare him to Salvatore. Thomas is handsome, but he lacks the raw magnetism that Salvatore has. He’s not as tall, not as broad-shouldered, and not as manly. His touch doesn’t send shivers down my spine the way Salvatore’s does.

It’s frustrating. I want to be able to forget Salvatore, to move on. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t escape the pull he has on me. Thomas pulls me closer, his hand resting on the small of my back.

“You’re an incredible dancer,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” I reply, forcing a smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

But my mind keeps drifting back to Salvatore. His intensity, his strength. The way he looks at me with those grey, piercing eyes. No one else has ever made me feel the way he does. And that’s the problem. I’m not attracted to anyone as much as I am to him.

But then, out of nowhere, I feel a chill go through me. I glance towards the entrance, and speak of the devil, I see Salvatore walking in. His eyes lock onto mine, and if looks could kill, both Thomas and I would be six feet under.

Salvatore's face is full of rage as he strides over. Without a word, he grabs Thomas's hand from my back and twists it sharply. The sickening sound of bones breaking fills the air, and Thomas's eyes widen in horror.

He opens his mouth to scream, but Salvatore leans in, whispering something in his ear that makes Thomas's face drain of all color. Whatever he said was enough to make him swallow his cry, apologize hastily, and run out of the room, leaving a wet spot on the front of his pants. No matter how influential, no one can compare to the power Salvatore has. It’s no wonder Thomas chose to flee and lick his wounds instead.

Salvatore can absolutely annihilate him, I know that. He even has close connections with the law; he could throw him in jail with no possibility of parole. It isn’t fair, but so is life.

Salvatore turns to me, his gaze unrelenting. He extends his hand, a silent command rather than an invitation. I gulp, my heart racing, and take his hand. He pulls me close, so close I can feel every ridge of his muscular frame against mine.

"You didn't tell me about the event," he says, his voice a low growl.

"I didn't think you'd want to come," I rush to say.

He spins me around, his grip firm but not painful. "Don't make decisions for me, Serena."

Despite everything, despite the anger and the jealousy, there's a part of me that revels in this, that enjoys his attention. But I can't let him see that.

"Why did you do that?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

"Because he was undressing you with his eyes," Salvatore replies with menace. "Because his hands were on you."

I glance around and realize that everyone is staring at us. I don't think the crowd noticed Salvatore crushing Thomas's hand. To them, it probably just looked like he took his wife back, albeit a bit roughly. I hope and pray that is the case. My legs feel like they're going to give out.

It's like I've teased the beast out of him. He presses me so close that it's inappropriate, his body molding against mine in a way that's far too intimate for a public setting.

The stares from the crowd make my skin prickle with embarrassment and something else... Arousal. Salvatore leans down, his lips brushing against my neck. I turn red, the heat flooding my cheeks. "When you were dancing with him, did you fail to inform him that you're my wife?" he hisses.

I gasp, unwanted pleasure coursing through me. This isn't the Salvatore I know—this is someone darker, more primal.

"Salvatore," I warn. "This is not the place."

He doesn't seem to care, his grip tightening around my waist as he continues to kiss and bite my neck, marking me in front of all these people. "You belong to me, Serena. And I'll make sure everyone sees that.”

His hand, which had been resting on my lower back, begins to slide upward, brushing the sides of my breasts. A jolt of panic shoots through me, and I start hyperventilating. "Not here," I tell him as I feel my nipples harden.

But he doesn’t stop. Instead, his thumb starts rubbing the side of my breasts. "Will you let another man near you again?" he asks.

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