Page 175 of My Ruthless Husband

I shake my head to snap out of it and finish my makeup with a hint of blush, and a soft gloss.

I find matching heels so I quickly step into them and finally leave the room and make my way downstairs, my heels clicking softly on each step.

The sight that greets me at the bottom of the grand staircase takes my breath away. Damian, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit that makes him look devastatingly handsome yet intimidating.

He waits, his gaze heating as I reach the last step. His eyes sweep over me, taking in the dress and the necklace he’d left for me, and his mouth curves into the slightest hint of a smile. “You look…”

“Beautiful?” I supply teasingly.

He shakes his head slowly, his gaze intense. “No,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “Mine.”

My breath catches, and for a moment, I can’t move. He used one word. Just one word, but the way he said it… it felt like a vow.

He offers me his arm. I take it, my heart pounding as he leads me toward the dining room.

The dining room feels transformed. The warm glow from the grand chandelier is making the room feel softer, intimate despite its size. At the far end of the polished mahogany table, two settings are laid out—silver cutlery, fine china, and crystal glasses that glint in the candlelight. The table itself, though spacious, is decorated with beautiful flower arrangements.

“You did all this?” I stare at him in wonder.

He meets my gaze, a bit awkward. “I had a team take care of it.”

I laugh softly, finding his unease oddly cute.

“I thought it would please you,” he says scowling.

“It did.” I squeeze his forearm. “Thank you.”

Damian pulls out the chair and I take my seat. He sits at the head of the table and I’m seated to his left.

“You’ve never done anything like this before.”

He used to take me on datesbeforemarriage. We used to spend time with each other all the time but everything changed when we got married. This is the first time Damian has done something so nice for me.

Damian takes a moment, his expression contemplative. “I know,” he says slowly. “I want to change that.”

Why?The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitate when a manservant glides in and uncorks a bottle of champagne with practiced ease before filling our glasses. Damian’s eyes are on me until we’re alone once more.

He raises his glass. “To us.”

His gaze is unnerving. I warily raise my glass too then take a swift gulp, barely tasting it, wishing for a sense of calm.

Damian’s still watching me as he leans forward to fill my glass again, barely pausing to sip from his own.

I lift my glass and take another sip, but before I can swallow, he says, “So, tell me about this Matt.”

The words catch me off guard, and I choke, my throat burning. I’m coughing as I feel him leaning forward. His hand is on my back, patting. “Just hearing his name gets such a reaction from my wife?”

Clearing my throat, I manage to meet his unyielding gaze. “It’s not what you think,” I say, swallowing past the burn. “I just... swallowed wrong.”

“Of course.” He leans back, his eyes never leaving mine as he sips from his glass. “So tell me about him.”

“He’s one of the volunteers at the community center,” I manage, forcing myself to keep my voice steady under his scrutiny.

There’s a pause, his silence almost colder than any words he could’ve spoken. “Just a volunteer?”

“And a friend,” I add, feeling the need to explain myself.

“A friend?” He says the word slowly, the softness in his tone somehow carrying more threat than any raised voice could.

---