Page 43 of Possessive Billionaire's Twisted Hunt

Before Ivy could react, a fist came flying through the air, landing straight on the man’s face.

A sickeningcrackechoed through the bar.

Ivy gasped, jerking back in shock.

When she looked up, Christian stood there—seething, his entire body burning with rage. His dark eyes were murderous as he glared at the man he had just punched. The guy spat out blood, but Christian didn’t even look at him. Instead, he turned to Ivy, grabbed her hand, and yanked her up from the couch.

Without a word, he dragged her out of the bar.

Celia, eyes wide, looked at their retreating backs, before turning back to the injured man, and then quickly slamming a few bundles of cash onto the table. “Sorry, dude.” Then, she immediately rushed out, following after them.

Ivy half-ran to keep up with Christian’s long strides, her breath coming out in uneven gasps. “Christian? Christian!” she called out, but he didn’t respond.

He stormed outside and yanked the door open, pushing her into the seat before slamming the door shut.

Without a word, he stalked to the driver’s side, got in, and sped off, his grip on the wheel tight, his jaw clenched.

The silence between them was deafening, heavier than any argument they could have had.

Christian wasn’t yelling at her. He wasn’t even looking at her. And somehow, that was worse than if he had just exploded in anger.

As the drive stretched on, the tension thickened. His hands remained clenched on the steering wheel, knuckles split from the impact of his punch. His jaw was clenched, his breathing uneven.

He didn’t stop the car until they reached his home. And the moment they arrived at the entrance, he stepped out first, impatience evident in his every movement.

Ivy was still unbuckling her seatbelt when, suddenly, Christian yanked the door open, reached in, and unbuckled it for her. Then, without warning, he lifted her into his arms.

“Christian—”

He ignored her, carrying her inside, past the entrance, and straight into his bedroom.

He dumped her onto the bed and leaned down at once, his face thunderous. His fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face up toward him.

“Ivy Evans,” he growled, his voice low and lethal. “Howdareyou?”

Her eyes snapped to his the moment he used ‘Evans’ as her surname, her heart stopping at the sound of it.

Not Ivy Watson. But Ivy Evans.

Hearing him call herhis—hiswife—sent a jolt through her, a reminder of what she had just entered into.

One of his hands rested against the headboard behind her head, caging her in, while the other tightened around her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. His breath was warm against her skin, his presence overwhelming.

“You married me not even twenty-four hours ago,” he said, his voice thick with anger. “And you’re already letting other men touch you?”

“It was nothing.” She pushed at his chest, trying to break free from his hold, but his frown only deepened, the rage in his eyes intensifying.

“Nothing?”

He pulled out his phone and shoved the screen in her face. The picture Larry had sent stared back at her—her and the man in an intimate position. “This is nothing?!”

Before she could respond, he sat next to her, grabbed her wrists, and yanked her forward, pulling her onto his lap with force.

She struggled, trying to break free, but his grip only tightened. One hand locked both of hers behind her back, the other tilting her chin up to force her to meet his eyes.

“You want a man, right?” His voice dropped to a dark whisper, sending a shiver through her. "Then fucking use me!"

Then, before she could react, his lips crashed against hers.

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