Page 20 of The Merciless Don's Bride

“You haven’t eaten since you got here,” he says.

“Maybe I’m not hungry for anything you offer.”

I hear the scrape of a chair. He’s sitting now—like this is some twisted dinner date.

“I didn’t poison it,” he adds. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I lie.

A breath of a laugh. “You should be.”

I force myself to turn and face him. He’s lounging in the chair like he owns the whole world. One leg crossed, hands resting calmly in his lap. His suit is black, crisp, expensive. Hisface carved from marble. And those ice-blue eyes never stop watching me.

“What do you want, Damien?” I ask, biting his name like it’s poison.

“I want you to eat.”

“That’s what you want? That’s your big demand?”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and studies me like I’m some wild thing he’s already caged.

“You’re not a prisoner, Cassandra.”

I laugh bitterly. “Oh, of course. I’m just what? A guest? An unwilling participant in whatever game you think you’re playing?”

“You’re mine.”

The words hit harder than they should.

I stare at him. “I belong to no one.”

“I’m not claiming ownership,” he says calmly. “I’m claiming intention. You’re mine because I’ve decided you are.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It is for me.”

He stands, and I stand too, reacting before I even realize I’ve moved. He doesn’t touch me, but he closes the distance between us until I can’t ignore the heat radiating off him.

He’s close. Too close.

And I hate that my body notices.

The scent of him wraps around me. It’s dark, masculine, laced with spice and something more primal.

My breath catches and I hate that it does.

“You can hate me all you want,” he murmurs, his voice silk over steel. “But that won’t change the way you react when I’m near.”

He lifts a hand, and for a moment, I think he’s going to touch me.

He doesn’t.

But his fingers hover close enough to my cheek that I can feel the heat from them. My skin tingles like it wants to close the gap. I flinch, just slightly, but I don’t move away. And neither does he.

The moment stretches. Then he steps back. Just like that, the air in the room shifts again.

One of the maids, Ana, I think, walks in, carrying a silver tray with more breakfast items.

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