Page 26 of Hunted to the Altar
The threat was subtle, almost playful, but it sent a shiver down my spine. Reluctantly, I took his hand, letting him help me out of the car. His grip was firm, his touch warm against my cold, clammy skin. I hated the way it made me feel—grounded, steady, as if I could lean on him and not fall apart completely.
He led me to the elevator, his presence an oppressive force beside me. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken tension. When the elevator doors slid shut, I felt the walls closing in, the small space amplifying the magnetic pull of his presence.
“You look like you’re about to bolt,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
“Maybe I am,” I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Can you blame me?”
He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t try.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, revealing the stark luxury of his penthouse. He stepped out, his movements purposeful, and I followed reluctantly, my gaze darting around the room. The space was immaculate, every detail carefully curated. It felt cold, sterile, devoid of any genuine warmth.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the plush leather couch that dominated the living room.
I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to run, to fight, to do anything but obey. But I was exhausted, my body and mind frayed to the point of breaking. With a sigh, I sank onto the couch, my fingers gripping the edge of the cushion as if it could anchor me.
Samuel disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a glass of water and a small first aid kit. He set them on the coffee table in front of me, his movements precise and deliberate.
“Drink,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I glared at him, my pride warring with my thirst. But my body betrayed me, my trembling hand reaching for the glass. The cool water slid down my throat, soothing the raw ache left by the events of the day. I hated that it felt like a victory for him.
Samuel sank into the armchair across from me, his posture relaxed, but his gaze sharp. “We need to establish some rules.”
“Rules?” I echoed, my voice dripping with incredulity. “You mean more rules? Because being kidnapped and forced into marriage wasn’t enough?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “This isn’t about control, Nina. It’s about survival.”
“Oh, please,” I scoffed, leaning forward. “Don’t pretend this is about protecting me. This is about owning me.”
He didn’t deny it. Instead, he leaned forward, mirroring my posture, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “If owning you means keeping you alive, then yes. You’re mine. And you’ll stay mine.”
The conviction in his voice was terrifying. It wasn’t a threat or a boast. It was a promise.
“Let me reiterate how this is going to work,” he continued, his tone even. “You’ll stay here. You’ll follow my rules. No leaving the penthouse without my permission. No contacting anyone outside this circle. And absolutely no lying to me.”
I bristled at the list, my defiance bubbling to the surface. “And what if I break your precious rules?”
His smile was slow, predatory. “Then you’ll learn not to.”
The implied threat sent a chill down my spine, but I refused to let him see my fear. Instead, I leaned back against the couch, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fine. Your rules. What else?”
For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze swept over me, lingering on the curve of my shoulders, the defiance in my posture. “You’ll sleep in my bed.”
My heart lurched, and I shot to my feet, my fists clenched at my sides. “Absolutely not.”
He stood as well, his calm composure unwavering. “It’s not negotiable, Nina. This isn’t about anything more than appearances. If anyone tries to get close, they’ll see you belong to me. My wife. My queen.”
The word felt like a mockery, a title meant to placate me while stripping me of my autonomy. But the fire in his eyes, the raw conviction behind his words, made me pause. He meant it—every word.
“And if I refuse?” I whispered, my voice trembling.
He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his breath warm against my cheek as he leaned in. “You won’t.”
My resolve cracked, just slightly, as I felt the weight of his control pressing down on me. But I wasn’t ready to surrender. Not yet. Not completely. I pushed past him, moving to the window and staring out at the city below. The lights blurred as tears filled my eyes, and I blinked them away, refusing to let him see me break.
“I hate you,” I whispered, the words barely audible.
He was silent for a moment, then moved to stand beside me. “Good,” he murmured. “Hate me all you want, Nina. As long as you’re alive to feel it.”
