Page 52 of Shadows of Steel
Harlow settles between Mattia and me, the fabric of her gown spilling over the seat, her scent lingering in the air, still fucking with my head.
It’s time to finally go home.
Chapter 16
Harlow
As we arrive home, a hushed stillness blankets the estate. The only signs of life come from the guards stationed outside, their watchful eyes sweeping the perimeter.
Inside, the house feels almost unnaturally quiet, no murmuring voices, no distant footsteps. The usual presence of maids and staff is absent, I granted them the night off myself. The contrast is jarring. After a day consumed by ceremony, the ceaseless hum of conversation, and the relentless pull of expectations, the silence now feels almost unnatural, an echo of all that has transpired.
Beside me, the troublemaker stifles a weary yawn.
“Goodnight, Mattia.” I murmur, watching as he turns toward the hallway leading to his room, his footsteps fading into the quiet.
Dante trails after him, his movements unhurried. I can’t quite explain the sensation that tightens in my chest as I watch him tend to his son, ensuring he makes it to bed safely. It shouldn’t affect me the way it does.
I push the thought aside and retreat to my own room, shutting the door quietly behind me.
The first thing I do is slip off my wedding heels, exhaling as the sharp pressure finally relents. My feet throb mercilessly, punishment for enduring these stilettos all day, each step a fresh agony, like walking on shards of glass.
I stride toward the closet, tugging open the doors with a weary exhale. My fingers skim over the rows of garments until I settle on a satin pyjama set, short, delicate, effortlessly sensual. The fabric is whisper soft, a welcome contrast to the intricategown still clinging to my skin. With little thought, I toss it onto the bed, craving the relief it promises.
I need a shower. A long, scalding escape to strip away the weight of the day, to rinse the tension from my body and silence the lingering echoes of the past hours.
As I move, my reflection catches my eye in the mirror, and I pause. The dress is exquisite, every stitch a testament to craftsmanship, each delicate detail woven with precision. And yet, all I can think about is the impending battle of peeling it off alone.
I slip off the long gloves first, the silk gliding down my arms before I cast them aside. Then, I reach behind me, fingers groping for the zipper, but the corset’s tight embrace refuses to yield. The fabric resists, my movements clumsy with exhaustion, frustration mounting as I wrestle with the unforgiving design.
A noise stirs near the door, faint at first, a subtle disturbance in the quiet. It builds, a flicker of movement just beyond my awareness, until a deafening crash shatters the stillness.
I whip around, heart slamming against my ribs.
My gaze snaps to the shattered doorway.
Dante stands there, his broad chest rising and falling with intensity, the air around him crackling with something raw, something untamed. He looks like a man unshackled, a predator that has just torn through its restraints.
My eyes dart between him and the wreckage of what used to be my door. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I snap, my pulse still hammering in the aftermath of the shock.
He steps inside, unbothered by the splintered remains beneath his feet, his movements honed with predatory intent. Before I can move, before thought even registers, his hand closes around my throat, firm yet controlled. He doesn’t tighten his grip enough to steal my breath, but the dominance in his touch is unmistakable. A silent warning.
My breath falters, not from fear, but from something far more perilous. Something that coils low in my belly, dark and unbidden.
His voice is a low growl, rough with restrained fury, each syllable vibrating against my skin. His breath skims my face, sending a shiver down my spine. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I lift my gaze to his, eyes flashing as my pulse hammers against my ribs. “What does it look like I’m doing?” My voice is edged with irritation, each word crisp. “I’m getting ready for bed, evidently.”
“Watch your fucking mouth, or I’ll find a better use for it.” His voice is low, laced with a dangerous edge. His grip tightens slightly around my throat. “I meant, what are you doing here, in this room?”
I blink, willing myself to push past the heat lacing through my veins, to steady my voice. “I don’t know what your problem is, Dante, but I’ve been sleeping here since I first arrived. What’s the issue now?”
His lips barely graze mine as he exhales a dark, amused chuckle. “The issue is,” he murmurs as he drags his nose down the column of my throat, inhaling deeply before finishing, “That now you are officially my wife. Andmy wifesleeps in my fucking bed.”
My body stiffens, tension coiling in my muscles as I press against his chest, desperate to put distance between us. “No. I told you already. We are not—"
His grip tightens just enough to hold me still, his touch firm but not unkind. “Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder, leonessa,” he warns. “Tomorrow, all your things will be moved into my room. You’re not to sleep here ever again.”
I shake my head, frustration bubbling beneath the exhaustion weighing down my limbs. “Dante, don’t do thistonight. I need a hot shower and rest. We can resume our disagreement tomorrow.”
