Page 68 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

Taking tentative steps on the black marble, I go farther into the room to spot a hallway leading to three different doors. The common room has sliding double doors, which lead onto the terrace and open to the view of the grounds.

Santiago points at the door on the left. “Our room. Opposite to it, my office, and the third one is a guest room.”

My brows rise. “You actually have guests here?” The whole house has a fuck-you vibe going on, so I can’t possibly imagine anyone wanting to stay here willingly.

It’s as cold and bland on the inside as it is on the outside.

Then his other words register in my mind, and I go still. “Our room?”

A sinister smile shapes his mouth, his eyes glistening in amusement as he walks toward the bar and drops several ice cubes in a glass before pouring himself tequila. “Of course nuestra habitación. Where else would a husband and wife sleep?”

I deeply inhale and order myself to stay rational, even if I want to punch the fucking grin off his face. “I’m going to sleep in the guest room,” I announce, and he shrugs, taking a large sip while his sapphire orbs stay glued on me, secrets flashing in them as if he knows something I don’t, and by his light chuckle, I’m not going to like it.

“As you wish, querida.”

Slightly surprised by his easy capitulation, I raise my chin high and march toward the guest room, fully intending to slam it in his face and stay hidden in there until he goes out tomorrow. Based on what I know, the man rarely stays in one place for long—always chasing entertainment while he’s not destroying someone. Not to mention the family business probably takes his time too.

In short, I pray to God my new husband forgets about my existence all together while I stay in this prison called a house, waiting for his stupid obsession to wear off.

I reach the door in record time, twist the knob, and open it wide, clapping my hands together to turn on the light. I assume all his house is wired this way, and I gasp in shock when it brightens up the room.

Or rather an empty space.

It’s completely bare—no bed, nightstands, or even just a mattress. Just an empty room with a huge-ass window opening onto the view of the shimmering grass with moonlight streaming through the glass.

It doesn’t even have a bathroom!

“The AC runs nonstop here. Can’t stand the heat,” Santiago says from behind me, and I spin around to face him as he rests his shoulder on the doorjamb. “Sleeping on the cold marble will suck.” He points with his glass toward the skirt of my dress while I send daggers his way, which only spikes his amusement, if his satisfied grin is anything to judge by. “Thankfully, you have this wedding dress to sleep on.” He winks at me before saluting with his drink. “Buenas noches, mi bella esposa.”

Something inside me snaps, and taking the few short steps toward him, I flip his glass and it splashes tequila all over him. When the glass drops to the floor, the loud thud echoing through the space while I freeze, I expect it to shatter into tiny little pieces, but to my astonishment, it doesn’t. It just rolls around toward the nearest wall.

What is it made off? Brick?

“You’re a sick bastard, Santiago.”

Without taking his eyes off me, he removes his wet jacket and drops it on the floor. His white shirt plasters against his chest, the wet smudges splattered all over it. “I offered you the furnished room, but you refused.” He motions over the space around us. “You reap what you sow, querida. When you refuse the kindness this world has to offer, don’t be surprised at the cruelty thrown your way.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I hiss, “This is not kindness. You put me in a hopeless situation, so I’ll have no choice but to sleep in your room.”

He shifts closer, his masculine scent enveloping me along with the tequila breath fanning my face. “We always have a choice, mi amor. You just might not like the options.” He straightens his back and motions with his head toward the hallway. “My invitation to join me in the master bedroom still stands.”

Not dignifying it with a response, I push past him and race toward the room as fast as possible in this stupid, heavy dress. I get inside, slamming the door in his face while twisting the lock, sighing in relief when the click echoes in the place.

Resting my back against it, I exhale heavily, only to groan inwardly when his voice penetrates through the wood. “Smart choice, Briseis.” Somehow, all this defiance pales and becomes less satisfactory when he dishes out his approval, because it seems my disobedience only turns him on, and that’s the last thing I want.

According to my plan, his obsession should extinguish, not be lit up even more.

Clapping my hands, I wince a little when bright light blinds me, and I blink several times, adjusting my vision, only to frown when the room comes into view. All it has is a king-sized bed, two nightstands, a door leading to a spacious closet, and a bathroom.

Slipping off my heels and moaning a little when my sore feet touch the cold marble, I pad toward the bathroom and open the door wide to see a large bathtub, shower stall, and sink, barely any necessities inside.

It’s like Santiago has no sentiment for anything, because the room might as well have been one in a hotel, since it lacks any personal belongings.

Strolling to the closet, I flick the light on and see clothes hanging inside, mostly dark suits along with some jeans and shirts and shoes. That’s not what snags my attention though—oh no.

The countless colorful dresses made out of the finest silk and lace hanging on the right side do, their sophisticated designs showcasing that whoever picked them possesses one hell of a taste in clothes.

They all have new tags, which indicates to me Santiago had this wedding planned for a long freaking time! My hands itch to rip each one of them into tiny pieces before stomping my feet all over them so I won’t have to see them ever again.

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