Chapter 2 Clifford, I Want You

My smile froze, the muscles in my face tightening as if someone had flipped a switch. Before I could think twice, I strode forward, putting myself between Clifford and Rosa.

Thankfully, he was facing away from her at that moment, his broad shoulders turned toward me, so he hadn't seen what she was doing.

When he noticed my sudden presence, Clifford began to turn. Panic surged through me, sharp and urgent, and I snapped, "Don't move!"

He stopped instantly, confusion flickering in his eyes. He didn't ask why, didn't question me—just obeyed, still as stone.

I turned toward Rosa, ready to tell her to get out, when the sight of her arm made me falter. Crimson streaks ran down her skin, glistening under the dim light.

"You're hurt?" My voice came out sharper than I intended.

"Yes," she said simply. "Clifford was helping me bandage it."

Rosa Russell. The Gutierrez family's most lethal weapon. The kind of assassin whose name was whispered, never spoken aloud. And Clifford's most trusted partner.

Even so, I didn't care who she was. That didn't give her the right to strip down in front of my husband.

"If you're injured, go to a doctor," I said, my tone laced with frost, cold enough to sting. "Clifford isn't a professional. And in case you've forgotten, Clifford is married. Ms. Russell, standing half-naked in front of my husband… doesn't that seem a little inappropriate? People might get the wrong idea. They might even think you used to work in a brothel, the way you're so quick to take your clothes off."

I snatched up her discarded shirt and tossed it into her arms.

Her expression shifted, the faint arrogance in her eyes dimming. She glanced toward Clifford, as if silently asking for his support.

He didn't say a word.

Her gaze dropped, heavy with disappointment, and she began to dress without another protest.

She was almost at the door when Clifford's voice cut through the air. "Wait."

My stomach clenched, my fingers curling into my palms. I didn't know what he was about to do, but my body was tense, braced for something I didn't want to hear.

"From now on," he said evenly, "have one of the men let me know if you need something."

It was a dismissal wrapped in civility. A boundary drawn in steel.

Rosa's jaw tightened. Blood dripped from her fingertips, splattering onto the floor. "I understand," she said, her voice low, almost a growl. She shot me a look filled with venom before turning sharply and walking away.

I watched her leave, then glanced at Clifford. "You're not mad that I chased her off, are you?" My words were cautious, testing the waters.

The truth was, I had no idea how much Rosa meant to him. Before… before everything changed, I'd heard whispers that Clifford had found her in Aetheria, taken her in, kept her close.

"If it makes you happy," he said simply. His eyes flicked downward. "Why aren't you wearing slippers? You'll end up with stomach aches."

"I'm not afraid," I murmured, stepping closer. "Because I have you." I looped my arms around his neck. "Hold me."

He hesitated, his body going still. In that moment of pause, I pressed my bare feet onto the tops of his, tugged hard at his collar, and kissed him.

"Violet…" His voice was a low breath against my ear as he gently pushed me back. "Do you even know what you're doing?"

His brow furrowed, the tension in his face betraying the storm beneath the surface. I knew what he was thinking—he was afraid I'd recoil, afraid I'd hate him for this.

And he had reason to worry. Every time he'd tried to be close to me before, I'd met him with sharp words, with rejection. Just last month, after he'd forced himself on me, I'd driven a blade into his shoulder.

I looked at him now, my chest aching, my hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, inching upward. "Darling… I want…"

I stripped the shirt from him, my lips finding the curve of his throat, my tongue tracing upward until it reached the scar on his shoulder. I kissed it softly, like a cat grooming its own, and whispered, "Clifford, I love you…"

His throat worked, the movement of his Adam's apple visible in the dim light. In a sudden motion, he lifted me, setting me atop the cabinet. "Violet," he warned, his voice rough, "don't regret this."

"Whether I regret it or not," I said, my words deliberately provocative, "depends on whether you can make me feel good…"

Something in him broke then—his restraint, his careful distance. His hands slid under my thighs, pulling my legs around his waist. His long fingers found me, exploring with a familiarity that made my breath hitch, each touch sending electric shocks through my body.

And when he entered me—hard, deep—the world narrowed to nothing but the heat between us. My body moved against his without thought, my voice spilling into the room in ragged moans.

We didn't stop. For two hours, he took me apart and put me back together in every way imaginable, until I was pleading, gasping, too spent to move.

Only then did he let me go.

"Shower?" he asked, flicking the light on.

The sudden brightness stabbed at my eyes, dragging me from the haze. I blinked, and as my vision cleared, I saw it—ink curling along his hip.

A rose.

My stomach twisted. Clifford had a rose tattoo. Did that mean… Rosa?

I searched my memory, combing through every moment before my death, looking for signs that Clifford loved her. I found nothing. No proof. But if it wasn't about her… then who?

The questions knotted in my chest, but I didn't dare ask. I was afraid of the answer. Afraid it would shatter me.

I was still lost in thought when the world tilted. Clifford scooped me into his arms, carrying me toward the bathroom.

"Little lazybones," he murmured, a hint of fondness in his tone, setting me down and turning on the water.

As the steam began to rise, he glanced at me. "Your twentieth birthday is coming up. What do you want?"

The words barely left his mouth before a flood of images crashed into my mind—dark, suffocating memories I'd fought to bury.

"No!" The scream tore from my throat before I could stop it. "I don't want a birthday!" My voice broke, raw and desperate. I curled in on myself, trembling. "Get away from me! Don't touch me!"