Chpater 3

Delphine’s POV

"Lucian, I need to use the restroom. Come with me?"

Scarlett's voice cut through my daze—that same cloying, baby-doll tone with its upward lilt.

Reality snapped back into focus. I suddenly became acutely aware of what I was doing—Theodore was still holding my hand, his palm warm and dry, while mine...

My palm was damp with sweat.

I froze, not daring to move.

Lucian stood immediately and steadied Scarlett's waist. She hooked her arm through his, practically melting into him as they walked toward the corridor.

He didn't look at me once.

"Your hand is sweating."

Theodore's voice was low and calm.

Heat flooded my face.

"It's warm in here." I tried to pull my hand back, my voice thin. "I... I should get some water."

But his fingers tightened slightly.

Not hard—just enough to make escape impossible.

I lifted my gaze and met his eyes. Something was churning in those ocean depths, something that made my heart skip.

He was waiting for my response.

I yanked my hand free, the movement graceless. The blanket slipped off as I stood, but I didn't stop to pick it up—I practically fled toward the bar.

My legs felt like jelly.

The cold water slid down my throat but did nothing to quench the heat burning inside me.

The feeling was still there.

Where he'd touched me, my skin felt branded. Still tingling.

Then a faint scent of cedar drifted toward me.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up—I went rigid.

I didn't turn around. I just gripped my glass tighter, knuckles going white.

"Mrs. Reed." His voice came from behind me, laced with a hint of dark amusement. "Done playing your little game already?"

I turned and started to leave.

But after a few steps, I stopped cold.

In the corridor ahead, near the corner, Lucian and Scarlett stood together. She was leaning against the wall. He had one hand braced beside her head, their bodies so close they might as well have been one.

Her face was tilted up, lips parted, waiting.

And Lucian was leaning down, moving toward her mouth.

I couldn't move.

Seven years.

Seven years of marriage. Countless suspicions, countless times I'd told myself I was overthinking, that they were just "like family."

But now the truth was staring me in the face.

Then a hand closed around my wrist.

Theodore didn't give me time to react. He turned me around and pulled me in the opposite direction. His stride was fast, purposeful, guiding me through a door, down a narrow staircase, until we reached a secluded alcove in the yacht's lower level.

He released my wrist and turned to face me.

In the dim light, his expression remained impassive—but something different was burning in his eyes.

"If you're this unhappy," he said quietly, "why don't you leave?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

"I have nothing, Mr. Sinclair."

"I'm not even sure... if anyone would care if I disappeared."

I forced a thin smile. "So please, don't waste your pity on me. I'm used to it."

His hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing gently over my cheekbones.

Then he kissed me.

My eyes went wide. My mind blanked completely.

His lips tasted of whiskey—rich, smoky—with an undertone of cedar. The kiss was fierce, demanding, unapologetically possessive. Like he wanted to consume me whole.

I should push him away—but my body wasn't listening.

My hands fisted the front of his jacket. I couldn't tell if I was trying to shove him back or pull him closer. His tongue swept past my lips, claiming my mouth, stealing my air.

I felt like I was drowning.

But I didn't want to be saved.

In the end, I closed my eyes and let myself sink into the kiss.

When he finally released me, we were both breathing hard. My lips were swollen, and I could still taste him on my tongue.

Theodore pressed his forehead to mine, his breath still uneven. But when he spoke, his voice had already regained that maddening composure—that absolute control.

"Delphine. When we reach shore, I'll give you exactly what you want."