Chapter 2

Lyra's POV

The next evening, I slipped into that silk slip dress.

The thing was practically held together by threads—thin straps that looked like they'd snap with the slightest tug, a neckline plunging dangerously low, and a hem that barely grazed the tops of my thighs.

I painted my lips a bold red and dabbed a bit of woody perfume along my collarbones.

Now that I knew Damian's hand, I didn't mind upping the ante.

I poured myself a whiskey on the rocks, left my feet bare, and pushed open the study door.

Damian was seated behind his desk, reviewing documents.

At the sound, he glanced up.

The moment his eyes landed on me, I swear I watched his pupils contract sharply, his breath catching for a full three seconds.

"Lyra?" His voice came out lower than usual.

His gaze flicked from my exposed collarbones to my thighs before he forced it back down to the papers in front of him.

"Evening, hubby." I drew out the last word deliberately, crossing over to his desk.

I didn't stop there. I walked around and leaned against the edge right beside his chair.

Leaning forward slightly, I brought the glass of whiskey to his lips.

"Working late again? Have a drink."

With the shift in my posture, the neckline of the slip dress dipped even lower.

I could feel every muscle in Damian's body lock up like stone.

His grip on the pen tightened until his knuckles went white, veins standing out on the back of his hand.

"What the hell are you wearing?" He didn't take the glass, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the desk. "Go back upstairs, put some clothes on, and get out."

"Why? Is the great Damian Kovac intimidated by a few inches of silk?" I traced the rim of the glass with my fingernail, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Or are you just terrified you might actually feel something?"

"I said, get out."

"I'm not cold." I smiled faintly and, instead of backing off, climbed right onto his lap.

His breathing turned heavy and ragged in an instant.

I looped my arms around his rigid neck, fingers trailing lightly through the short hair behind his ear.

"Get off, Lyra. Now," he warned, his voice dangerously tight. "Before I do something we both regret."

"Regret?" I leaned in, my lips brushing his jawline. "Damian, we've been married a month. You planning to make me a widow while I'm still breathing?"

A flush of red crept into the corners of his eyes.

I could feel the heat radiating off him, climbing by the second. His hands hovered in midair, like he wanted to grab my waist but was fighting some deep, primal urge not to.

"Don't push me," his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"What if I am pushing you?" I met his gaze without flinching, burying my fingers into his collar. "Are you incapable, or just unwilling?"

That question hit a nerve—hard.

Damian's hand shot out, gripping my waist and shoving me off his lap with enough force to send me stumbling.

Even though he'd clearly tried to hold back, I still lost my balance. My lower back slammed into the edge of the desk, and I sucked in a sharp breath from the pain.

"You're crossing a line!" he snarled, standing up abruptly. His chest heaved as he stared at me.

"Oh, I'm crossing a line?!" I laughed, ignoring the stinging pain in my back, fury igniting in my chest. "We're married! The line doesn't exist! You treat me like a porcelain doll in public and a plague in private!"

"I treat you with the respect you demanded when you signed that contract!" he shot back, his voice a lethal octave. "Stop with this childish nonsense. If you're bored, take the Kovac black card and go shopping. I don't have time for whatever game this is."

Without another word, he turned his back on me, striding toward the far side of the study, gripping the edge of the mahogany cabinet as if fighting for his life.

I stood there, rubbing my aching lower back, my pride completely shattered.

I'd thrown myself at him, and he shoved me away and told me to go shopping?

Even if he had some secret he couldn't talk about, did he really have to humiliate me to hide it?

"If you can't handle it, just say so!" I snapped, too angry to care about my words anymore. "There are plenty of other men out there who would kill to be in this room right now, and I can damn well find one!"

His broad shoulders went completely rigid.

"Try it," he whispered. He didn't turn around, but the sheer menace in his raspy voice made the room drop ten degrees. "Step out of this marriage, Lyra, and I'll break whoever you find."

"Then act like a husband!" I screamed.

I slammed the whiskey glass down on the desk, the amber liquid splashing over his perfectly neat documents, and turned to storm out.

As I yanked the study door open, I expected him to come after me. I expected him to yell back.

But there was only silence.

I glanced back from the corner of my eye—

Damian wasn't looking at me. He had frantically pulled open a locked bottom drawer and was taking something out.

My anger froze.

I couldn't make out what it was in his trembling hands.

Only that he brought it up to his face and inhaled deeply, desperately, like a drowning man finding oxygen.

Something cold and terrifying settled in my chest without warning.

Because if that was something that belonged to Chloe—