Chapter 80: The Fire Between Us

Verbena felt the heat of Theodore's breath against her ear, his grip still firm around her wrist. His golden eyes bore into hers with a quiet, smoldering rage—one that sent shivers down her spine, but she refused to let him see it.

"You want to play games, wife?" His voice was dangerously low. "Let's see who loses first."

Her lips curled into a smirk. "Oh? You sound jealous, dear husband," she taunted, tilting her head slightly as if unbothered by his looming presence. "Surely, you wouldn't feel threatened by a mere dance invitation?"

Theodore's grip tightened, just for a second, before he forcibly released her hand. The loss of warmth was almost disappointing, but Verbena masked it well.

Duke Sinclair, who had been enjoying the spectacle, let out a low chuckle. "Duchess, I didn't know your husband had such a fiery side. Quite entertaining, I must say."

Theodore's jaw tensed. "Careful, Sinclair," he warned. "Not everyone walks away unscathed after entertaining such thoughts about my wife."

"Oh?" The duke arched a brow, his amusement only growing. "Are you implying that you actually see her as your wife?"

A beat of silence.

Verbena narrowed her eyes, waiting—hoping—for an answer.

But Theodore said nothing.

His silence was like a knife to her chest, yet she masked it with a scoff.

"Ah, I see," she murmured, taking a step back. "How foolish of me to expect anything else."

With that, she turned on her heel, leaving the two men standing in silent tension.

The party continued around her, but she could no longer enjoy it. Not when her mind was racing, her heart pounding from the mix of emotions clawing at her.

How dare he?

After everything, after making her feel like she was finally something to him, he still refused to acknowledge it publicly.

Her pride demanded that she let it go, that she bury whatever feelings had started to grow in her heart. He doesn't love you. He never will.

But the part of her that had been yearning for something more—that part hated him for making her hope.

A hand suddenly grabbed her wrist again, pulling her into a secluded corridor.

Verbena gasped as her back hit the cold stone wall, Theodore towering over her with dark, unreadable eyes.

"You think you can just walk away from me?" His voice was low, rough. "You're mine, Verbena."

She laughed bitterly. "Oh? Says the man who just ignored my existence in front of everyone?"

Theodore's jaw clenched. "That wasn't—"

"That wasn't what? A mistake?" She cut him off, her voice sharp. "You never correct them when they assume I mean nothing to you. So tell me, Theodore, what am I to you?"

His hands slammed against the wall on either side of her, caging her in.

"You want an answer?" he growled.

She refused to look away. "Yes."

He exhaled heavily, his eyes burning into hers. Then, without warning, he leaned down—and kissed her.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't tender. It was raw, desperate, filled with all the unspoken words and suppressed emotions between them.

Verbena froze for a second, then instinctively grabbed onto his coat, her own anger and longing fueling the way she kissed him back.

But just as quickly, she shoved him away, her breaths uneven.

"You don't get to do that," she hissed, her voice shaking. "You don't get to act like you want me when you refuse to even acknowledge me."

Theodore ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "It's not that simple, Verbena."

"Then make it simple," she shot back.

A heavy silence hung between them.

Finally, Theodore sighed, stepping back. "This isn't over."

"No," she agreed, wiping her lips with the back of her hand as if erasing his touch. "It's not."

But whether it was war or something else entirely… neither of them knew anymore.

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