The door slammed shut behind Caden, the echo ricocheting through the grand halls of the estate. Amara stood at the base of the stairs, calmly unwrapping a scarf from around her neck. Her bag was already on the console, and her coat hung neatly on the hook by the door.
She didn't flinch.
He was a storm rolling in—unshaven, shirt wrinkled and partly unbuttoned, a haze of expensive whiskey clinging to him like a second skin. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with fury. Red marks, unmistakable, marred the side of his neck.
"Out late?" she asked, voice like silk dipped in ice.
"You don't get to ask questions right now," he snarled.
"Convenient," she murmured.
He stalked toward her, stopping just a foot away, anger radiating from him in waves. "You think I wouldn't find out?" he spat. "You think I wouldn't fucking see it with my own eyes?"
Amara blinked once. "Find out what?"
"Don't play coy with me, Amara," he growled. "You. Him. Laughing like a fucking schoolgirl while my cousin opens the door for you like you're his goddamn date."
A muscle twitched in her jaw. "His name is Elias. He's my lecturer. And your cousin. And it was a conversation. Not that I owe you any explanations."
He laughed harshly, full of disbelief. "You don't owe me? You're engaged to me, Amara."
Her brow arched. "And you're covered in hickeys like some drunken frat boy. Should we tally up sins and see who's winning tonight?"
"You're deflecting," he snapped.
She crossed her arms. "No, I'm reflecting. On the irony of a man who stumbles home reeking of someone else's perfume, shouting about my morality."
"You were flirting," he shouted, stepping closer. "In public. With him!"
"And you were grinding on strangers in a club," she shot back. "Should I start naming the women? Or just number them?"
His face darkened, eyes narrowing dangerously. "You really think you're so clever, don't you?"
She let out a quiet, sarcastic chuckle. "No. But I do think it's hilarious to be scolded about loyalty by a man who looks like he spent the night losing a fight with someone's lipstick."
He lunged, grabbing her wrist in a vice-like grip. "Don't test me, Amara."
"Let go of me," she said evenly, not flinching.
His grip tightened.
"I said—let go."
But instead of releasing her, he dragged her through the hallway and up the staircase, fury guiding his every step.
She yanked against his hold. "Caden!"
He didn't stop until they were inside his room. He slammed the door behind them, the click of the lock heavy with finality.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped, ripping her hand away. Red marks were already blooming on her skin.
"You think I'm just going to stand by and watch you cozy up to Elias? Laughing like he's the one who puts a ring on your damn finger?"
Her eyes glittered. "You didn't put anything on my finger. That engagement was your father's doing. You're just the reluctant participant who couldn't be bothered to pretend."
"Don't twist this—"
"I'm not twisting anything," she hissed, voice rising now. "You don't get to vanish to clubs, sleep with god knows who, then come home and interrogate me like I'm the cheater."
Caden stepped closer, a bitter smile twisting his lips, venom dripping from every word. "I didn't sleep with anyone."
Amara's eyes narrowed, and she jabbed a finger at the dark, angry marks on his neck. "Then what the hell is that? A makeup tutorial gone wrong? Because last time I checked, no one applies lipstick with teeth."
"She kissed me," he growled low, jaw tight. "I didn't stop her."
Amara scoffed, the cruel edge in her voice slicing through the air. "Well, congratu-fucking-lations. Want a medal for not being faithful?"
His glare darkened. "You looked happy with him."
"Happy," she spat. "For three minutes. Because someone treated me like I was worth something—like I mattered. Like I wasn't some trophy you forgot to polish."
Caden's jaw clenched hard, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
"You're not angry because you care," Amara's voice dropped, cold and sharp. "You're angry because I didn't look miserable when you were gone. Because I smiled when you thought I'd be crying."
The silence that followed felt like a blade slicing between them.
"You act like I'm yours," she whispered, stepping closer, eyes blazing. "But when was the last time you acted like I was? When did you last make me feel like anything but a burden?"
His face twisted, pain and rage colliding in a storm behind his eyes.
Then he snapped, voice loud and harsh. "He was touching you."
"He opened the car door, Caden. If that's all it takes to start a war, you're in trouble."
"He was looking at you like he wanted more."
"Maybe he does," Amara dared, lips curled in a mocking smile.
His eyes blackened with fury. "You want to go fuck him too?"
Amara laughed, sharp and bitter. "You're one to talk! You scream betrayal while your breath still reeks of someone else's skin!"
He shook, every muscle taut with rage. "You're pushing me."
"And what then?" Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You're going to hit me? Hurt me? Drag me back like you did before?"
He flinched, the ghosts of his past violence flickering behind his eyes. "I'd never—"
"But you did, Caden. You think control is love. You think rage means you care. But it's pathetic."
"You're mine," he said, voice cracked, raw.
"I'm not," she shot back.
"Not like this."
They stood inches apart, breaths ragged, silence roaring between them.
"I hate how you make me feel," he muttered, broken.
"Good," she said, voice icy. "Because I hate what you've become."
He laughed, a short, humorless sound. "You think you're so above me."
"No," Amara said, voice hard. "But I want to be."
Another beat of silence.
Then Caden took a step back, the momentary look of loss fading quickly from his eyes.
She moved toward the door, ready to leave.
But his voice stopped her.
"I was going to ask you to come back to the manor. Full time."
Amara didn't turn.
"I was going to say... start over."
She glanced over her shoulder, biting back the bitterness. "Try that when you're sober, unmarked, and less full of hate."
She took another step.
Then he grabbed her wrist, his grip iron-tight.
"Don't," he growled.
She yanked her arm free, stepping back defiantly.
"I'm not your possession."
He advanced on her again, every inch the storm she hated but couldn't ignore.
"Are you going to tell me that after you kissed her? After you left these marks? Or before?"
Amara crossed her arms, unflinching.
"I'm not a prize to be won or a toy to be passed around."
"Maybe not," he said, voice low and dangerous. "But you're mine."
She scoffed. "You don't get to say that."
"Watch me."
Before she could respond, Caden grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her toward the bedroom.
"No," she hissed, struggling.
But his grip was relentless, his eyes wild with anger and desperation.
The door slammed shut behind them, locking with a harsh click.
They were trapped—two broken people in a cage of their own making.
Caden's hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him.
Amara shoved at his chest, breath coming in sharp bursts. "Get off me!"
"Not until you listen."
"Listen to what? More lies? More promises you don't keep?"
His grip tightened. "I don't want to lose you."
She laughed, bitter and sharp. "You lost me the moment you looked away."
His voice dropped to a whisper, rough and ragged. "I'm not letting you go."
Her eyes flashed, fierce and unyielding. "Then prove it. Not with words. With actions."
"Actions," he repeated, voice low and threatening. "You want actions?"
Before she could pull away, Caden lifted her effortlessly and pushed her onto the bed.
Amara stared up at him, eyes blazing with fury and something darker—fear, desire, hate tangled together.
"You think this means I own you?" he asked, voice shaking.
"No," she said, steady and sharp. "But right now, you don't get to tell me what I can do."
His face darkened, the line between love and possession blurring dangerously.
"Let's see," he said, closing the distance.