William's Rejection

CHAPTER 12

(William's Rejection)

Anna sat at the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap, the events of the day replaying like broken glass in her mind. The funeral had been meant to honor her sister's memory, but Margaret's cruelty has shattered it into a spectacle of humiliation.

The image of her stepmother's face twisted in rage, the cold, amused curve of Helena's lips, still clawed at her insides.

And yet… despite it all… there had been a hand gripping hers when she thought she'd break. Olivia's warmth, Oliver's quiet loyalty, Camille's steady smile. 

And William… William who had pulled her from the grave, his arm a shield of iron against the storm.

A tremor escaped her lips. Gratitude and sorrow warred within her, leaving her drained.

She had undressed earlier, slipping into a pale silk nightdress that whipped against her skin. The hour was late.

The Fairchild mansion lay hushed except for the occasional groan of wood or distant ticking of a clock. Anna brushed her hair back, willing herself to sleep, when the door opened.

William.

The air changed at once.

He stepped inside, shoulders squared beneath the faint sheen of his black suit, his presence alone enough to make the room smaller. His expression indecipherable, his stride purposeful, he shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

Anna's body stiffened. 

He tugged at his tie, loosening it with one practiced pull before sliding it free. Then his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt. The motion was casual, but there was nothing casual in the way Anna's heart thudded against her ribs.

She scrambled to her feet. “I—I’ll step out—”

Her words died when his hand closed firmly around her wrist. His grip was not cruel, but it brooked no disobedience.

“Where,” he asked, his voice low, calm, slightly older in tone. “Do you think you're going?”

Anna's throat worked. “I.. I only meant to give you privacy, while you change.”

His gaze held her a moment longer before he released her, not with kindness, but with command. “Sit.” 

The words cut like iron.

She obeyed, lowering herself back into the edge of the bed. 

Her palms pressed to her knees, small tremors betraying her nerves as William shed his shirt, revealing the smooth, sculpted plane of his chest. His eyes never left her, assessing, dissecting, as though she were some puzzle to be solved.

The silence pressed down, heavy and suffocating.

Then his hand moved.

Anna flinched. Her eyes closed, body recoiling instinctively as though bracing for a blow.

But like the previous day, no blow came.

Instead a hiss of irritation escaped William. He bent, closing the space between them until his face was level with hers.

The closeness made her heart pound; the scent of him… clean linen, citrusy rich masculine cologne, something darker… invaded her senses.

“Why,” he asked softly, dangerously, “do you always react as though I'd hit you?” 

Anna's lashes fluttered, her full lips parting with a tremor.

“Answer me.” 

“I'm… I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't—”

“You think apologies will fix everything?” His voice sharpened, cold enough to slice. 

“Do you have any idea how infuriating your weakness is? How shameful it is to imagine the world seeing my wife as nothing more than a frightened doormat?”

Her chest ached at his words. Tears threatened, burning her eyes.

“Even today,” he went on, relentless, “while Margaret dragged you into the dirt like a child's ragdoll, you could do nothing but scream. Do you understand how pathetic that looked?” 

Anna bit her lip until she tasted blood, but the tears slipped free anyway.

William's eyes darkened with impatience. His hands closed around her arms, firm, unyielding, his fingers pressing through silk into skin.

“Don't,” he growled, “cry.”

Her breath hitched.

“Don't you dare shed another tear,” he ordered, voice dropping to a lethal murmur. “Unless you want to test my patience further. Shut it down.” 

Anna nodded, frantic, swallowing back sobs.

“Good,” he said, holding her there, his gaze heavy, condemning.

“You look just like her.” William said in a chilling low voice, filled with loathing and disdain.

Anna was dumbfounded. She couldn't comprehend what he meant.

She looked like who? What was he talking about?

But then something shifted in the air.

Perhaps it was the way her lashes still trembled despite her obedience, or the faint rise and fall of her chest beneath the silk, or the way fear mixed with a reluctant, painful pull of attraction in her eyes.

Whatever it was, William felt it.

His grip loosened… but tender, but deliberate. His gaze dropped to her lips.

The silence deepened, heavy with something new.

He leaned closer, his breath brushing her skin, and when Anna's lips parted on a soft, startled exhale, his mouth claimed hers.

It wasn't gentle. It was a command… fire against ice, hear against her timid compliance. Anna gasped, her body tilting into his despite herself. His hand slid to her nape, anchoring her, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

Her fingers clawed into his chest, not to push, but to steady herself. His taste was intoxicating—dark, heady sin—and when his tongue brushed against hers, she shuddered, heat pouring through her.

She whimpered softly, and the sound seemed to unravel something in him. He deepened the kiss, pulling her against him until her body pressed to his bare chest, silk and skin colliding.

The nightdress slipped down, baring her breasts. He cupped one, kneading hard until she gasped, his thumb flicking her tight peak. The sharp pleasure wrung a cry from her throat.

Anna's head spun. Her heart was wild, confused… fear and longing twined until she couldn't tell them apart.

His other hand slid lower, shoving silk up her thighs, bunching it at her waist. His palm gripped her bare flesh.

“William…” she breathed, broken, needy.

He swallowed the sound, his mouth sliding down her neck. He sucked hard, biting until her skin throbbed, marking her.

Her head fell back, a moan ripping free.

The sound snapped his restraint. He pressed her into the mattress, pinning her beneath his weight. His body was a cage of hard muscle and heat grinding against her trembling softness.

Her nightdress tangled uselessly around her hips as his hand slipped between her thighs. His fingers found her soaked silk, and he cursed against her throat at the wetness he felt.

He pressed harder, rubbing rough circles over her clit through the thin fabric, relentless. She arched, choking on a moan, nails raking his shoulders.

Her thighs shook, hips jerking into his hand as shame and desire tore through her.

William’s mouth returned to hers, tongues colliding, his breath ragged as he stroked her harder, faster, teasing her, owning her.

For one wild heartbeat, she thought he’d tear the silk aside and bury himself in her as she braced herself.

And then… suddenly… he froze.

William pulled back, breath harsh, his jaw clenched. He studied her, chest heaving.

Anna's pulse stuttered. “D-did I do something wrong?” 

William's beautiful lips was curled with displeasure and… regret.

Crashing regret was riddled all over him as he pushed himself away entirely, jaw locked.

William had made a mistake. One he shouldn't have made in the first place.

He stood, snatching his discarded shirt, dragging it back on with rough movements. His silence was heavier than words, charged with frustration that had nowhere to land.

Without another glance, he strode to the door.

It slammed behind him with a force that rattled the French windows, the echo reverberating in Anna's chest.

The room was left in silence.

Anna sat trembling, her hair mussed, her nightdress undone, her lips swollen from his kiss. Her body still burned where his hands had been, but the emptiness he left behind was worse.

A hollow ache spread through her chest, heavier than any wound.

She pressed trembling fingers to her mouth.

It was clear.

No matter what she did, no matter how much she tried, William would never grow to tolerate her, talk less like her.

He'd never want her. Never bear her company.

And yet… her heart betrayed her.

Because for the first time since she'd stepped into this gilded prison, she realized she wanted him to.

That night Anna cried herself to sleep, her clothes and dignity in tatters.

With one thought going through her head…

Who was the mystery woman William mentioned? 

And why did he seem upset that she looked like her?