Patience had never been his virtue

The air between them was charged—heavy, suffocating, and intimate in a way that made Layla’s heart stumble. His gaze was sharp and unblinking, as though reading something etched deep beneath her skin.

Layla tried not to fidget. Tried not to show how her hands twisted in her lap. Her throat was dry, and her mind screamed at her to look away, but she couldn’t. His eyes had that pull—magnetic and cold, dangerous and yet… beautiful in a way that made her forget to breathe.

Then his hand moved.

He brushed his thumb over her cheek—slow, deliberate, claiming. His touch was warm against her cold skin, and she froze, her lashes fluttering. The heat spread down her neck like a fever. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, betraying the nervous rhythm of her heart.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low, lazy, and far too intimate. “You look like I’m about to devour you.”

Her lips parted slightly, a quiet, unsteady breath escaping her. “Y-you startled me.”

Colden chuckled softly, his thumb still grazing the edge of her jaw. “Startled? That’s a polite way of saying you’re terrified.” He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Layla… do I scare you?”

Her eyes darted to the side. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he echoed, savoring the word. “Not always?”

She didn’t answer, and that seemed to please him even more. He leaned closer, his face inches from hers now. The scent of his cologne—something deep, smoky, masculine—wrapped around her, pulling her deeper into his space. Her pulse drummed in her ears. His gaze lingered on her mouth before climbing back to her eyes.

“You really think you can hide what you’re feeling?” he whispered, voice dipping into a dangerous murmur. “I can see it. Every flicker. Every breath. You’re easy to read, you know that?”

Her brows furrowed slightly. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Really?” he asked, smirking faintly. “Then why are your hands shaking?”

Layla blinked and immediately pulled them into her lap, clenching her fists to stop the tremor. He laughed under his breath, a sound that made her cheeks burn.

“I told you,” she muttered, looking down. “You’re just… intimidating.”

“Good,” he said simply. “You should be intimidated.”

She looked up at him then, her nervousness flickering with something else—defiance. “Is that what you enjoy? Making people afraid of you?”

His smirk widened. “Only when they look as lovely as you do when you’re afraid.”

Her breath hitched. His words crawled under her skin, unsettling her, confusing her. She didn’t know what to say—her mind felt clouded. Every time she thought she could predict him, he said something that knocked her balance away again.

“I don’t understand you,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said smoothly. “That’s why you’re still here.”

Her brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

He leaned back slightly, still watching her. “You’re trying to make sense of me. But you won’t. You can’t. You’ll keep trying though. That’s what makes you interesting.”

She swallowed hard. “You talk like I’m some experiment.”

Colden smiled lazily. “Not an experiment. More like… an investment.” His voice lowered. “My plan to marry you didn’t turn out in vain, after all.”

Layla stiffened. His words carried weight—possession. “You make it sound like I’m a deal on paper.”

He chuckled. “Aren’t you? You signed it, didn’t you?”

Her heart clenched. “Because I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he said softly. “You chose to stay. You chose to agree. Now you’re mine.”

The word mine hung in the air like smoke—dense and suffocating. She looked away, trying to hide the tremor in her breath. “It’s just a contract.”

His eyes softened slightly, though the edge of his smirk remained. He studied her, watching the way her lashes trembled, the way she bit her lip. He was enjoying it—the tension, the discomfort, her desperate attempt to stay composed.

Her voice came out smaller than she intended. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I can,” he said. “Because I want to.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” he interrupted smoothly, leaning closer again. “You agreed to be my wife, Layla. Even if it’s just paper, you wear my name. You live under my roof. Tell me, how is it wrong to look at what’s mine?”

Her pulse jumped. His face was so close now that she could see the flecks of silver in his irises. His breath brushed her lips, making it impossible to think clearly. Every nerve in her body screamed to move, to push him away, but she sat frozen—caught between fear and something far more dangerous.

“This isn’t right,” she whispered.

He tilted his head. “Then tell me to stop.”

She opened her mouth—but the words wouldn’t come. Her throat tightened. The space between them felt like a string pulled too tight, one second away from snapping.

“Why aren’t you saying it?” he murmured. “Is it because you don’t want to?”

She found her voice at last, trembling. “Because I don’t trust what you’ll do next.”

He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried secrets. “That’s fair.”

Her breath came in shallow bursts. “Colden, please…”

He froze for a moment at the sound of his name on her lips. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth again, something dark flickering in his eyes. “You shouldn’t say my name like that,” he said quietly. “It makes me want to do things I shouldn’t.”

That was enough. Panic surged through her chest, and she pushed him away suddenly, her palms pressing against his chest. “I’m not ready,” she blurted, her voice breaking slightly.

The space between them snapped back, and she stumbled a step away, breathing hard. The air felt thinner now, colder.

Colden blinked once, then leaned back slowly, amusement curling his mouth. He didn’t look angry. He looked entertained—like a predator watching its prey make a futile escape.

“Not ready?” he repeated, his tone light, teasing. “Then how did you manage to sleep with me in that hotel, sweetheart?”

Her eyes widened. “That was different.”

He raised a brow. “Different?” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “Do you need alcohol again?”

Her face flamed. “That’s not funny.”

He grinned. “It’s a little funny.”

“Colden,” she warned, but her voice lacked bite. “I said I’m not ready.”

He studied her face for a long moment, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful—though the teasing never truly faded from his eyes. “Then when will you be?”

“I… I don’t know,” she muttered, looking away.

“You should know,” he said quietly. “I’m not a patient man, Layla.”

“I’ll tell you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “When I am.”

Something flickered in his expression then—a small spark of admiration, maybe. Or amusement. It was hard to tell with him. He leaned back in his chair again, exhaling softly.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said finally. “But just so you know… I don’t enjoy waiting.”

She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Then don’t.”

He smiled faintly. “Oh, I will. But not because you told me to. I’ll wait because I want to. Because watching you squirm is far more entertaining than anything else right now.”

Layla’s face burned. “You’re cruel.”

He laughed under his breath. “You think that now. But cruelty’s just another word for honesty. I don’t hide what I want, Layla. I never have.”

He stood slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. He walked past her, pausing just as he reached the door. When he spoke, his voice was calm, deep, and unsettlingly sincere.

“Have a good night, Layla.” 

Then he left—just like that, leaving the air around her thick and trembling. She stood there for a long time, heart racing, her thoughts a storm she couldn’t silence. His touch still lingered on her skin, ghostlike, warm.

She went to bed later that night, but sleep refused to come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face, heard his voice, felt that electric closeness. She hated it—hated that she could still feel him.

And somewhere down the hall, in his own room, Colden lay awake too, staring at the ceiling with a faint, dangerous smile playing on his lips.

He had promised to wait. But patience had never been his virtue.