Chapter 6: Burn with Me

The car ride back to the penthouse was thick with unspoken tension, but it wasn’t the kind that chilled Isla to the bone. It was something more volatile—something hot, charged, electric. Ezekiel sat beside her, one arm draped lazily across the backrest, but his jaw was tight, his muscles coiled like a lion barely leashed.

He didn’t speak, not even when Maddox opened the door for them. His hand found her waist as they walked inside, grip firm, possessive, steering her through the grand entrance like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle her or devour her.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Silence.

Isla turned to unfasten her earrings, but before her fingers could reach, Ezekiel was there, towering over her, yanking the diamond studs away and tossing them onto a nearby table.

Her breath caught. “What are you—”

“You,” he growled, crowding her against the wall, palms slamming flat beside her head, caging her in, “were supposed to behave tonight.”

“I did behave,” Isla shot back, chin tilting defiantly. “I played the part of your trophy wife and I played it well. What, you didn’t like me standing up to your mother?”

Ezekiel’s eyes darkened, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. “You didn’t just stand up to her. You humiliated her. In front of shareholders. In front of my board.”

Isla’s pulse thudded, but her voice stayed sharp. “I thought you wanted me to bite.”

His lips curled into a dangerous grin, something wild flashing in his expression. “I wanted you to bite them… not me.”

Isla didn’t flinch. “Maybe you should’ve been more specific.”

For a heartbeat, they stood there, eyes locked, breaths ragged, tension suffocating the space between them.

Then, with a low, guttural curse, Ezekiel grabbed her by the hips, lifting her effortlessly. Her back hit the wall, his mouth crashing against hers, bruising, devouring. It wasn’t gentle—it was war.

And Isla kissed him back with every ounce of anger, every shard of defiance she’d swallowed since she signed that damn contract.

His hands roamed her body, pulling at the expensive fabric of her dress, fingers digging into her thighs as he hoisted her higher, pressing her flush against him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him growl into her mouth.

“Careful, Mrs. Veylin,” he rasped, lips dragging down her jaw, biting at the soft skin of her throat, “I don’t think you understand what you’ve started.”

“Enlighten me,” she gasped, tilting her head back, arching into his touch.

Ezekiel slammed his mouth back onto hers, kissing her like a storm, like he was drowning and she was both the poison and the cure. He carried her through the penthouse, not breaking the kiss, knocking over a vase in his path but not caring.

They crashed into the bedroom, and Isla didn’t remember how, but her dress was gone, strewn across the floor like a discarded flag of surrender. Except she wasn’t surrendering—she was claiming.

Ezekiel pinned her to the bed, hovering over her, eyes wild, chest heaving. “This is what you do to me,” he muttered, voice raw. “This is why I didn’t want a wife… you make me feel. You make me burn.”

Isla’s throat tightened, but her fire didn’t dim. She reached up, her palm against his jaw. “Then burn with me.”

His lips crashed onto hers again, hands worshipping every curve, every scar, every inch of her skin. His touches were rough, his kisses punishing, but Isla met every bite, every graze of teeth with her own fury. She wasn’t just an obedient wife tonight—she was a storm.

Clothes vanished, sheets twisted, the air charged with heat and rage and something frighteningly close to need.

When they finally lay tangled together, bodies slick, breathing uneven, Ezekiel buried his face in the crook of her neck. His voice, for the first time, sounded almost human. “You were magnificent tonight.”

Isla blinked up at the ceiling, the walls of the cage feeling just a little wider. “Even when I pissed off your mother?”

“Especially then,” he said, lips grazing her skin. “You made them see you. You made me see you.”

She swallowed, chest tight. “This doesn’t change anything.”

Ezekiel leaned up on his elbow, eyes locked on hers, sharp and blazing. “No, it changes everything.”

Isla bit her lip. “Our contract—”

“Is intact,” he interrupted. “But don’t confuse the terms of this marriage with the terms of this desire.” His knuckles trailed down her cheek, possessive and soft in contrast to the roughness of their night. “I told you, I don’t do love… but I will take you. Fully. Shamelessly. You belong to me now.”

Isla’s breath hitched, her body betraying her with the way it reacted to those words. She hated him. She hated everything he stood for… and yet she couldn’t deny the way her heart beat violently in her chest.

“And what about me?” she whispered, challenging. “Do I get to own something too?”

Ezekiel’s smirk turned feral. “Own me if you dare.”

The words hung between them, dangerous, intoxicating, addictive.

In that moment, Isla knew she was standing at the edge of something vast and destructive. This wasn’t a marriage. This wasn’t love.

This was a firestorm.

And she was going to dance in the flames.