CHAPTER 6

Dahlia’s POV

I froze. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. My tongue felt dry, useless.

He moved before I could think. One sharp step, then another, and suddenly he was in front of me. His hand shot out, wrapping around my throat. The grip was firm—tight enough to make my breath catch, to remind me how easily he could crush me if he wanted to.

His face was close now, so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. It wasn’t fast or angry. It was calm. Too calm. That made it worse.

“You’ve been acting strange all day,” he said quietly, his eyes burning into mine. “Why?”

My heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear my own voice. “I—I’m just nervous,” I stammered. “That’s all.”

His fingers pressed slightly harder. “Nervous?” His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You should be.”

I swallowed hard, trying not to shake.

Then his eyes narrowed, and his next words sent ice straight through my veins.

“Where’s your sister?” he asked slowly. “Why didn’t Dahlia come to the wedding?”

For a second, my blood ran cold. But then—relief. If he was asking about Dahlia, he still thought I was Denise.

“She—she went off to college,” I said quickly, forcing the lie out before I could trip over it. “She couldn’t make it.”

He said nothing. Just stared at me. The silence stretched so long I could hear the soft ticking of the clock, the faint sound of the wind outside. My pulse thudded painfully in my neck where his fingers had been.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he released me. Slowly. Deliberately. His hand slid away, and I felt the ghost of his touch burning on my skin.

Without saying a word, he turned and walked to the chair near the corner. The way he moved—calm, controlled, like a predator that had already decided I wasn’t worth killing yet—made my stomach twist.

He sat down, poured himself a glass of whisky, and took a slow sip. The sound of the liquid hitting the glass was almost too loud in the quiet room.

Then he looked up at me again—those same cold, sharp eyes—and said, “Next time I give you an order, you’ll obey it immediately. Do you understand?”

I nodded quickly, too scared to speak.

He leaned back in his chair, still watching me. “Good,” he said softly. “Now, take off your clothes… Get on that bed. And spread your legs and don’t make me ask twice.”

The words weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be. The quiet threat behind them was enough to make my knees feel weak.

For the first time in my life, I really understood what it meant to be trapped. There was no door to run to, no window to climb out from. Just me… and him. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly breathe.

I reached behind me for the zipper of my dress, my fingers slipping against the metal. It took me a few tries before I finally caught it. I pulled it down slowly, every sound it made cutting through the quiet room like a scream. The dress loosened and slid off my shoulders, falling to the floor in a soft heap. Cold air hit my skin and I shivered, standing there in only my bra and panties.

I could feel his eyes on me. Heavy. Unblinking. Watching every tiny movement I made. My skin prickled under that stare, like invisible hands were touching me. I wanted to cover myself, to hide, but I couldn’t move.

My hands went to the clasp of my bra, and for a moment I froze. I bit down hard on my lip, tasting blood. I didn’t want to do it, but I knew I had no choice. He was watching, waiting for me to obey. With a shaky breath, I unhooked it. The straps slid down my arms and the bra fell to the floor. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest, my cheeks burning with shame.

I couldn’t take off my panties. I just couldn’t. It was the only thing left keeping me from feeling completely exposed. The only piece of myself I still had.

He had told me to get on the bed, but my legs wouldn’t move. They felt stiff, like they didn’t belong to me anymore. My knees trembled so badly I thought I might fall. My heart was pounding too fast, too loud. I was terrified of what he might do if I actually obeyed.

Before I could think of what to say, the chair scraped against the floor. The sound made me jump. He stood up slowly, towering over me. His footsteps were steady, heavy, almost lazy—but they made my chest tighten more with every step he took.

He didn’t look away. Not even for a second.

By the time he stopped right in front of me, I couldn’t even breathe properly. My chest rose and fell fast, and it felt like the air had gotten too thick to swallow. His face was so close now that I could see every line, every hard edge of anger in his eyes. They were dark and cold, the kind of eyes that made you feel like you were nothing. Like he could break you if he wanted to—and he wouldn’t even think twice about it.

Before I could even blink, his hand shot out and grabbed my arm.