chapter 6 :cold embrace

Ariana felt a spike of sharp, icy panic. This wasn’t protection—it was a deliberate, intimate punishment designed to break her down.

“You’re insane,” she whispered, facing Lucas in the dimly lit study. “I’m not sleeping in your room. The contract guarantees separate quarters.”

“The contract is irrelevant when my wife is actively sabotaging my security measures,” Lucas replied, his voice dangerously soft. He held the small, faded photograph of their past—the only weapon he truly had against her—and his grip tightened around it. “You’ve proven you can’t be trusted alone. You stay where I can watch you. You’re my wife now, and the master suite is your post.”

He slipped the photograph into his pocket, a quiet, decisive move that felt like a blade sliding between her ribs. “Don’t worry. The room is large enough. We’ll be separate… in very close quarters.”

He didn’t wait for her response. He simply strode out, fully expecting her to follow. With a strangled gasp of rage, Ariana snatched her emerald dress off the stool and marched after him.

Lucas’s master suite was a breathtaking monument to his control—black granite, smoked glass, and punishing shades of gray. It was a fortress overlooking the glittering city, and at its center sat an enormous charcoal-colored bed that dominated the space.

Lucas was already undressing, stripping off his suit jacket and unbuttoning his cuffs with sharp, efficient movements. Without looking at her, he nodded toward a hidden door.

“The dressing room is through there. No talking. No touching. No crossing the center line of the mattress.”

Ariana stalked into the dressing room—a minimalist palace lined with nothing but rows of his meticulously tailored clothes. She changed quickly into her silk pajamas, blood boiling, fighting the violent urge to burn that emerald dress as her final act of rebellion.

When she stepped back out, Lucas stood beside the bed wearing only dark gray silk pajama bottoms. The sight of his bare torso hit her like a physical blow. He was flawlessly built—broad shoulders, a tight waist, and the kind of dangerous, masculine power that made the air feel thin. City lights spilled across the carved planes of his chest, making him look both perfect and merciless.

He ignored her completely, positioning two decorative pillows precisely in the middle of the colossal bed.

“The divide,” he said, tone flat. “Cross it, and I’ll take that as you intentionally breaking the rules.”

Ariana walked stiffly to the far edge of the bed—the so-called safe side—her heart pounding. She slid under the covers and turned her back to him immediately. The mattress was decadently soft, but sharing it felt suffocating. She could feel everything: the faint shift of the springs, the heat radiating from his body, the clean, restrained scent of his cologne.

“There’s one final requirement,” Lucas said, his voice a low command in the darkness.

Ariana gritted her teeth. “What now? Do I have to sing lullabies?”

“No. We’re married. We have to hold hands for ten minutes before we fall asleep.”

She whipped her head toward him. “That’s insane. You literally created a demilitarized zone.”

“This isn’t for us,” he said calmly. “It’s for the encrypted heat-mapping technology installed in the ceiling. It monitors us for safety. We must register as a single, bonded unit for the system to confirm security integrity. It requires confirmed physical contact every night.”

He reached across the pillows, violating his own absurd barrier. His large, warm hand landed firmly over hers.

The moment their skin touched, a violent spark shot up Ariana’s arm. His hand was rough, steady, and impossibly warm. It wasn’t gentle—more like an anchor locking her into place.

He laced his fingers through hers, the intimacy torturous and frustrating in equal measure.

“Ten minutes,” Lucas commanded, his breath brushing the side of her neck, sending an involuntary shiver across her skin. “And remember—I hold the past now. All the secrets are mine.”

Ariana squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight the magnetic pull of the man beside her. In that moment, she finally understood the true cruelty of his decision: he hadn’t exiled her to a safe house.

He’d imprisoned her with the exquisite torture of cold, forced proximity to the one man who could completely destroy her composure.

She was trapped in the most dangerous place on earth—his bed.