CH-24

VIN’S POV

The moment he entered my chamber; my eyes were fixed on him. Just him. Nothing else existed in that room for me at that moment.

I did not break the stare. Not even once.

I knew exactly what he was trying to do. He was trying to intimidate me… to scare me with that piercing gaze of his that could easily make anyone crumble. But I refused to show him that satisfaction. I stood there, stubbornly holding his gaze, refusing to look away first.

However, the very moment I became aware of the state of my clothes, embarrassment crept up my spine like a slow burning fire.

My blouse was open from the back. My scarf was nowhere around me. My skin—far more exposed than I had ever allowed him to see—was practically on display.

And he noticed.

Oh, he noticed everything.

I could see it in his eyes.

I could feel it in the way his gaze slowly moved over me, unhurried, deliberate, almost predatory. He was enjoying every bit of my discomfort. Every second of my awareness. Every flicker of nervousness that passed through me.

His touch earlier had not been accidental.

Not at all.

It had been intentional… calculated. He had dragged the moment longer than necessary, stretching the situation just enough to make me painfully aware of him—of his closeness, of his presence, of the heat radiating from his body.

He wanted me to feel exactly what I was feeling.

Restless.

Flustered.

Breathless.

And somehow… thrilled.

Yet despite all of that, despite the wicked amusement dancing in his eyes, he still proved himself a gentleman.

Because if today he had gone even a little further than what he did…

I would have let him.

Not because I consciously wanted to.

But because I know myself well enough to admit the truth.

I have absolutely no control over myself when this man is around.

His presence alone shakes the ground beneath my confidence. His aura is far too powerful for my liking—commanding, magnetic, overwhelming.

But do I hate that aura?

No.

Not even a little.

In fact,… a dangerous part of me is drawn to it.

Perhaps it is time I give him a little payback for the torture he had so mercilessly given me.

Just as he turned to leave, the words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“Ahem… my king, gentlemen always knock and come.”

The second those words left my mouth; regret stabbed me like a dagger.

My father's voice echoed inside my head instantly.

Think before you speak.

Too late now.

Vincenzo stopped.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

Then he turned back.

“Gentlemen?” he repeated, his voice low, deep, and dangerously calm.

“Not your men, Princess.”

He took a step closer, his gaze locking onto mine with unsettling intensity.

“I don’t need to knock to come into my woman’s room.”

My breath hitched.

“Perhaps next time,” he continued slowly, “you better lock the door. Because I might not like anyone seeing what is only reserved for my eyes.”

His voice dropped lower, turning into something far more dangerous.

“Because if something like this happens again… then I will be anything but gentle.”

His words struck me like lightning splitting the sky.

My woman.

The claim echoed inside my head again and again.

My woman.

The possessiveness.

The authority.

The raw certainty in his tone.

It was intoxicating.

My fragile heart, completely unprepared for such a declaration, swelled painfully inside my chest. Something deep within me trembled, broke, and mended all at once.

Tears filled my eyes before I could stop them.

Not from sadness.

But from something far more overwhelming.

Hope.

Right there, in that moment, I made a silent vow to myself.

I will make this man mine.

I will show him what true companionship means.

I will show him the warmth, the loyalty, the passion that exists between a husband and a wife.

I know he has never witnessed such a bond.

I know he has built walls around his heart.

But I swear…

One day, I will make him feel how beautiful it can be to belong to someone.

And to let someone belong to you.

I woke from dreams laced with him—dreams that I should not have entertained, visions of Vincenzo’s arms around me, his hands tracing places I should not have thought of… yet had. I stretched, a soft smile brushing my lips as I slid toward the washroom, trying to shake off the lingering heat of the dreams.

A quick shower washed away the remnants of the night, but my thoughts clung to him like a shadow. I slipped into a crop top and hot shorts, drying my hair with deliberate care, my mind still replaying every touch, every glance from last night.

Drawn to the window, I pulled back the curtains, and the room opened to reveal a lush garden—a private park, sprawling and verdant, hiding secrets I had not yet discovered. And then… the view of him.

Vincenzo, back to me, utterly unapologetic, bare and magnificent. His muscles were sculpted to perfection, each contour a testament to hours in the gym, to discipline, to pride. My pulse raced, my thoughts scattered.

I could not look away. Could not stop myself from imagining, from craving, from plotting how I might take—or perhaps torment—this man.

A soft sigh escaped me, involuntary, as I realized that wooing him was not just a challenge—it was a game I intended to win.

*

I could not tear my eyes away. Every muscle in his back flexed as he moved, the skin taut and smooth, glowing under the soft morning light. The heat that rose in me was not just from desire—it was the mix of awe, fear, and that delicious, forbidden thrill of watching him… and knowing he did not yet know I was watching.

My fingers itched to touch, to feel, to confirm the reality of what I was seeing. I swallowed hard, pressing my palms against the cool glass, trying to convince myself I was not thinking what I was thinking. But the truth? My mind had already betrayed me. Every thought was a reckless spark, igniting a wildfire I was not ready to tame.

God, he was perfection. And dangerous. So dangerously dangerous that the more I stared, the more my body reacted as if it had a mind of its own. My pulse thudded hard in my throat, and I could almost feel the echo of it in my ears. I needed to ground myself—anything to avoid letting him catch me in this state.

I shifted, wrapping the towel a little tighter around my hair, pretending to be busy, pretending to be innocent. But my eyes, traitorous as ever, kept finding him. The way his shoulders moved, the subtle curve of his spine, the faint tension in the muscles along his arms—it was intoxicating. Every movement screamed control, strength, power… and ownership.

The thought made my stomach twist in ways I had never known. Ownership. Him… claiming me with words, with presence, with that magnetic force that seemed to pull me even without touching me. I remembered last night—the kiss on my nose, the words, the possessiveness. That memory made my breath catch in my chest and my skin tingle.

I had sworn I would make him mine, and yet I was not sure if I were ready for what that truly meant. Being his woman… really his woman… it was more than just words. It was a fire that would consume me if I let it, and somehow, some dangerous part of me wanted to let it.

Stepping back from the window, I let my eyes follow him subtly as he moved, turning slightly, stretching, unaware of my gaze. I bit my lip, trying not to whimper at the sight, at the tight line of his muscles, at the way his presence filled the room more fully than any person had a right to.

I could almost feel his scent—the woody, musky fragrance lingering in my mind, teasing me even from a distance. My hand lifted unconsciously to my hair, twisting the damp strands, pulling at the towel as if the motion could somehow distract me from the thoughts racing through me. But it did not work. Every glance, every small movement of him made my body tighten in ways I could not control.

And then, the memory of his words from last night hit me again: “MY WOMEN.”

His women. Not mine. HIS. The possessiveness, the claim, the dominance—it made me shiver all over again. But more than fear, more than embarrassment, it stirred something deeper: a craving to see just how far I could push him, just how much I could challenge him while still being his.

The idea made my pulse spike. My mind raced with plans, with small rebellions I could test, with touches and words that might tempt him, tease him, drive him crazy… all while I watched, waiting, learning.

I knew I wanted him. I wanted him not just in my thoughts, not just in stolen moments, but fully, completely. And the thought of making him feel the same, of breaking through that wall he had built around himself… it made my heart pound with a reckless thrill I could not ignore.

I shook my head, trying to calm myself, but it was no use. The truth was simple: I was already lost. Lost in him, in the danger of wanting him, in the delicious tension that crackled between us. And the worst—or best—part? He did not even know it yet.

I let out a soft breath, one I could not hold back, and leaned slightly on the railing. The garden below was lush, calm, innocent… a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. I could feel it—my pulse, my heat, my anticipation—and I knew one thing with absolute certainty: the moment I was alone with him again, nothing would be restrained.

Not my thoughts. Not my desires. Not my body.

And for the first time, the thought did not scare me. It excited me. It thrilled me.

**