Chapter 3: Under Me

The sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom waited near the curb, its engine purring softly beneath the storm. Before stepping inside, I stopped and turned toward him.

“I need to go to my apartment first,” I said, brushing a strand of wet hair away from my face. “I need to pack my things.”

Julian let out a quiet scoff, his eyes dragging slowly over my soaked body. His gaze lingered on the thin shirt clinging transparently to my skin.

“You have no need for anything in that apartment,” he said coolly. “Everything will be provided for you.”

“I am not your doll,” I snapped, my jaw tightening. “I can take care of myself.”

Julian ignored the anger in my voice completely. His attention shifted lazily toward the open car door.

“Tomorrow afternoon, I’m taking you shopping,” he said calmly. “You can buy whatever you want. No limits.”

His icy gaze returned to mine, cold and commanding.

“But you are not bringing garbage into my penthouse. Get in the car, Clara.”

The words hit my pride like a slap. I lifted my chin anyway, refusing to let him see how deeply it stung. I slid into the far side of the luxurious backseat, trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

Julian followed without hesitation, the heavy door shutting behind him with a final, resounding click that sounded like the closing of a cage. The driver pulled away smoothly into the stormy Manhattan night, rain streaking across the tinted windows like tears.

The silence inside the car was thick, suffocating. I kept my arms crossed tightly over my chest, staring out at the bleeding neon lights of the city. My dress was still damp, clinging uncomfortably to my skin, but that was nothing compared to the weight of Julian’s presence beside me. His thigh brushed mine every time the car turned, sending unwanted sparks through my body.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. I expected the ruthless billionaire to be on his phone, reviewing multi-million-dollar deals or plotting his next corporate conquest. Instead, a slow, satisfied smile played on his handsome face as he casually scrolled through TikTok.

He was literally watching a video of a cat falling off a table, complete with a ridiculous sound effect.

The absurdity of it, this cold, terrifying man known as the Ghost of Wall Street laughing quietly at memes, burned hot in my chest.

“You just blackmailed me into marriage, and you’re watching cat videos?” I muttered before I could stop myself.

Julian didn’t look up immediately.

“Even monsters need entertainment, Clara.”

His voice was low, amused.

“Besides, you’ll learn soon enough that I take what I want, and I enjoy the simple things while I do it.”

His hand moved then, resting possessively on my thigh. High enough to feel indecent. Warm enough to make my pulse race.

I tried to shift away, but his grip tightened in silent warning.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

“You’ve said that already,” he replied calmly. “Keep saying it. Maybe one day you’ll believe it.”

The rest of the ride passed in charged silence. When we finally pulled into the private entrance of his penthouse, I was exhausted, furious, and far too aware of the man beside me.

The all-female staff bowed in unison the moment we stepped inside the breathtaking foyer with its gleaming polished floors and modern luxury.

“Welcome back, Master Cross.”

Master Cross?

The title sent a fresh wave of unease through me.

Julian tossed his key cards onto a console table and walked up the grand floating staircase without checking if I was following. I had no choice but to trail after him, my bare feet cold against the polished tiles.

He led me straight to the master suite. I stopped at the threshold, my heart pounding.

“Please… where’s my room?”

“You’re looking at it,” Julian said calmly.

He walked over to a sleek digital safe built into the wall, typed in a code, and locked the flash drive inside with a heavy metallic clunk. Then he turned and tossed a black silk shirt toward me.

“Wear it.”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed. Or your clothes.”

Julian didn’t argue. He turned toward the wall panel instead.

“Alexa, set the mode.”

The lights instantly dimmed to a deep, harsh red. A sensual, low bass began pulsing softly from hidden speakers.

“And why red lights?” I snapped, still standing in the doorway.

The AI responded in a smooth feminine voice.

“Master Cross does not like bright lights.”

Wait.

What the fuck did the AI just call him?

Master.

The word echoed in my head.

Then it hit me. The staff downstairs had called him the same thing earlier. This wasn’t just a home. It was his kingdom, where everyone and everything knew their place beneath him.

My stomach twisted at the thought of how many women had probably been here before me, calling him that in the dark.

I took the shirt and changed quickly in the luxurious bathroom. When I emerged, the oversized black silk skimmed the tops of my thighs, cool and smooth against my still-damp skin.

Julian was standing by the massive window overlooking the stormy city, but he froze when he saw me. Under the crimson glow, his icy eyes darkened with sudden, molten hunger.

“Fuck,” he said roughly, his dominant gaze locking onto my breasts. “You look good in my clothes, fake wife.”

I noticed the way he was staring immediately.

“Don’t touch me,” I warned, crossing my arms over my chest.

He stalked forward, closing the distance in seconds.

“You signed the contract, Clara. You belong to me now.”

The intensity in the room thickened until the air felt hard to breathe. In a surge of panic, I spun around, trying to run for the bedroom doors.

I didn’t even make it two steps.

His hand caught my wrist, yanking me back with effortless strength. In one powerful, seamless move, he pinned me beneath him on the massive bed. His hot, hard body hovered over mine, caging me completely.

“Get used to this position,” he whispered against my lips, his blue eyes burning with absolute possession. “Because you’re going to be under me a lot from now on.”

My heart thundered. I could feel every inch of him, the heat, the restrained power, the way his body reacted to mine. His hand gripped my hip, holding me in place as rain continued to lash against the windows.

He didn’t kiss me.

He didn’t take more.

He simply held me there, letting the tension build until I was trembling beneath him, caught between hatred and something far more dangerous.

Minutes passed like that.

His thumb traced slow circles on my hip.

His breath brushed my neck.

The red lights pulsed softly around us.

Then, finally, he rolled off me but kept one arm draped possessively across my waist.

“Sleep,” he ordered, his voice deep and rough.

I lay there in the crimson darkness, my body aching with frustration and fury, wondering how I was going to survive an entire year with this man without losing myself completely.