Chapter 11

Mrs. Sinclair reached for him, but he shook her off, pacing like a caged beast. “She’s spoiled beyond repair, and now this, this man who thinks he’s untouchable waltzes in and lays claim to her as though she were some prize in a market. If this is what he does before the vows, imagine what he’ll be like after!”

Her lips trembled, but she forced calm into her tone. “You knew this was not going to be an ordinary arrangement. Roman Thorne isn’t a man who can be… controlled.”

Mr. Sinclair’s glare burned. “And neither is Elena. She mocks us. She mocks him. And one day soon, this marriage will explode in our faces.”

His words lingered in the air like a curse.

Meanwhile, in the lounge, the silence stretched. Elena leaned against the polished table, her eyes glimmering with amusement. Roman still stood rigid before her, fists tight at his sides, his jaw set in stone.

“So,” Elena drawled, her voice smooth as silk. “That was quite the show, Roman. Saving me from my father’s wrath like some… knight in black armor.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed, the words striking deeper than he wanted to admit.

Elena tilted her head, her smirk curling. “But let’s talk about the real issue here, shall we? For all your power, all your men, all your… reputation...” she let the pause drag deliberately, “you couldn’t even find me.”

Roman’s nostrils flared. His silence was thunderous.

Elena chuckled, low and mocking. “Fifteen minutes to four, and you still had nothing. Imagine it, Roman Thorne, the man feared by half this city, outsmarted by a woman you call a spoiled brat.”

Roman’s teeth clenched, his voice finally breaking through like the crack of a whip. “You think this is a game?”

“Of course it is,” Elena shot back, unflinching. “You set the rules. I played by them. You lost.”

His eyes darkened, his chest heaving as if he were restraining himself from lunging across the room.

“I should break you for that,” he growled, stepping closer, each word vibrating with fury. “For mocking me. For making a fool of me. For daring to think you can win against me.”

Elena’s smirk deepened, her gaze locking onto his like fire to gasoline. “And yet here I stand, untouched, undefeated. Tell me, Roman...” she leaned just slightly forward, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “how does it feel to want control so badly, and not have it?”

Roman’s breath caught, his eyes burning holes into her.

He towered over her now, his shadow engulfing her slender frame, but she didn’t flinch. Not even when his hand came up, fingers brushing against the edge of the table beside her head.

“You have no idea what you’re provoking,” he said, his voice low, deadly, and trembling with restrained desire. “No idea what I’m capable of when someone dares to play with me.”

Elena arched a brow. “Then show me. Or are you only good at making rules you can’t enforce?”

That tore through his last thread of patience.

His palm slammed down on the table, the sharp crack echoing through the room.

Elena didn’t so much as blink, if anything, her smirk grew sharper.

“You’re not afraid,” he rasped, his lips curling in equal parts rage and disbelief.

“Should I be?” she countered smoothly.

Roman’s breathing was ragged now, his composure slipping. His body screamed to dominate, to shatter that mask of arrogance she wore so proudly, but his mind, his mind warred with the strange pull of wanting her even more because she didn’t yield.

He leaned closer, so close their breaths mingled, his voice a guttural promise. “You’ll regret this, Elena Sinclair. Because you won’t just bend to me… you’ll break. And when you do, you’ll beg me for mercy.”

Elena tilted her chin, her eyes gleaming with something between defiance and dangerous thrill. “Then you’ll be waiting forever. Because I don’t beg, Roman. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

From down the hall, Mrs. Sinclair’s voice called softly, “Roman? Elena? Is everything all right in there?”

Roman didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact. His hand clenched the table harder, veins straining, his body coiled with need, for control, for dominance, for her.

Elena whispered, just for him, her words a dagger dipped in honey. “Tick tock, Roman. You’re running out of ways to tame me.”

His eyes flared, and Roman felt the sensation he despised most, helplessness.

The echo of her words still burned in his ears. Tick tock, Roman. You’re running out of ways to tame me.

She thought she’d won.

She thought her clever little tricks, her taunts, her games, put her above him.

Roman’s jaw flexed as he pulled back, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wasn’t helpless. He wasn’t powerless.

He was Roman Thorne, and no one, least of all this spoiled, sharp tongued heiress, would make him feel otherwise.

“Enough,” he said, his voice slicing through the room like cold steel.

Elena arched a brow, still leaning casually against the table, her smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Finally. I was wondering when you’d find your voice again.”

Roman stepped closer, invading her space, his presence overwhelming. “You’ve had your fun. You’ve mocked me, tested me, pushed me. But the game ends now.”

“Oh?” Elena’s tone was light, mocking. “You’re the one who set the rules, Roman. If you can’t handle losing, maybe you shouldn’t play.”

His hand shot out, not touching her but gripping the back of the chair beside her with such force the wood creaked.

His face was inches from hers, eyes burning. “You think this is a game? Then let me make the rules clear, Mrs. Thorne to be.”

The title dripped from his tongue like both a curse and a promise.

“You’re coming with me. Right now.”