Chapter 12

Elena’s smirk faltered, just slightly. “Excuse me?”

“We’re going to my office. My lawyers are already waiting. The marriage contract will be signed today.” His voice was ruthless, leaving no room for argument. “You’ve wasted enough time, and I’m done indulging your tantrums.”

Elena pushed off the table slowly, squaring her shoulders as she looked up at him. “And if I say no?”

Roman leaned in, so close his breath fanned her cheek, his voice low and lethal. “Then I’ll carry you out of this house myself. And believe me, Elena, no one will stop me.”

Her heart gave a betraying lurch in her chest, though her face remained cool. He wasn’t bluffing, she could see it in his eyes. That dangerous glint that said Roman Thorne wasn’t a man of empty threats.

She lifted her chin. “So that’s your answer? Control me because you can’t handle me?”

He gave a dark chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “Not control. Claim.”

The word slammed into her, thick with possession, raw with hunger.

His gaze devoured her as though she were already his, as though the contract was nothing more than a formality.

Before she could craft a retort, heavy footsteps echoed back into the room. Mr. Sinclair returned, his face flushed from his earlier tirade. “What’s going on here now?” he demanded, his eyes flicking between them.

Roman didn’t look at him. His attention remained solely on Elena. “Your daughter and I are leaving. Now.”

“What do you mean leaving?” Mr. Sinclair sputtered. “The contract hasn’t been arranged...”

“It’s arranged,” Roman cut in smoothly. “My men will have everything ready by the time we arrive.”

Mrs. Sinclair appeared behind her husband, wringing her hands nervously. “Roman, perhaps it would be better to wait until tomorrow...”

“No.” Roman’s tone brooked no disagreement. “She’s coming with me today. Or there will be no wedding at all.”

The room fell silent.

The weight of his words was suffocating.

Mr. Sinclair’s face twisted, torn between outrage and the recognition of the power standing before him.

Finally, he spat, “Fine. Take her. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’ll be the ruin of your patience.”

Roman’s lips curved in a cold half smile. “She won’t ruin me. She’ll learn me.”

Elena snorted softly, breaking the thick tension. “Arrogant as ever.”

Roman turned his gaze back to her, hard and unyielding. “Go get your things. You’re leaving with me. Now.”

Elena’s pulse quickened. No man had ever spoken to her like that. Most groveled, tried to win her favor, bent under her stubbornness.

Roman didn’t bend. He pushed back harder, with fire that matched her own.

She crossed her arms, her smirk returning, though her voice was a touch huskier than she’d intended. “You really think dragging me off like some possession is going to make me obedient?”

Roman stepped closer until his chest nearly brushed hers, until she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. “Obedience?” he murmured, his eyes dark and dangerous. “No. But I will have your attention.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then, with a sharp inhale, Elena brushed past him, her shoulder grazing his arm deliberately. “Fine. Let’s go, Mr. Thorne. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Roman’s lips curved in a dangerous smile as he followed her, his mind already racing with thoughts of how he would finally turn the tables. Because for all her games, Elena Sinclair had just stepped willingly into his world. And Roman never lost in his world.

Upstairs, Elena’s door slammed shut. Roman waited in the lounge, his jaw ticking as he stared at the clock again. Every second she made him wait was another test of his already fraying patience.

He half expected her to reappear in a glittering gown with half her closet stuffed into a ridiculous designer suitcase.

Spoiled brats always clung to their material comforts, after all.

But when the door finally opened, what came down the staircase was not silk or sequins, it was steel, glass, and wires.

Elena descended, her arms full of sleek cases, heavy duffel bags strapped to her shoulders, her movements graceful despite the weight.

She set one metal trunk on the floor with a thud that rattled the marble.

Roman’s eyes narrowed.

“What the hell is this?”

Elena didn’t even glance at him. She bent to stack another black case, her hair falling over her cheek. “My things.”

Roman’s brow furrowed. “Where are your clothes?”

“Packed already.” She snapped the locks on the trunk shut, her fingers moving with practiced precision. “In the smallest bag you saw me carry. Everything else?” She tapped the top of the steel case with her nail. Click. “Non negotiable.”

Roman’s gaze swept the collection, cases of varying sizes, sleek black duffels that looked military grade rather than fashionable. Not a single designer logo in sight.

He folded his arms. “You’re telling me… you chose wires and metal over diamonds and dresses?”

Elena finally looked up, her smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Surprised?”

The driver appeared at the door, his eyes going wide as he took in the growing pile. “Uh, sir...”

“Load them,” Roman ordered curtly.

The driver hesitated. “Mr. Thorne, they… won’t all fit in the car.”

Roman’s jaw tightened, his eyes snapping back to Elena, who now leaned casually against one of the trunks, arms folded, expression daring him to argue.

Of course they wouldn’t fit. She had planned this.

Roman dragged a hand down his face, his temper coiling tighter. “Arrange a separate vehicle. Now.”

“Yes, sir.” The driver scurried off, phone already pressed to his ear.

Elena’s smirk deepened. “What’s wrong, Roman? Not used to women bringing more than they seem?”

Roman stalked closer, his presence swallowing the space between them. He stopped just inches from her, his eyes burning into hers. “I don’t like surprises.”

“Then you picked the wrong wife.” Her voice was silk and venom all at once, her chin lifting defiantly.

For a moment, his gaze flickered to the cases.

What the hell was inside them?

Clothes didn’t clank against metal like that.

He wanted to ask, to demand answers, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d unsettled him.