CHAPTER 4

The kiss ends slowly, but Declan doesn’t pull away. His forehead stays pressed to mine, our breaths mingling. I can still taste him—rain, desire, and something dangerously addictive.

“You kissed me back,” he murmurs, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Even if it was just a little.”

I turn my face away, ashamed, guilty, and furious with myself.

“I don’t want this,” I whisper, but the words come out weak, almost unconvincing.

He chuckles softly, a low sound that vibrates against my chest.

“Your body disagrees, Sirius.”

He lifts me into his arms again like I weigh nothing and carries me to the bed. He lays me down with surprising care, but his eyes never leave mine as he strips off the rest of his wet clothes. Despite the fear, I’m mesmerized—the broad chest, dark tattoos, and the silver chain with the wedding ring swaying between hard muscle.

He climbs onto the bed and pulls me against him, fitting my body to his from behind. A strong arm wraps around my waist, locking me to his chest. I feel every inch of him—hot, hard, alive.

“No…” I try to pull away, but he tightens his hold.

“Shh. Not tonight,” he whispers against my nape, lips brushing my skin. “Tonight you’re just going to sleep in my arms. Like you always did.”

I tremble. My body is exhausted, but my mind won’t stop. Every breath he takes against my neck sends unwanted waves of heat down my spine. I feel his erection pressed against my back, thick and throbbing, but he does nothing more than hold me.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, voice breaking. “If I really was your wife… why won’t you let me go?”

His hand slides up slowly until his fingers wrap around my throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. Reminding.

“Because you’re mine,” he answers simply, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world. “Because I died six years ago when I lost you. And now that I have you back, I’m not risking losing you again. Not to Harvey. Not to your own fucked-up head.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Silent tears soak the pillow.

But the worst part is that, even terrified, even hating my own body’s betrayal, a small piece of me… relaxes. The heat of his body, the familiar scent I can’t explain, the steady rhythm of his breathing against my hair—everything makes something inside me surrender against my will.

Like my body already knows this is exactly where it belongs.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

Declan kisses the back of my neck, slow and almost reverent.

“Good. Hate me all you want. As long as you’re in my arms, you can feel whatever you need to feel.”

Silence falls over the room. The rain keeps beating against the windows. Claire must be sleeping in the room next door. And I, trapped in the arms of the man who destroyed my life today, feel my traitorous body giving in to exhaustion.

I wake up with a heavy arm wrapped around my waist and a warm body molded to my back.

For a second, my sleep-fogged brain tries to make sense of where I am. Then it all crashes back like a punch: the wedding, the kidnapping, the flight, the house, the photos, the cuffs, his hands on me…

I try to move away, but Declan’s arm pulls me back effortlessly, pressing me tighter against his chest. His erection is still there—hard and insistent against me even while he sleeps.

“Stay still,” he murmurs against my nape, his voice husky with sleep. “It’s still early.”

I shiver. My body reacts to that possessive tone in a way that disgusts and arouses me at the same time. I hate it. I hate how my skin prickles when he speaks like that.

“Let me go,” I whisper, trying to ignore the heat blooming between my legs.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against my back, and slides his hand possessively over my stomach, stopping just beneath my breasts.

“You slept in my arms all night. Your body knows where it belongs, even if your head hasn’t caught up yet.”

Before I can answer, the bedroom door creaks open.

Claire appears in her pajamas, blond hair messy, eyes shining with excitement. The moment she sees us in bed together, her whole face lights up like it’s Christmas.

“You slept together!” she exclaims, practically bouncing with joy.

My face burns with shame. I try to pull away from Declan, but he holds me firmly, with zero intention of letting me go in front of his daughter.

“Good morning, princess,” he says calmly, as if waking up with a woman he’d cuffed the night before now locked in his arms were the most normal thing in the world. “Come to wake us up?”

Claire climbs onto the bed without asking and throws herself between us, hugging me tightly.

“I wanted to check if it was real… if Mommy was really here.” She buries her face in my neck, her voice muffled. “Did you sleep well? Daddy sometimes snores, but I can lend you my headphones if you want.”

I’m speechless. Her innocence, the pure and desperate love she feels for me—a person she barely knows—completely disarms me.

“I… slept,” I manage, my voice cracking. Almost instinctively, my hand comes up to stroke her hair.

Declan watches us with a dark, satisfied gaze. He leans in, kisses the top of Claire’s head, then brushes his lips against my temple—a gesture that looks tender but carries a clear message of ownership.

“Let’s go downstairs for breakfast,” he says. “The three of us. Like a family.”

Claire lets out an excited squeal and runs out of the room to get ready.

The second the door closes, Declan flips me onto my back. His blue eyes pin me in place.

“You’re going to smile for her downstairs,” he orders softly, thumb stroking my lower lip. “You’re going to be gentle. You’re going to let her hug you. And when we’re alone again…” He leans down and bites my bottom lip. “I’m going to fuck you until you’re screaming my name and until you lose your voice.”

I shudder. Fear and desire twist sickeningly in my stomach.

“You’re sick,” I whisper.

He smiles against my mouth.

“I am. But you’re going to learn to love my madness.”

He releases me just enough for me to pull on one of his shirts, which falls almost to my knees. When we go downstairs, Claire is already in the kitchen, happily helping set the table with an enthusiasm that breaks my heart.

Breakfast feels surreal.

Claire talks nonstop, telling stories I don’t remember, showing me drawings she made for me during the years I was “sleeping.” Declan sits beside me, one hand always resting on my thigh under the table—a constant, possessive touch that reminds me there’s no escape.

With every laugh from Claire, every “Mommy” that leaves her lips, I feel another crack form inside me.

I don’t remember them.

But they remember me.

And the worst part is that, deep down, a small, terrified piece of me is starting to want to remember too.