Semua Bab Enemies At The Altar : Bab 11 - Bab 20

The Romano mansion buzzed with preparation—staff rushing, guards assembling, cars lining the driveway. A formal gathering of families.A power display.A night where everyone watched everyone.And Mia had no choice but to attend.She stood in front of her mirror while a stylist adjusted the straps of her black silk dress, the one Don Romano insisted she wear.“You must look united,” he had said. “A strong front.”United.With the man she still swore she hated.Her stomach twisted.A knock sounded at the door.“Mia.”Mark’s voice. Low. Controlled. Too steady.The stylist barely had time to open the door.Mark stepped inside—dressed in a sleek black suit, tie loosened, hair brushed back in a way that made her heart stutter before she could stop it.He looked devastating.And he looked at her like he couldn’t breathe for a moment.“You… look beautiful,” he said quietly.Mia turned away. “Save it. We’re doing this because we have to.”Mark nodded once, accepting the coldness.But his eyes

The mansion was quiet the next morning, unusually quiet—like the whole world was holding its breath after the explosion between Mia and Mark last night.Mia barely slept.Her mind kept replaying his words, his voice, his eyes burning with something she didn’t want to understand.“The thought of anyone else touching you makes me—”“It felt like someone gut-punched me.”“I can’t stand anyone else’s hands on you.”No.No.No.She refused to believe any of it.She refused to feel the way her chest tightened when she remembered it.Mia needed space.Air.Anything to drown out the sound of her own heartbeat.She left her room quietly, stepping into the hallway. It was early—sun barely rising, half the guards still switching shifts. Her footsteps echoed softly as she made her way downstairs.She wasn’t looking for trouble.It found her anyway.Voices carried from the private training courtyard—low, hushed, serious. Mia froze, recognizing one instantly.Mark.Her pulse stumbled. She should wa

Mia slams the bedroom door behind her, pacing like a storm waiting to strike lightning. Her heart still hasn’t slowed from the dance, and her palms are sweaty—furious at herself for even feeling anything.She hated him.She should hate him.So why did her pulse still echo the rhythm of their steps?She hears footsteps.Of course he followed.The door swings open without a knock.Mark enters, silent and dark-eyed, closing the door behind him.The click sounds like a lock on her freedom.“Get out,” Mia snaps.“No.” His voice is low, dangerous. “We need to talk.”“Oh, suddenly now you want to communicate?” She scoffs. “You don’t get to control everything I do!”His jaw tightens. “I don’t control everything. I protect what matters.”“I don’t belong to you,” she fires back, stepping closer. “Stop acting like you own me.”He moves forward too, tension crackling between them like exposed wires.“You’re my wife. That comes with responsibilities.”“Responsibilities?” She laughs bitterly. “You

The next morning, the mansion felt colder.Not chilly.Not drafty.Cold—like someone had drained all the warmth out of the walls and replaced it with silence.Mia felt it the moment she stepped out of her room.Normally, Mark would be there.Leaning against the wall.Arms crossed.Pretending he just happened to be standing guard, when she knew damn well he hadn’t slept.But today…He wasn’t there.The hallway was empty.She blinked, confusion flickering.Good, she told herself. She didn’t need him. She didn’t even want him watching her like a shadow.But as she walked downstairs, an uncomfortable tightness twisted in her chest.When she reached the dining room, she found him.Mark sat at the far end of the long table, a newspaper open, untouched coffee beside him. His shoulders were rigid, jaw set, eyes fixed on the page as if it personally offended him.He didn’t look up.Didn’t greet her.Didn’t acknowledge she walked in.Mia stopped mid-step.That was new.Usually, he watched her f

The door clicked softly behind the doctor, leaving the room steeped in a tense, fragile quiet. Mia stood frozen near the nightstand, fingers curled around a damp cloth she’d been using to dab the blood from Mark’s brow. She hadn’t even realized she’d kept holding it. Her heart was still slamming against her ribs from the sight of him collapsing into the mansion earlier—bleeding, barely conscious, carried by two men like a fallen king.Mark lifted his head slightly on the pillow, wincing.“Don’t go,” he murmured, voice rough and low. “Please.”It was the please that arrested her. Mark never said please. Mark didn’t need to. He commanded, he ordered, he dominated every room he walked into.But right now… he was asking.“I’m not going anywhere,” she heard herself say. The words slipped out before she could think, before the anger could reassemble itself around her. Her voice sounded soft, almost gentle, and she hated that he made her sound like that.His shoulders relaxed. Just a little.