Все главы Loving my Father’s Wife: Глава 11 - Глава 16

Arthur loomed over her, his weight pressing the mattress down until it dipped beneath Mary’s back. The canopy above them swayed slightly, shadows shuddering along the velvet drapes as if the room itself were breathing. His hands were rough and impatient as they reached for the thin straps of her slip, fingers fumbling with clumsy urgency. The fabric trembled against her skin as much from fear as from his touch.His face was flushed a deep, angry red, sweat glistening along his hairline. His breathing came in ragged, wet gasps, each one louder than the last, filling the room with a sound that made Mary’s stomach twist. He looked frustrated—angered by resistance, by delay—his brow furrowed with the effort of forcing control back into his hands.Mary thrashed beneath him, panic giving her strength she didn’t know she had. Her nails scraped uselessly against his arms, her heel catching him hard in the chest as she tried to shove him away. The bed creaked beneath them, protesting the strug

The Sterling Mansion had always been a fortress, but with the arrival of the son, it felt like a tomb being sealed from the inside.Mary stood behind the heavy velvet curtains of her bedroom, barely daring to breathe. The fabric was thick beneath her fingers, soft and expensive, yet it did nothing to steady the violent hammering of her heart against her ribs. Outside, on the stark white gravel of the circular drive, a black motorcycle rested like a predatory insect—low, sleek, and lethal. It did not belong among the polished luxury cars that usually lined the estate. It looked like it had come for blood.She had heard it before she saw it.The roar of the engine had sliced through the quiet of the house, sharp and aggressive, sending a ripple of panic through the servants. It had not slowed as it approached the gates. It had demanded entry, and the gates had obeyed.The man who had arrived didn’t walk into the house.He took it over.Even from the second floor, Mary felt the shift. Th

The finality in his voice was crushing.Julian let go of her chin, but he didn’t step back. He stayed exactly where he was, close enough that Mary could feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that there was no air left between them. The space he occupied felt deliberate, calculated an invisible cage built from proximity alone.Her throat burned from holding back sobs. Her legs trembled, though she forced herself to stay upright, to not fold in front of him. He watched her closely, his gaze cold and analytical, as if he were cataloging her weaknesses for later use."Starting tonight," Julian said, his eyes scanning her pale face with clinical indifference, "you move out of the master suite."Mary’s breath hitched."You will sleep in the small room at the end of the north wing," he continued. "The servant’s wing. You will eat when I tell you. You will speak when I tell you."Each sentence landed like a sentence passed in court.Mary shook her head, tears finally spilling ov