Page 6

He held her there, close against him, his body radiating heat and power.

His voice dropped, low and lethal near her ear.

"Your perfect husband is busy playing house with someone else. And you're still protecting him like it means something?"

Sienna’s jaw clenched. Her eyes, once wide with shock, now narrowed with fury.

"What I do or don’t do is none of your business," she bit out, voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "What’s it to you?"

Adrian’s jaw tensed, and a muscle ticked in his cheek. His patience was wearing thin.

She was still defending that bastard?

She still chose him?

His skin burned with jealousy and fury. ‘She used to only protect me.’ The thought burnt in his mind. ‘But now, she is shielding another man, that fucking bastard, in front of me?’

"Divorce him, and come back to me." He said, his voice hoarse now, thick with suppressed rage and something far more painful.

Sienna scoffed, disbelief etched on her face. "You threw me out, Adrian Vaughn! Like garbage! And now you want me back? What for? To warm your bed again?"

"No." The word left him immediately, firm and fast. His eyes softened—barely. "Come back as my woman. Not as a distraction. Not as a fling. As mine. My wife."

For the first time, her expression faltered. Shocked.

She stared at him, searching, looking for a lie, for manipulation.

There was no mockery in his eyes this time. Only sincerity. A hope?

Adrian Montgomery never begged. Never needed to. And yet, the look in his eyes wasn’t pride. It was something rawer. Almost vulnerable.

She pushed his arms off her body with sudden force and took two steps back.

"If it were two years ago," she said quietly, her voice shaking as a bitter smile tugged at her lips, "I would’ve believed you blindly. Might have even died from happiness just to hear those words from you."

Then, slowly, her smile changed. Cold. Disgusted.

“But do you really think I’m still that fool? The one who blindly believed every lie that left your mouth?”

Adrian’s gaze sharpened. She was slipping through his fingers again.

"You’re gambling your life over that fucking bastard?" he said, his voice deeper now, his tone dangerously calm. "That man isn’t worthy of your loyalty."

"And you were?" she snapped. "You made sure I knew my place, Adrian! I was only worth being one of your thousands of mistresses, right?"

His nostrils flared. He took a step forward.

"There was never a list," he said. Low. Controlled. "There was only you."

She blinked.

"I let them talk. I fed the press the stories, the rumors. I wanted you to hate me. I thought if you hated me enough, you’d stop mattering to me."

He took a cautious step toward her, his hand reaching for her, but she stepped back again and her brows furrowed. "What?"

Frustration etched deep lines into his face. He looked like a man on the verge of breaking. He ached to touch her—just the brush of skin, even her wrist. Being this close, yet still at a distance, was unbearable. He couldn’t breathe unless he was touching her. And she knew that. She had lived with it for five years.

Now she was torturing him.