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It really was stupid of me to do that. I know I’m scared of heights. I was just so desperate to try and get away.

Nestor sits down on the single sofa in the living room, still holding me on his lap. I snuggle into him.

But then I realize what the hell I’m doing, and I bolt upright.

My eyes are wide with horror.

In a flash, I wiggle off his lap and onto the sofa next to him.

My cheeks are flushed bright pink.

His low chuckle annoys me. “Are you feeling better, little one?” he asks, his eyes bearing into me.

“What do you care?” I snap angrily.

“Hey, don’t be angry at me. You’re the one who was trying to climb the damn gate, not me.”

“AndI wouldn’t have had to climb thedamngate if you didn’t lock me up in here.”

He rolls his eyes. “This again,” he huffs.

“Yes, this again. You have to let me go. I need to get to work. I have a job. I have to go home and change. I have to go towork like a normal person,” I shout angrily.

“The only thing you need to do is calm down,” he says dryly.

“You might have the luxury of living in this crazy house and driving a ridiculous car, but I have bills to pay, and if I don’t work, I can’t pay them. You aren’t being fair.”

I fold my arms across my chest, glaring at him.

The corner of his mouth curls downwards, and a spike of fear shoots through me when he stands up. Not wanting to show my fear, I stand up too and face him boldly.

He tilts his head to the side.

I set my jaw tightly and continue to glare. “Let me go.”

The smile that spreads over his face is not friendly. It’s dangerous and it sets my heart racing, both with warning and desire.

I take a step away from him, but my legs are against the sofa and I can’t move away anymore.

Nestor steps closer, the heat from his body warming over me.

My breath catches and I stammer for a moment. “Leave—leave me alone,” I blurt out.

He reaches up and traces his fingers over my cheek, a gentle, slow movement that leaves a heated trail on my skin.

“I don’t have to leave you alone, sweetheart. You belong to me. Don’t you remember? We’re married.”

I press my hands into his chest and shove him hard.

“No, I refuse to accept that. You still haven’t told me what any of this is about, but I will not be your wife,” I shout. “Whatever my father owes you has nothing to do with me, and you need to let me go and deal with him directly.”

He laughs at me, shaking his head.

“You already are my wife. And technically, your father owes me nothing,” he muses, taunting me with scraps of information that don’t make sense.

“What? I heard him talking about his debts to you. That doesn’t make sense.”

“He paid the debts—with you.”