Page 41 of Beautifully Damned (Sinful Fates #2)

Roman

I tear my mouth from hers, but I can’t meet her eyes. Something about them makes my chest feel carved open.

I turn on my heel and head upstairs, my pulse still hammering in my ears. I pass my own door without slowing. Instead, I push into hers. The air is cooler here, softer. I press my face into her pillow and breathe in until my lungs ache. The scent drags heat straight to my gut.

Emir will never have this. If he tries, I’ll put him in the ground and still find a way to kill him twice. He might have been the first to touch her lips, but I’ll be the last one she remembers. The one who burns himself into her bones.

I force myself up from the bed, stripping off my blazer and tossing it to the floor. My shirt clings to my back, my skin prickling with restless heat.

She walks in and stops cold. Her eyes narrow, sharp enough to cut. And those goddamn flowers—his flowers—are still in her hands.

She comes closer, stopping just short of brushing against me. “Why did you do that?”

I start pacing, shoulders tight, the muscles in my neck pulling like rope. She follows me with her gaze, confused, maybe even daring to be indignant. How can she not understand? How can she not see I just put that bastard in his place without firing a shot?

I turn on her. “I wanted him to know you’re not free game.” My tone is flat, but the heat behind it could strip paint.

Her brows pull together. “We aren’t a happy couple, Roman. So don’t use me for a show.”

My body moves before the thought finishes. I close the space between us in two strides and pin her to the wall. My hands clamp around her arms, firm enough to feel the pulse under my fingers. Those flowers are crushed between us, her knuckles white from gripping them.

“You think I kissed you for theatrics? No. I kissed you so he remembers that you’re mine.”

She lifts her chin. “I’m yours in name only. That’s it.”

“Names matter. My name matters. You wear it now. And he’ll die before he forgets it.”

She flinches, and I see exactly what I’ve always known. She’s light. I’m the thing that swallows it whole.

His flowers hurt my eyes. I take them from her hands, fling them to the floor, and watch the petals scatter across the wood. Something slips free from the stems, landing by my boot, and I crouch to investigate.

Two plane tickets. Panama. And a note that seals Emir’s fate.

~ Ayla, I know this is a huge step. But we can disappear from all of this. I have new identities, a house, and work. I care about you more than this world you’re trapped in. I was raised to protect you, and this is me doing it. If you agree, meet me in the gardens at midnight. We’ll vanish. ~

I swear something bursts in my left eye. She’s pale, eyes darting between me and the paper.

“What is that?” she stammers.

I hold the tickets out to her. She takes them reluctantly, like my hands might bite.

And then it hits me where I’ve seen that bastard’s face before. The hospital. That day I caught him , “the nurse,” wheeling her out. It was him. Always hovering around my wife .

I rip the tickets from her hand, tearing them apart, and lift her clean off the floor before tossing her onto the bed.

“I didn’t know,” she gasps. “I swear I didn’t. I don’t know what he was thinking. I won’t see him or speak to him again. But please, Roman… don’t hurt him.”

I crawl over her, caging her in. My mouth finds her throat, my teeth dragging over skin until I taste salt. Hickeys bloom under my tongue, marks that shout mine. Only mine to spoil. Mine to ruin. Mine to protect.

She shoves at my chest. “Get off me!”

My teeth close harder on a patch of skin, making her gasp. “Who do you belong to?”

“If I say you, will you promise not to hurt Emir?”

Promise? No. I’ll be in the gardens at midnight. Where he planned to take her from me. And I’ll make sure he dies slow enough to regret every thought he’s ever had about her.

My hands explore her body, staking my claim without words. But rage blinds me. I forget for a moment that the first time I took her was stained in violence.

Her hand disappears under the bed. Then steel flashes. Pain blooms white-hot in my stomach… she fucking stabbed me.

I don’t feel anger. Not even betrayal. I feel pride .

Good. Fight me, little lamb. Show me you can survive the devil.

I roll off her, one hand clamping the wound. Blood seeps warm between my fingers. She’s still gripping the knife, knuckles bone-white.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh my god, what have I done?” she screeches.

I cross the small gap between us, cupping her face in both hands. One of them is soaked in my blood, staining her cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You just told your husband you weren’t in the mood.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re insane. You’re making me insane.”

“No, Ayla. You’re becoming a woman who can stand in the dark without running.”

I nip at her cheek, feeling the shiver run through her. “Answer me something.”

She swallows and presses her hands over my wound, stopping the flow of blood. “Ask.”

“Were you ever going to run with him? Now, or when he was playing nurse?”

Her throat works as she swallows. “Never. When he came to the hospital, I told him it was a mistake. I didn’t know about these tickets. My answer would have been no.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m serving my time. If I leave, I’ll burn down everything I walk away from.”

Not the answer I want. I want her to say because I belong to you . Because I’m your wife . Because I love you . Words I know I don’t deserve.

I step back. “There’s nowhere in this world you can go that I won’t find you, wife.”

And I leave her standing there with my blood on her hands.