Page 9 of Bound in Matrimony (Belonging to Him Trilogy #3)

Chapter Nine

Knox

The first light of dawn paints her skin gold where it peeks from beneath the tangled sheets.

I've been awake for hours, unable to look away from the miracle sleeping beside me.

Seraphina Vance. My wife. Mine, finally, in the eyes of the law and everyone who matters.

She sighs in her sleep, one delicate hand curled near her face, the platinum and emerald on her finger catching the light.

I've built an empire worth billions, but this woman sleeping in my bed is the only acquisition that's ever truly mattered.

And even now, with her name legally changed and her body thoroughly claimed, it's not enough. I need more.

The hunger that drove me from the streets to the boardroom—that relentless need for security, for permanence—doesn't recognize the sanctity of marriage certificates or wedding bands.

It demands constant reinforcement, total possession.

My fingers hover above her skin, not quite touching.

I don't want to wake her yet. She needs rest after the marathon of our wedding night.

I ease out of bed, padding silently to the suite's private office.

The floor-to-ceiling windows showcase Manhattan waking up, but I barely notice the view as I pull my laptop from my briefcase.

There's work to be done. Plans to set in motion.

Ways to bind Seraphina to me so completely that separation would be impossible.

Some might call it obsession. Maybe it is. But when you've grown up with nothing, when you've watched everything you care about disappear, you learn to hold on tight to what matters. And nothing—no one—has ever mattered like she does.

The marriage is just the beginning. A foundation. Now I need to build the fortress.

I make the first call at exactly 6 AM. My lawyer answers on the first ring, as I knew he would.

"I need the paperwork we discussed. All of it. Today."

He doesn't question the timeline. My people know better than to question my urgency.

"Will Mrs. Vance be signing today as well?" he asks.

The sound of her new name sends a fresh wave of satisfaction through me. "Yes. Have everything messengered to the St. Regis by noon."

I end the call and move to the next item on my mental checklist. With a few keystrokes, I access the Vance Industries server and send encrypted instructions to my CFO.

By this afternoon, Seraphina will be named on every account, every property, every holding.

Not just as my wife, but as co-owner. What's mine is hers—and what's hers is mine.

Next, I pull up the acquisition proposal I've been crafting for weeks.

The Meridian Gallery where Seraphina serves as director is prestigious but financially vulnerable.

Their board has been resistant to outside investment, but my team has identified three members with significant personal debt.

Leverage points. By the end of the month, the gallery will be a subsidiary of Vance Industries, with Seraphina installed as permanent executive director with full creative control.

She'll be angry when she discovers I've acquired her workplace without consulting her. But she'll understand eventually. This way, she never has to choose between her career and our marriage. This way, every aspect of her life is connected to mine.

But it's still not enough.

My fingers drum against the polished desk as I consider what else I need. What else will make this unbreakable. The answer comes immediately, accompanied by a tightness in my chest that feels like yearning.

Children. Our children. Seraphina is already round with my baby. But we’ll have more. A family of our own—something neither of us really had growing up. The thought of her carrying my child, of creating something together that can never be undone, makes my breath come faster.

We never discussed it directly, but we’re having one.

Why not more? And I've seen the way she looks at children when we pass them in the park.

I've noticed how she lingers over baby clothing in store windows—and not just stuff for the girl we’re having but boy clothes too.

She wants this too. And I intend to give her everything she wants—while securing what I need.

The sound of soft footsteps pulls me from my planning.

I look up to see Seraphina in the doorway, wearing my discarded dress shirt from last night, her hair a golden mess around her shoulders.

The sight of her in my clothing, drowning in fabric that bears my name on the custom label inside, satisfies something primal in me.

"Planning world domination before breakfast?" she asks, her voice still husky with sleep. She moves toward me with that natural grace that first caught my attention, that made her stand out from everyone else in that gallery.

"Just tying up loose ends." I close the laptop and push back from the desk, making room for her on my lap. She comes to me without hesitation, settling against me like she was designed to fit there. "Did I wake you?"

"No." She traces my jawline with one finger. "The bed got cold without you."

I wrap my arms around her waist, breathing in the scent of her—expensive hotel shampoo mingled with the lingering traces of our lovemaking. "I'll have to remedy that."

She shifts slightly, looking at the laptop. "Anything important?"

For a moment, I consider telling her everything—the accounts being transferred into her name, the gallery acquisition, my hopes for our family. But I know my Seraphina. She needs to see actions, not intentions. She needs to know these changes are real and irreversible before she can accept them.

"Nothing that can't wait." I slide my hand under the shirt she's wearing, finding her warm and bare beneath it. "I'd rather focus on my wife right now."

Her smile is soft, a little shy despite everything we've done together. "I'm still getting used to that word."

"Wife?" I taste the word against her neck, feeling her pulse quicken under my lips. "You'd better get used to it quickly. You'll be hearing it for the rest of your life."

She laughs, the sound vibrating against my mouth. "Demanding as always, Mr. Vance."

"You have no idea." I stand, lifting her with me. Her legs wrap around my waist automatically as I carry her back toward the bedroom. "But you're about to find out."

Later, when she's boneless and satisfied beneath me, I'll call for breakfast. I'll watch her sign the paperwork my lawyer delivers, securing her legal claim to everything I own.

I'll start the delicate process of making her understand that her independence doesn't have to be sacrificed to achieve the complete union I need.

But for now, I lay her across the rumpled sheets, stripping away my shirt from her perfect body, revealing what belongs to me. As I join her on the bed, covering her smaller frame with mine, I make a silent vow.

She’s already carrying my child, but by the time our honeymoon ends, she'll be so full of my seed if she wasn’t already pregnant, she surely would be.

When we return to New York, she'll be running a gallery that's part of my company.

Within a year, our names will be legally, financially, and biologically bound together in ways that can never be untangled.

She's mine now. But soon, she'll be mine in every way that matters.

As I claim her mouth, swallowing her soft moans, I feel that familiar burning in my chest—not guilt, but fierce protectiveness, overwhelming need.

I'll never apologize for securing what's mine.

For making sure that what happened in my childhood—losing everything that mattered—can never happen with her.

Some men might be satisfied with a wedding ring and a marriage certificate.

But I've never been like other men. And Seraphina deserves more than half measures. She deserves everything.

And I intend to give it to her—whether she knows she wants it yet or not.