Page 98 of Desperate Crimes

“It’s our home now,” he says, walking across the sleek floors like some dark king returning to his kingdom.

He tosses his blazer, my purse, and shoes on a nearby chair and lowers me to the ground.

Yeah, he carried me inside. Just picked me up without a word and acted like I’m not a size sixteen.

The limo left.

I never even saw the driver.

And after we’re inside, and I’m standing on my own two feet, he goes to a hidden bar, takes out a bottle of Neat and pours himself a drink like he didn’t just upend my entire world.

I stand there, still barefoot, still wearing his scent on my skin, and I don’t know what the hell to do with myself.

“Drink?”

Nico waits for my answer, and I decline, shaking my head.

He hums and takes another sip, his blue eyes locked on me the entire time.

The silence is heavy.

Too heavy.

It presses against my ribcage like something waiting to break.

He turns to face me, glass in hand, blue eyes burning into mine.

“You’re not sleeping in a separate room, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

I blink. “What?”

“We’re married now. This is your home. You live with me. You sleep in our bed. You wear my ring. You answer my calls.”

“Nico—”

“You belong to me, Leanna. That’s not up for debate. You signed the paper. You said the vows. This is it. This is us.”

He says it like a closing argument.

Like a legal ruling.

His voice is calm, unshakable.

And it leaves no room for argument.

But it also doesn’t say the one thing I need to hear.

Love.

He mentions nothing about love.

Not even a whisper of it.

Just obsession. Claim. Ownership.

And maybe I should be terrified.

But I’m not. I’m just bruised. Inside.