Page 108 of Jewel of the Assassin

Roman never made me a trophy. He made me the jewel in his crown.

Anton’s gaze sweeps over me with unchecked lust, his eyes catching on every curve. His mouth curls. “Breathtaking,” he says, slow and poisonous. “With tits like that and an ass made for worship, it’s no wonder my brother risked everything. You’re the new Helen of Troy, Valentina—stolen by a traitor, your beauty enough to spark a war.” His tone turns mockingly intimate. “Tell me, did you agree to his plan from the beginning? When mybeloved brother staged the car crash and stole you from me on our wedding day?”

Confusion spirals through me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Surely you had to suspect.” He props his elbow on the armrest, stroking his jaw, staring more at my breasts and thighs. “The two of you plotting in secret, perhaps? If not, however, did he convince you to play the part of his doting bride?”

“I’m not playing,” I hiss. “I’m Valentina Makarova, wife and queen of Roman Makarova. I’ve been his wife for two years.”

His brows shoot up. Then he tips his head back and laughs. “Well. Committed, aren’t you? When did he convince you to betray your father, your family, and endanger the contract between the Makarovas and Volkovs?”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I double down.

He rises, circling me like a predator. Tears burn my throat, but I hold them back. A fingertip traces my spine; my skin prickles, betrays me with a shiver.

“What happened after the crash?” he murmurs. “Indulge me.”

“I woke up with no memory. Amnesia.”

His smile sharpens. “My brother is more of a devil than I thought. He convinced all his staff to play along? Impressive.” He comes around to face me. “You were Valentina Volkov three months ago. Living at the Volkov estate. Engaged…tome. How does it feel, knowing the man you’ve sacrificed everything for has lied to you?”

His words slam against me, but they can’t get through the armor around my heart.

I glare. “I don’t believe you.”

His hand shoots out, gripping mine. He yanks me closer until I feel the heat of his body through his clothes. “Look at the skin beneath your ring,” he says. His thumb pushes the band high on my finger. “Does it look like it’s worn a proper mark for two years? Or does it look new? Fresh?”

Something in me splinters. Shatters when he confiscates the ring.

Even when he forces me to my knees…even when his hand tangles in my hair and he pushes his length into my mouth, fucking my throat…even with his words dripping poison about car crashes, Roman’s lies, and the staff’s betrayal—it doesn’t matter.

I would do it all again. Every deception. Every sacrifice. For them. For him. My true husband.

After I’ve swallowed every drop of his cum, Anton hauls me upright, his breath hot against my cheek. “After tonight, moya nevesta, you will believe. You will know I am your real husband. Your lord. Your master.”

“That will never happen.”

He doesn’t care. If he growled, felt threatened, it would help. But he just laughs. Because he knows he’s won.

He makes it quite clear how he’s won when he fucks me every which way on the bed. No. Roman fucks. Anton ruts.

He makes it clear he’s not here to love me, to worship me—only to stake his claim.

Roman fucks to test me, to drag me to my lowest so he can watch me claw my way back, stronger and hungrier for him than before.

Anton ruts like an invader pillaging, plundering—every thrust a declaration that I’m nothing more than the spoils of war. No passion. No tenderness. No thought of my pleasure. Just a merciless man marking stolen territory.

I feel the objectification in every motion, the trophy treatment, as he growls for me to straddle him. Chest to chest, he impales me, his cum still slick between my thighs, the bed soaked in him. Roman is not the only one with stamina—but Anton’s is joyless, a punishment.

He stretches me, burns me, and pounds me like a battering ram. I’m only wet from what he’s already taken.

“Christ, I’m going to fuck you everywhere tonight, Valentina,”he pants against my mouth, then kisses me—filthy, sloppy, all greed and no heat. “Every goddamn hole. Long overdue. And you are being such a good girl.”

The words…only Roman should say them. I clamp the armor tighter, but my heart keeps cracking.

A second later, he has me on my back again. His mouth covers mine at the same time that he gropes my breasts, mauling them and twisting my nipples. I don’t kiss him back. And he doesn’t care.

When he finally pulls away from the bed, he exhales like it’s a chore, presses a cold, hollow kiss to my neck, then drapes himself in Roman’s robe and strides toward the bathroom without a backward glance.