Page 147 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim

She should be in bed or in the bath, relaxing, where she isn’t dirtied by our lives.

Instead, our Isla, my wife, the woman who is coming to mean more to me than anything, stands near the bookshelves. She’s barefoot and damp, her silk robe clinging to skin I haven’t touched since I guided her into that secluded spot at the gala.

That I’ve kept my hands off her is testament to how distracting the situation has become.

A tendril of chestnut hair has slipped free from her magnificent updo, curling against her collarbone like it belongs there—like she belongs here, in this space we never meant for her to enter.

She looks like a storm wrapped in satin.

Fierce.

Fragile.

That robe—ivory, short, dangerous—is barely decent. Butit’s not the silk or the skin that unsettles me. It’s her eyes. Shimmering like crushed emeralds, swirling with betrayal and resolve.

She came here for answers.

And now the office hums with tension. Brennan slouches against the bookshelf, arms crossed, jaw tight. His shirt is rumpled, sleeves rolled up like we’ve already been through a war. Maybe we have. Between Moretti’s threats, a senator breathing down my neck, and the fucking feds digging into Vale Imports, it’s a miracle we made it through tonight at all.

And now she’s here, equally uninvited as she is undeterred.

The one person I want to protect from this world is staring straight into its jaws. “What did the text say?”

Without looking at her phone, she recites the words. “You were a vision in blue tonight, Mrs. Vale. But even stars flicker when the wolves begin to circle.”

I slam my whiskey on the desk.Jesus fucking Christ.

“Give it to me.” Brennan extends his hand. “Now.”

She hesitates for a single beat—then hands over the device. Her fingers brush his. No flinch. No fear. Just fury held on a tight leash.

Brennan reads the message, his jaw ticking. “This wording. It’s too close. Whoever sent this was at the gala.”

My heart hammers once against my ribs.They saw her.That gown. That moment. That kiss. They were close enough to witness everything—and quiet enough to disappear.

“I’ll trace the source,” Brennan mutters. “Even if they spoofed it, there’ll be a slip.”

I nod, but the cold is already creeping in. If someone got that close, it’s not just about intimidation. It’s surveillance. Positioning. A reminder that no matter how tightly we guard the gates, there’s always a crack.

Isla crosses her arms, robe cinched tighter like she’s holding herself together with silk and sheer willpower. “We’re not dealing with threats anymore,” she says. “This is a warning.”

And not just to her.

“We’re handling it.”

“Handling it?” She lets out a breathless, furious laugh. “Like you handled my father’s debts?”

Brennan flinches.

Behind her, the office door remains open—our fortress, breached by the woman we swore to protect. A space filled with secrets: blackout shades, war-room energy, a single desk lamp casting shadows on the armchair I took from a man who once tried to destroy me.

To the victor go the spoils.

But this time, victory is slipping through my fingers. And I’m scared in ways that I never have been before.

“You bought me to improve your image for your Senate run. My family is respected.” Then she scoffs.

I don’t answer that. Don’t need to.