Chapter 2

Fear and a twisted thrill shot through my limbs like an electric current.

Dylan had lost his mind. He had absolutely lost his mind.

I tried to push him away, but he caught my wrists with ease, twisted them behind my back, and bound them tight with the tie he had just removed.

The silk bit into my skin.

I hissed through clenched teeth, my body trembling against my will. "Dylan, let me go. We're in public."

He let out a low laugh and gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Public? In three years, when have you ever cared about where we are?"

His eyes were terrifyingly bright, churning with a raw, thick possessiveness I had never seen before.

He asked, "Didn't you say I was cold as a corpse?

"Didn't you say I wasn't passionate enough?

"Didn't you think someone else would be better?"

With each question, his grip on my chin tightened.

He whispered, "Lucy, who the hell gave you the nerve to think you could provoke me with another man's marks?"

His lips crashed down onto my neck.

It wasn't a kiss.

He was biting me, grinding his teeth into my skin with punishing force, and his mouth landed right on top of the fake hickey I'd painted on earlier.

The pain snapped me wide awake.

I thrashed against him and screamed, "Dylan, you asshole. You're out of your mind!" But the difference in our strength made every bit of my resistance useless.

He acted like he couldn't hear a word I said. He just kept working on his "canvas," determined to leave his own mark.

His teeth scraped across the most sensitive skin on the side of my neck, and the suction was so intense that I could actually feel the tiny blood vessels bursting one by one beneath the surface.

It hurt. God, it hurt so much.

But damn me, somewhere inside all that pain, I felt a sick rush of pleasure from being wanted this badly.

For three years, all I'd ever dreamed of was seeing him lose control.

And now he finally had, in a way I never could have predicted, something raw and almost destructive.

I had no idea how long it lasted before he finally let me go.

I stood there gasping, my whole body trembling, and my legs barely holding me up.

He wiped a smudge of my lipstick from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and his eyes swept over my neck with the quiet satisfaction of an artist admiring his work.

He pointed at the fresh, angry mark blooming purple on my throat, and his voice came out rough and low. "That's what a real one looks like. Consider it a demonstration."

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was a wreck. My neck was a mess of color, the new bruise layered over the old fake one, and the sight made my stomach drop.

Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.

Not because of the pain, but because of the humiliation and a twisted kind of satisfaction I couldn't explain.

He reached out and brushed the tears from my face with his fingertips, and the gesture was surprisingly gentle. "Why are you crying? Isn't this what you wanted?"

What I wanted? Was this really what I wanted?

I wanted love. I wanted him to feel something back. Not this, not some violent act of possession dressed up as desire.

He picked up the divorce papers, and right in front of me, he tore them apart with deliberate, agonizing slowness. The pieces fluttered into the trash can. He said, "I don't agree."

"You—" The words died in my throat.

He said, "Lucy, our marriage ends when I say it ends." He slid his glasses back on, and just like that, every trace of emotion vanished behind them. He was Professor Reed again, polished and untouchable.

He reached over and loosened my tie, then smoothed down my rumpled collar. But he left the fresh mark on my neck completely exposed.

He extended his hand toward me with a flawless smile. "The awards party is about to start, my dear wife. We shouldn't keep everyone waiting."

I stood frozen, staring at him in disbelief.

He wanted me to walk into that banquet with this mark on full display.

Every guest would see it. His colleagues, his students, the most respected names in academia.

What would they think?

I shrank back. "Dylan, you can't do this!"

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the door without giving me a chance to resist. "Why not? You like passion, don't you? I'm just showing everyone how 'passionate' things are between us."

His fingers were ice cold, but his grip was impossibly strong.

He dragged me forward, and I felt like a prisoner being led to a public execution.

The door opened.

His assistant's concerned voice came from outside. "Professor Reed, Ms. Hart, the banquet is about to begin. The car is ready."

Dylan gave a quiet hum in response and took my hand as he led me into the bright hallway.

The assistant's gaze swept over my neck for just a second before snapping away, and the shock and embarrassment on her face were impossible to miss.

I could feel every pair of eyes in the corridor landing on my skin like needles, even the ones pretending not to look.

My face burned so hot I thought it might bleed.

But Dylan acted like he didn't notice a thing. He held my hand and walked at an unhurried pace, perfectly composed.

As we rounded a corner, he leaned close to my ear and spoke in a voice meant only for me. "Remember this feeling, Lucy."

His breath grazed my skin. "You're the one who lit this fire.

"And from today on, I'm going to make sure you feel what it's like to be 'loved' by me. Every single second."