Chapter 4

Maximus let out a low chuckle, clearly pleased with my reaction. Then, under my horrified gaze, he reached out and began unbuttoning his shirt.

His long fingers moved with deliberate slowness, one button at a time, revealing the elegant lines of his collarbone and the firm muscles of his chest.

"M-Maximus, calm down!" I cried, frantically trying to scoot away. "Let's talk this out! We can renegotiate the deal! The profit split is up for discussion. Don't be impulsive. Think about your dream girl. Think about your spiritual practice. Think about your principles."

"Principles?" he echoed, not slowing down for a second. His shirt hit the floor without a care, and he loomed over me again, his burning skin pressed against mine, making me tremble.

"After getting married, who needs principles anyway?" he said.

"But we're not a real couple!" I whimpered.

"The law recognizes it, the wedding's done, and here we are in the bridal suite," he murmured, his hot kisses landing on my earlobe and neck, sending waves of unfamiliar shivers down my spine. "You still think we're not really married?"

"I did it all for your mom..." I stammered.

Maximus whispered, "Shh," his lips silencing me before I could finish. Every protest, every plea I had was lost in the overwhelming waves of his desire.

The red rose petals were crushed beneath us, their juices staining the sheets and smearing both of us.

Before I even realized it, my expensive wedding dress was gone, our bare skin pressed together, heat radiating between us.

Maximus's image was totally wrecked. Those powerful arms, scorching lips, and tireless demands made one thing painfully clear.

I had stuck to my life motto for twenty-six years, but less than an hour in this bridal suite, my whole worldview came crashing down.

Maybe picking the wrong guy was just bad luck, but getting men all wrong? That was a recipe for total disaster.

This night dragged on like a century. Moonlight streamed in through the curtains, landing on the crumpled shirt on the floor and the rose petals strewn all over the bed.

The man I thought was just a background prop proved with absolute certainty that he was the true leading man in this marriage.

All I could do was bite down on my lip, desperate not to let any embarrassing sounds slip out, while mentally replaying my mom's so-called words of wisdom a hundred times, doubting every bit of it.

Right before I lost consciousness, I hazily thought that the next day, I needed to find my mom... no, I would go straight to my mother-in-law and tell on him!

This was unbearable!

When I finally came to, I felt like I'd been taken apart and reassembled from scratch, or like I'd run a midnight marathon while carrying bricks uphill.

Every bone in my body was groaning, every muscle screaming in protest, especially my waist and the backs of my legs.

That soreness was something else. Words couldn't even do it justice.

Sunlight peeked through the thick curtains, scattering bright spots across the floor.

The air was still tinged with the faint scent of roses, and something sultry and wild lingered in the room.

The space next to me was empty, already cool to the touch.

Maximus was like a beast.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to move, trying to sit up.

I sucked in a sharp breath as moving pulled at somewhere I'd rather not name, sending a jolt of pain through me.

Just as I was wincing and fighting through the aches all over my body, the door creaked open.

Maximus walked in.

He was already looking sharp and put together.

He wore a perfectly tailored dark gray suit that made his shoulders look even broader and his waist impossibly narrow, making him look taller and more imposing than ever.

His hair was flawlessly styled, his face back to that cold, aloof look, eyes composed and indifferent, like the wild beast from last night who'd ravaged me in a bed of roses was nothing but a fever dream.

He looked like a saint, but acted like a devil. He was a total bastard, an absolute menace in a suit. I cursed him in my head, throwing every insult I could come up with.

He strode over to the bed and stopped, towering over me.

The morning light behind him gave him a halo, making him look like some untouchable saint, if you ignored that smug, playful look in his eyes as he stared down at me.

"Awake?" he asked, his voice back to its usual cool, emotionless tone. "Mom had breakfast prepared. It's all your favorites."

At the mention of "Mom" and "favorites," my eyes lit up on reflex, but that excitement died fast thanks to the soreness and my simmering rage.

I glared at him, trying to shoot daggers with my eyes. "Look what you did! How am I supposed to get down there and eat? Crawl?"

He got the message, his eyes pausing on my neck for a moment.

There were definitely marks there.

Before I could yank the covers up to hide, he beat me to it, handing me a glass of warm water.

"Drink this first," he said, cool and firm, like it was an order, not a suggestion.

I was dying of thirst, my throat dry as a desert.

Still, after hesitating for a second, I took the glass and started taking small sips.