Ada swallowed the bitter ache in her chest. "Let's end this sexless marriage, Heathcliff."
He laughed. A short, sharp sound.
"A divorce?" he repeated, one dark eyebrow arching in a mock inquiry. "Sexless?"
He closed the distance between them, his shadow falling over her. He leaned in, his hand shooting out not to strike, but to capture her delicate chin. His thumb brushed against her lower lip, pressing into the soft, red flesh with a deliberate, ambiguous heat. "Is that why you're throwing this little tantrum? What, do you want it?"
Ada’s pale face burned, a furious crimson rushing to her cheeks like a ripe berry. That wasn’t what she meant at all! But his thumb continued its slow, wicked caress over her lips. She had never seen this side of the aloof billionaire—this dangerous, predatory edge.
For the first time in three years, Heathcliff was actually looking at his wife. She had always drowned herself in severe, drab clothing, hiding behind those hideous, oversized black-framed glasses like a sterile spinster. But up close, the illusion shattered. Her face was impossibly small, her skin flawless. Beneath the awful frames, her features were arresting—delicate, ethereal, and paired with wide, furious doe eyes that held a startling, breathtaking beauty. The realization hit him like a physical blow. A strange, dark heat unfurled in his chest.
The assumption was so insulting, it was freeing.
Ada didn’t step back. "I'm tired of playing, Heathcliff. This marriage. This life. I'm done."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. His fingers tightened around her jaw, sliding down to clamp around her wrist. She winced.
"You don't get to say when it's over," he snarled, his control snapping, using anger to mask the sudden spike of unwanted desire. He shoved her backward until her back hit the cold bedroom wall. He trapped her there, his body pressing against hers. The scent of him—sandalwood, whiskey, and his sister—was suffocating.
He lowered his head, his lips brushing her ear, his breath hot. "Don't forget, the Kowalski family still needs Sterling money. Without me, your pathetic family is nothing."
The mention of them extinguished the last spark inside her. Her body went still.
"They are not my family," she said, her voice flat. "And you are no longer my husband."
Her resistance pushed him over the edge. His free hand grabbed her chin again, the grip bruising, forcing her to look at him.
"It seems I've spoiled you," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Let you forget who's in charge."
As his mouth aimed for hers, a white-hot rage burned through Ada. She channeled all the pain, all the betrayal of the day into one explosive movement.
Her other hand swung up.
A sharp crack echoed off the walls.
Heathcliff's head snapped to the side. A stunned silence fell. The red imprint of her hand bloomed on his cheek. In three years, she had never so much as raised her voice. That she would dare to strike him was inconceivable.
In his moment of shock, Ada shoved him hard in the chest. He stumbled back.
She stood there, breathing heavily, her eyes blazing.
"Don't touch me," she said, her voice shaking but laced with ice. "You disgust me."
Heathcliff slowly turned his head back to face her. His gray eyes were flat, cold pits. A slow, cruel smile twisted his lips.
"Good," he growled. "You've finally managed to make me angry."
Ada didn't flinch. She let her eyes travel down his body in a slow, insulting appraisal.
"I'm just done wasting my time on a toy," she said, her voice laced with a contempt so profound it was absolute, "that I have no interest in playing with anymore."
Toy.
He flinched, the word landing with more force than the slap. It was a direct assault on his pride, his masculinity, his identity.
His face contorted in a brief, ugly flash of rage.
But he didn't move. Instead, he laughed. The sound held no amusement. It was a promise.
"Ada Kowalski," he said, enunciating each word with chilling precision. "You will pay for every single thing you did tonight."
