HIS PROPERTY, HIS CHOICE

Kimberley

The moment I stepped out of the shower, I knew something was wrong.

The room felt different.

The lights were dimmed lower than I had left them. The air felt heavier, charged.

And then, I saw him.

Alexander.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, one leg casually crossed over the other, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand.

I yelped and clutched my towel tighter, my wet hair sticking to my shoulders. "What the hell are you doing in my room?"

He smirked, completely unfazed by my outrage. "It's my house. I go where I please."

I took a slow, careful breath, trying to steady my heartbeat. "Ever heard of privacy?"

He lifted his glass, took a sip, and set it down on the nightstand. "Ever heard of being a good wife?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You mean obedient?"

He chuckled. "See? You're already catching on."

I wanted to throw something at him.

Instead, I turned away, heading for the closet. Big mistake.

In the blink of an eye, he was behind me.

I felt his presence before I saw him, the warmth of his body, the soft scent of expensive cologne mixed with whiskey.

"You're nervous," he murmured.

I stiffened. "No, I'm annoyed."

He laughed, low and rich. "That's cute."

And then, before I could react, his fingers grazed my arm, trailing up to my shoulder. Light. Barely there. But damn did it send a shiver down my spine.

I sucked in a sharp breath. "What are you doing?"

"Testing something," he said smoothly.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to see the smirk tugging at his lips.

"You act like you hate me," he mused. "But your body tells a different story."

I swallowed hard. "You're delusional."

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Am I?"

I hated the way my stomach flipped.

The way my body betrayed me.

Then, suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and spun me around. My back hit the closet door with a soft thud.

My breath caught.

His hands pressed into the door on either side of me, trapping me in place.

"You don't like me," he murmured, his eyes dropping to my lips. "But tell me, Kimberley, would you stop me if I kissed you right now?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

He tilted his head. "That's what I thought."

And just like that, he closed the space between us.

His lips hovered over mine, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath.

Waiting.

Daring me.

I hated this.

I hated him.

But I didn't push him away.

Then, just when I thought he would actually do it, when I found myself frozen, waiting… he pulled back.

Completely.

I blinked. "What….?"

His smirk was infuriating.

"Goodnight, wifey," he murmured.

And then, just like that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving me standing there breathless, confused, and ridiculously frustrated.

Bastard.

THE OFFICE MEETING

The next morning, I woke up pissed.

Partially at him.

Mostly at myself.

But there was no time to dwell on it because Margaret showed up bright and early, tossing a dress at me. "You're going to Alexander's office today. Get dressed."

I wanted to argue. To refuse.

But one look at her face, and I knew there was no point.

So, I did as I was told.

The Silver Enterprises building was ridiculous.

Glass. Steel. Modern and sleek, stretching into the sky like a monument of power.

Alexander's office was on the top floor, because of course it was.

He didn't say much in the car ride there. Just glanced at me occasionally, smirking like he was still enjoying my frustration from last night.

I ignored him.

Bad idea.

Because the moment we stepped into his office, he decided to humiliate me.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced as we walked into the boardroom. "Meet my wife."

Silence.

Then, whispers.

Judging stares.

I stood there, feeling exposed, while Alexander leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed.

"Yes, I know," he continued, smirking. "She's not exactly what you expected. But don't worry, she'll learn."

Laughter.

I felt my face burn.

He was mocking me.

Introducing me like I was some pretty little toy he picked up along the way.

I clenched my fists, swallowing my anger.

I would not give him the satisfaction of a reaction."""

The second we left the office, I exploded.

"What the hell was that?"

Alexander glanced at me lazily. "What?"

"Don't play dumb," I snapped. "You embarrassed me in front of all those people!"

He smirked. "Did I?"

I wanted to slap him.

Instead, I glared. "You're an asshole."

"And you're slow at catching up."

I hated him.

The Ride Home was a little bit boring 

 The car ride continued in tense silence until I made the mistake of scoffing under my breath.

His gaze flickered to me. "Something to say?"

"Yeah," I said. "You're pathetic."

Silence.

The air shifted.

And then, without warning…

"Pull over," Alexander ordered.

The driver immediately obeyed, bringing the car to a stop on the side of the road.

I frowned. "What are you…?"

"Get out."

I froze. "What?"

"You heard me," he said smoothly. "Get. Out."

I stared at him. "You're kidding."

His smirk was gone. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

The silence stretched.

He wasn't joking.

"Fine," I hissed. "Screw you, Alexander."

I shoved the door open and stepped out, slamming it behind me.

And then, before I could say another word, the car pulled off.

Leaving me alone on the side of the road.

In the cold.

With no phone.

Fucking bastard.

By the time I made it back to the Silver estate, the sky had darkened.

My feet ached. My arms were numb. My face felt like it had been slapped by the wind a hundred times.

I stomped up to the gate, shivering, and banged on it.

A moment later, the guards opened it, looking slightly surprised.

I marched past them, through the grand entrance, and into the warm, infuriatingly perfect mansion.

And who was waiting in the living room, sipping whiskey like he didn't just abandon me on the side of the road?

Alexander.

He glanced up, eyes flickering with amusement. "Oh? You made it."

I clenched my fists. "You left me on the street."

He leaned back in his chair. "You told me to screw myself."

"I didn't mean to dump me on the road!"

He smirked. "And you should be more careful with your words."

I wanted to murder him.

Instead, I glared. "You're an asshole."

"You've mentioned that," he said, sipping his drink.

I hated him.

But as I stood there, cold, shivering, and angry as hell, I realized something terrifying.

I wasn't just mad at him.

I was mad at myself.

For letting him get under my skin.

For wanting him to finish what he started last night.

For knowing, deep down, that no matter how much I hated him…

I was trapped.

And the worst part?

A small, twisted part of me didn't want to run.