Rosalind
ROSALIND
I sank into the steaming bath, the heat seeping deep, unraveling the day's knots. With an unsteady hand, I poured red wine into my glass. It was 3 am, the witching hour, and my mind was a goddamn battlefield. Just hours ago, those psycho blue eyes softened when he saw his mama, and it damn near cracked the ice around my heart.
" Fuck ," I muttered to the shadows, tipping the glass back. The wine slithered down my throat too easily. I poured another with a sigh. Hunter’s image sat heavy in my mind. The man was a brute—plain and simple. He owned me. Somehow , I liked the rough way he used me for his own pleasure, but I also wanted more. I wanted the tender touch of someone who took their time with me. Who enjoyed me. But Marco , shit, Marco treated me like I was something precious, something to be cherished. Revered .
My reflection wavered in the water, bags under my eyes. Another gulp of wine and the liquid courage filled my veins with fire, emboldening desires I should've feared. Desires for a man who wasn't my husband, for stolen moments that would bring me pleasure.
Damn you, Marco . I closed my eyes against the swell of emotion. The alcohol worked its wicked magic, stripping away my inhibitions, layer by sinful layer. My skin flushed with warmth, a heady rush that had nothing to do with the water. An idea formed in my mind, one I tried to shove down, but the harder I tried, the more it rebelled.
Carefully stepping out, I dried and walked into my room. Clothes ... clothes... where are my damn clothes? Ah , fuck it. I stumbled out of the bedroom, my legs shaky and the oversized t-shirt clinging to my flushed skin.
The house was quiet, except for the creaks from my feet on the stairs. My heart thudded as I shuffled through the dim hallway. Each step was a reckless defiance of the rational voice that slurred in the back of my mind, telling me to crawl back into the safety of my bed.
But no. I needed him. Wanted him, more accurately.
The kitchen light spilled out onto the tiles. And there he was. His back faced me, broad and tense. He tipped the whiskey bottle to his glass, the liquid amber catching the light as he sipped.
Fuck . If I did this, there was no going back. I fell against a cabinet and muttered under my breath as I rubbed my elbow. So much for being quiet.
His head turned at the sound, those blues piercing the gloom, finding me with ease. I saw the tightening of his jaw, the shift of muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt as he took me in—the disheveled curls, the bare thighs below Hunter's shirt I'd claimed as my own.
" Rosie ," his voice was a rough growl, a touch of concern beneath it.
I didn't need words. My feet carried me to him, each step a gamble, a dance with damnation. Marco watched, dead-still, the lines of his face etched with shadows and something darker, deeper—a hunger.
My heart hammered against my chest as I closed the distance, my mind a whirlpool of need and the dangerous thrill of betrayal. The scent of his cologne mixed with the tang of whiskey was a heady drug, pulling me closer and unraveling the last threads of my resolve.
I reached for him, fingers grazing the cool countertop, seeking the heat of his skin. His hand caught mine. As he set it down, the clink of his glass echoed in the silence, a solemn toast to the chaos we were about to unleash .
My fingers tangled in his, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the cool marble beneath my own. I leaned closer, the fabric of my shirt brushing against his arm, my lips parted as I exhaled a wine-soaked breath that whispered over his skin.
" Mmmmm , hi sexy," I slurred. I sounded wanton, and I didn't care. Booze gave me the lift I needed. I was gonna do this.
My hand crept up his arm, tracing the outline of muscles that rippled beneath his shirt, my touch bold, unapologetic. The world tilted at the edges, with blurred lines and soft focus, but the heat from Marco's body was real, undeniable. I swayed towards him, my intentions clear as the space between us shrank to nothing.
" Fuck , Rosie ," it held a note of warning. " What are you doing, woman? You should be sleeping."
He stood, towering over me, his hands gentle as they found my waist, steadying me. A hint of restraint flickered behind those ocean eyes, a battle of want versus should. But it was the protective firmness in his grip, the way he anchored me to reality, that pulled me back from the precipice of recklessness.
" Upstairs ," he commanded.
I nodded, my head heavy on my neck, and allowed him to guide me. His hand slid down to clasp mine, his grip secure, leading me away from the kitchen's dim glow. We moved through shadows, our footfalls silent on the thick carpet, each step punctuating the night's stillness.
The stairs were a challenge, my legs wobbly and weak, but Marco's presence was a steady force beside me. He didn't speak, didn't need to; his every move spoke volumes—the care in his hold, the hand at my back.
We reached the top; the hallway stretched long and dark. My room waited, a sanctuary bathed in moonlight, the bed an inviting expanse of sheets and shadows.
" Sleep , beautiful," he grunted, his voice thick with unsaid things.
" Don't —" Hiccup . " Don't you want me? You said?—"
He led me toward the bed, his hands never faltering, never moving from the respectable position it rested on. The edge of the mattress greeted the backs of my knees, and I folded onto the softness, the world spinning just a bit slower now.
" Sunshine , I've wanted you since we were teenagers. But I can't have you. Not like this. Maybe not ever."
I opened my mouth to protest, but it felt like my tongue had turned into cotton.
His hands, rough and calloused, slipped beneath me in a cradle of unexpected gentleness. Sheets snaked over my skin as he tucked me in, the darkness of the room swallowing us whole. Before he broke contact, he brought his hand slowly upwards until he cupped my face. His touch lingered, deliberate, as if imprinting every curve and edge of my face into the memory of his fingertips.
" What a damn mess we're making," Marco murmured, thumb tracing the line of my jaw.
My head spun, wine-soaked thoughts tangling with the sensation of his breath on my forehead. The room was hazy, but his presence cut through the fog, real and grounding. He leaned down, lips brushing my skin in a kiss that seared rather than soothed—the mark of a beast claiming something precious.
" Fuckin ' hell, ," he breathed against me, voice laced with a longing that punched right through the haze. " My love..."
The words were a growl, fierce, and possessive, but they wrapped around me like silk chains. They spoke of dark cells, of the blood-stained hands holding mine with care, of a world where tenderness and terror didn't mix.
The world swirled—a carousel of shadow and light, Marco's face the only constant as I drowned in a sea of wine-dark thoughts. My mind was a battlefield, heartstrings pulled taut between Hunter's iron grip and Marco's tender touch .
" Marco ," I drew the word out, laden with a drunken desire that clawed at my insides, desperate for a light yet drawn to darkness.
My eyelids fluttered, leaden, as warmth seeped from his gaze, wrapping around me. Fingers traced an invisible line down my arm, igniting a trail of fire on my flesh. A shudder racked through me. Why wasn't he claiming me? Did he not want me?
" Stay ," the word slipped out, but even I could tell how desperate I sounded.
He didn't move, didn't speak. His silhouette hanging over me. The longing in his stare was a tangible thing. He wanted this. He must.
Moments stretched into eternity as he watched me sink into the depths of sleep, the pull of dreams dragging me under. And even as I teetered on the edge of consciousness, I knew. Knew that the darkness had claimed me. In another life, I'd have never tried to cheat on my husband. But in another life, I'd have never been forced to marry a man like Hunter Desmond .
Marco's touch lingered on my skin like a phantom caress, but then his warmth was gone, the mattress easing back to its original shape as he stood. His shadow cut across the room, a dark figure against the pale moonlight that filtered through the blinds. The weight of his gaze lifted from my face, and I felt the absence like a cold draft.
In the silence, I heard the soft pad of his footsteps retreating, the creak of the floorboards, and a whispered promise of might-have-been echoing in the space between us. My chest tightened, the tangle of emotions threatening to claw their way out. He was leaving, fuck, and every cell in me screamed for him to stay.
But he didn't. Couldn't , not with Hunter's brand seared into my flesh, not with the heavy crown of his reign pressing down on us both. Marco stepped out into the night, the door closing behind him with a finality that knotted my insides.
Left alone in the vast ocean of too-white blankets, my mind spiraled, teetering on the edge of sleep and burgeoning sobriety. Darkness beckoned, pulling me under, and in that abyss, dreams twisting around my consciousness.
Hunter's presence swallowed me there, all-encompassing, a dominion of shadows. His gravelly and potent voice echoed in my skull, commanding, demanding, taking. I could feel the weight of his stare, the predatory glint in nearly black eyes that stripped me bare, and I saw right through the fa?ade of bravery I clung to.
" Mine ," he'd growl, and the word was a shackle.
Then light would flicker, and there was Marco , a beacon amidst the storm. His hands were gentle, his strength a fortress rather than a cage. The way he said my name, tender yet filled with an undercurrent of rebellion, tempted me. Whispered of a life where I wasn't just a pawn or a prize but a wife in my own right.
" ," he'd murmur, and each syllable was a brushstroke painting a future so damn enticing yet impossibly out of reach.
Torn , I writhed in the grasp of this fevered dream, the duel of darkness and light raging within me. Hunter , a force of nature, raw and untamed, commanding submission; Marco , a flame in the night, offering a warmth that promised redemption.
It was a dance, a battle, a fucking warzone inside my head. Each man held a piece of my heart, jagged and jarring, pulling me apart even as they claimed to make me whole.
I now belonged to the night, to the gritty reality of blood and power. But somewhere deep, where the remnants of innocence hid, I yearned for the dawn Marco represented. The space to just be. To exist outside the confines of what bound me.
Fuck , what was I becoming? The lines blurred, my resolve melting away, reshaping me into something fierce, formidable, and forged in the fires of this twisted world I now call home.
Sunshine dulled, eclipsed by the rise of a queen who thrived in the chaos, who craved the complexity of these two men—my captor and my savior.
Sleep finally fully claimed me, a merciful oblivion, but even in the depths of slumber, I knew. I was changing and evolving, and when I emerged from the cocoon of these violent dreams, I wouldn't be the girl who once sought solace in the light— I'd be the woman who ruled in the dark.