14. Bianca
14
BIANCA
C lick. Click. Click.
The sound of the camera taking pictures is starting to get on my goddamn nerves. He’s more than fucking capable of putting his phone on silent. But I think he likes doing this.
“Can you stop fucking taking photos of me?” I snap, refusing to turn around.
His only response is a dark chuckle. Click .
The weight of his gaze is heavy and oppressive, and the click of his camera is going to drive me crazy, but what’s really on my mind is the mortification I feel. The knowledge that Rork is capturing these images of me, dressed in this ridiculous, demeaning maid’s uniform, makes my skin crawl with revulsion.
But it’s not just the outfit that fuels my anger and disgust. It’s the fact that he’s doing this without my consent, violating my privacy, my autonomy in the most intimate, personal way possible. He’s truly reduced me to an object, a toy to be used and manipulated for his own twisted purposes.
And the worst part is that he’s sending these photos to my father. The thought of my father seeing me like this, exposed and vulnerable and degraded, makes bile rise in the back of my throat, and I have to breathe through my nose to not throw up all over Rork’s stupid books.
It’s not natural for a father to see his daughter in such a state, to have her sexuality and body put on display for his torment. The very idea of it is a perversion, an abomination.
But it’s also not natural for a man to marry the daughter of the woman he once lusted after.
Poor Papa. If the cancer wasn’t already killing him, these pictures certainly will.
My anger builds with every click and flash. How dare he do this to me? I am his goddamn wife, and even though it’s obvious he hates me and my family, I deserve to be treated with a modicum of respect.
I want to scream, to lash out and smash that camera to pieces. I want to tear off this degrading uniform and throw it in his smug, arrogant face. But I know that I can’t, not without risking even worse consequences.
Has he been planning this the whole time or was our argument at breakfast the catalyst? I’m not sure I want to know.
So instead, I clench my jaw and blink back the hot, angry tears that threaten to spill down my cheeks. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I force myself to keep going, to pretend that his presence doesn’t affect me. I focus on the task at hand, on the simple, repetitive motions of dusting and cleaning.
He has plenty of servants in this godforsaken mansion, plenty of people who are paid to do his bidding and cater to his every whim. If he wanted to fuck a maid, I’m sure he could find one willing—at least until they got a glimpse of his true, monstrous personality.
Rage builds up within me, and I fantasize about all the ways I could make him pay for what he’s done. I could slip poison into his drink, watch him choke and gasp for air as the life drains from his body. I could smother him in his sleep, pressing a pillow over his face until he stops struggling and goes still. I could steal one of his guns and place a bullet between his eyes, watching as he slumps over, blood spilling over the surface.
But even as these thoughts swirl through my mind, I know that I can’t act on them. Not yet. Because as much as I hate Rork, as much as I want to see him suffer, I know that I need to be smart. I need to bide my time.
After what feels like hours of dusting every nook and cranny of Rork’s massive library, he leads me to the kitchen and tosses a scrub brush at my feet. “Get to work,” he orders. “I want these floors spotless. I’m sure your father would love to see you on your hands and knees.” He laughs nastily as he dangles his phone between his fingers.
Something inside me snaps, the last shreds of my patience and composure crumbling under the weight of his unrelenting cruelty. I straighten up, my eyes blazing with fury as I meet his gaze head-on.
“Is this really what you need, Rork?” I spit, my voice dripping with venom, not truly comprehending what I’m saying. “A wife to order around and humiliate? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like all you really want is a pair of legs willing to open for you whenever you snap your fingers.”
Rork’s face darkens, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. In an instant, he’s in front of me, his body looming over mine as he leans in close.
“You think this is about sex ?” he hisses, his eyes cold and promising death. “You think I went through all this trouble, all this planning and scheming, just to get laid ?”
He laughs, a harsh, mirthless sound that sets my teeth on edge. “No, Princess. I can get all the pussy I want. Whenever and wherever . This is about so much more than that.”
His hand shoots out, gripping my chin roughly as he forces me to meet his gaze. “This is about finally putting one of you entitled, arrogant Marinos in your rightful place. This is about making your father pay for what he’s done to me.”
“Get over it,” I force out, staring at him with hatred in my eyes. I try to jerk away, but his grip only tightens, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise.
“You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?” he snarls, his eyes wild with a fevered intensity. “You and your whole damn family, looking down on the rest of us like we’re something you scraped off the bottom of your shoe.”
He laughs again. “Well, guess what, Princess? The tables have turned. Now, I’m the one in charge. I’m the one holding all the cards. And I’m going to make damn sure that you and your father never forget it.”
He releases me with a shove, sending me stumbling back against the counter. “So get on your knees and start scrubbing,” he spits, his voice dripping with contempt. “And if I hear one more fucking word out of you, one more snippy little goddamn comment, I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your miserable life.”
White-hot rage boils within me, my vision narrowing on Rork’s infuriatingly smug face. I’ve had enough of him telling me he wants revenge on my father. I’ve had enough of everything .
Without thinking, I’m in his face, and I draw back my hand and slap him, the sharp crack of skin on skin echoing in the cavernous kitchen. The moment my palm connects with his cheek, a rush of horror surges through me, mingling with the residual anger.
Rork stumbles back, a red handprint on his cheek as he reaches up to touch it. But then I see his eyes darken, a murderous look flashing briefly before settling into something cold and dangerous.
Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .
Realizing the gravity of what I’ve done, I spin on my heel, instinct screaming at me to flee, but Rork is quicker. His hand shoots out, iron fingers encircling my wrist with a grip that makes me gasp. Panic seizes me, and I struggle violently, trying to wrench free. I yank my arm, twisting and pulling with all my strength, but his hold is like a vise.
I kick out, my feet scrambling for leverage against the floor, but it’s futile. In a swift motion, he shoves me against the wall, his body pinning me there. The solid wall presses into my back, his formidable presence overwhelming my senses.
“Don’t you ever slap me again,” he hisses, his voice low and lethal. “Or you’ll be severely punished.” His words, a mixture of threat and promise, send a shiver down my spine. I feel a strange combination of fear and excitement flood me, emotions tangling in a way that leaves me breathless.
It’s the fear that he might actually hurt me, the sharp edge of danger that keeps my heart racing.
Yet, inexplicably, there is something else, a bizarre attraction to the raw power he exudes, the way his strength easily overpowers me. I can feel the firmness of his muscles against me, the unyielding control he has over my body.
It’s terrifying, yes, but also intensely thrilling. My breath comes in short gasps as I look up at him, my defiance tempered by the undeniable allure of his dominance.
With our bodies pressed together and our faces mere inches apart, I feel a shift in the charged atmosphere between us. The bitter anger and resentment that have been fueling our confrontation suddenly take on a different edge, morphing into an unspoken sexual tension that crackles like electricity in the air.
I’m acutely aware of every point of contact between us, the heat of his body seeping into mine and making my skin tingle with a traitorous awareness. Our chests heave in unison, our ragged breaths mingling in the scant space that separates us.
Despite the voice in my head screaming at me to push him away, I find myself frozen in place. It’s as if his proximity has short-circuited my ability to think rationally, to remember all the reasons I should hate him.
Rork’s gaze drops to my lips, his eyes darkening with an unmistakable hunger that makes liquid pool into my lower belly. For a moment, I’m convinced he’s going to kiss me, that he’s going to close the distance between us and claim my mouth with his own.
My heart pounds erratically in my chest, a dizzying mix of fear and anticipation coursing through my veins. Part of me wants to turn away, to deny the chemistry that simmers between us.
But another part—a dark and shameful corner of my soul—yearns for his touch, craves the forbidden pleasure that his kiss might bring. It would certainly be better than kissing James Ambrosio.
I’m disgusted with myself for the way my body responds to him, for the traitorous heat that pools in my belly at the mere thought of his touch. He’s twice my age, my father’s most bitter enemy, a man who has made it his mission to break me. He’s also the man who once loved my mother. It’s an abomination.
The tension stretches to an almost unbearable point, the air heavy with unspoken desire. But just when I think I might shatter from the intensity of it all, Rork abruptly releases me, stepping back and leaving me feeling strangely empty.
“Have I made myself clear, Bianca?” he asks, his voice low and rough with an undercurrent of warning. “Or do you need another demonstration of just how serious I am?”
I suddenly realize the dangerous precipice I’m teetering on. The attraction simmering beneath the surface of our hostile exchange is a disaster waiting to happen, a weakness that Rork could exploit to shatter my resolve.
Gathering every ounce of strength and willpower I didn’t know I possess, I force myself to meet his gaze head-on, my voice steady. “Yes, crystal clear.”
Rork’s eyes narrow, searching my face for any hint of deception or defiance. But I hold my ground, refusing to let him see the tumultuous emotions roiling inside me. After what feels like an eternity, he nods, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features.
“Good. Then we’re done for the day.” His tone is brusque, businesslike, as if the moment between us had never happened.
Without warning, he grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh as he drags me out of the kitchen and down the hallway. I stumble along beside him, my heart pounding and my mind racing with the implications of what had almost transpired between us.
When we reach my room, Rork practically shoves me inside, his expression unreadable as he looms in the doorway. “I’ll send someone to bring you dinner later. Until then, you’re to remain here. Understand?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, my normal defiance muted for the time being.
With a curt nod, Rork steps back, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoes through the room, a harsh reminder of my captivity.