CHAPTER 10 – Leona
My consciousness returns in fragments. The silk sheets against my bare skin, the unfamiliar weight across my waist, and the sunlight warming my face.
For one blissful moment, my mind is blank, floating in the hazy space between dreams and reality.
Then memory slams back with brutal clarity.
The wedding. The hotel suite. Me, surrendering to Marcus completely.
I open my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, my body aching in ways both foreign and unmistakable. The arm draped across my waist belongs to a man I've legally bound myself to—a stranger who is now my husband.
The thought should repulse me. Instead, heat flares in my stomach at the memory of what transpired between us.
It had been overwhelming—his hands everywhere, his mouth claiming every inch of me. The way he'd consumed me, taken me to the edge and over it repeatedly, wringing pleasure from my body until I couldn't remember why I ever resisted.
I shake the thought away, disgusted with myself. It was physical release, nothing more. But that was a lie, and I know it. Because it hadn’t just been the way he touched me—it was the way he watched me touch myself.
The way his eyes devoured every inch of me as I spread my legs and gave him a private show I never imagined myself capable of. And worse, the way I watched him in return—his hand wrapped around his cock, slow and unhurried, the sheer confidence in every stroke driving me mad with need.
I remember the heat that flooded me just from watching him, the way my body responded like it was wired to his movements. I came not just from my fingers but from his eyes on me, from the deep growl of his voice urging me on.
I hadn’t just surrendered to him last night—I’d surrendered to the way he saw me. And some twisted part of me... wanted more.
Careful not to wake him, I slide out from under his arm, wincing at the unfamiliar soreness between my thighs. The hotel suite is bathed in morning light, the city of Port Hollow sprawled beneath us, unaware and uncaring of my personal catastrophe.
"Running already?"
I freeze, my back to the bed. He's awake. Probably has been the entire time.
"I’m just heading to the bathroom," I lie, not turning around. I'm too aware of my nakedness, of the marks his mouth left on my skin.
"Liar."
I grab his discarded shirt from the floor, pulling it on before facing him. Marcus sits against the headboard, sheet pooled at his waist, watching me with those calculating gray eyes. His gaze travels over my body like he wants to take me all over again.
"Bit late for modesty."
Heat crawls up my neck. "We should get back to the safehouse."
"No rush. I've cleared my morning schedule."
I cross my arms, hating the vulnerability I feel despite the shirt covering me. "Well, I haven't cleared mine."
"What pressing appointments does my wife have?"
"Stop calling me that."
"It's your legal title now." He reaches for his phone on the nightstand, checking something before setting it aside. "Mrs. Leona Drake."
"On paper only."
"Hmm." His gaze roams over me again, lingering on my bare legs. "Last night suggested otherwise."
I turn away, unable to bear his scrutiny. "Last night was a mistake."
The bed creaks as he rises. I keep my back to him, but I’m aware of his approach. "Your body disagreed. Repeatedly."
My face burns at the memory of how I'd begged—actually begged—for more.
"It was stress," I insist. "Adrenaline. Nothing significant."
His hand brushes my hair aside, exposing the nape of my neck. His lips touch the sensitive skin there, and despite myself, I shiver.
"Lying to yourself is a dangerous habit, Leona." His voice is low, intimate. "One I intend to break you of."
I step away from his touch. "I'm going to shower."
"Alone?" There's amusement in his voice.
"Yes."
He doesn't try to stop me, which is almost more unsettling than if he had.
In the bathroom, I lock the door and examine myself in the mirror.
A stranger looks back at me. My hair is wild, my neck and chest adorned with marks of possession.
The shower is scalding, but it can't wash away the memory of his hands on my skin. I scrub until my skin is red, trying to erase the evidence of my weakness.
When I finally emerge, wrapped in a plush hotel robe, the suite is empty. A note rests on the freshly made bed, beside a garment bag.
Breakfast on the terrace. Wear this. —M
Inside the bag is a deep blue dress, simple but clearly expensive. The fabric feels like water between my fingers, designed to cling to curves while maintaining an air of elegance. Beside it lies a matching set of lingerie, the tags still attached.
The presumption infuriates me, but what choice do I have? My own clothes are nowhere to be seen.
Dressed in his choices, I find him on the terrace, reading something on his tablet while sipping coffee. He's already showered and changed, wearing a fresh suit without a single wrinkle. He looks up as I approach, his eyes darkening with appreciation.
"I hope you like Eggs Benedict. I took the liberty of ordering."
I sit across from him. "Fine."
We eat in silence for several minutes. I steal glances at him, trying to reconcile the ruthless enforcer I saw in the interrogation room with the man who touched me like he was memorizing every inch of my body last night.
"You have questions," he says finally, setting aside his coffee.
"Several hundred."
His lips twitch. "Start with one."
"Why the hotel? Why not return to the safehouse after the ceremony?"
"Observation and rumor control." He leans back in his chair. "The Archer is the most exclusive hotel in Port Hollow. The staff is discreet, but they talk. By now, half the city knows Marcus Drake spent the night with his new bride in the Presidential Suite."
"You're creating a public narrative."
"Precisely. A whirlwind romance, a hasty marriage, a night of passion in the city's most luxurious accommodations—it presents our union as something driven by desire rather than strategy."
"All part of your plan."
"All part of keeping you alive." His expression turns serious. "Which brings me to the next phase."
"Which is?"
"We return to the penthouse today. Security has been tripled, weaknesses addressed." He sets his napkin aside. "You'll need to be briefed on protocols, schedules, and your public role."
"My role?"
"As my wife." He says it matter-of-factly. "There are expectations and appearances that must be maintained. We attend functions together. You'll be seen at my side at certain venues. You'll dress and behave accordingly."
***
Gabriel meets us in the foyer when we return to the penthouse, his expression blank. "Welcome back, sir. Ma'am."
The title makes me flinch.
"Status report," Marcus demands, handing off his jacket to a waiting attendant.
"All clear. The package from Ivanov arrived—it's in your office."
Marcus nods. "Show Mrs. Drake to the master suite. Have Lora explain the household protocols."
The master suite occupies the entire east wing of the penthouse, a sprawling collection of rooms centered around a bedroom larger than my entire former apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the city, electric blinds providing privacy at the touch of a button.
The bed is massive, topped with charcoal silk sheets that make my stomach clench with unwelcome memories of the night before.
"Your things have been arranged in the closet, ma'am," says Lora, a simple-looking woman with perfect posture. "Mr. Drake had your measurements provided to our shopper. If anything doesn't fit, I can arrange alterations."
I follow her to a walk-in closet. Rows of clothing—dresses, blouses, pants, all in my size—hang in color-coordinated sections. Shoes line one wall, accessories another.
"The bathroom is through here," Lora continues, leading me to a marble-clad space with a shower big enough for four people and a soaking tub beside floor-to-ceiling windows. "Toiletries have been stocked to your preferences."
"My preferences?" I echo.
"Mr. Drake provided a detailed list."
After Lora leaves, I explore my new prison.
I find myself drawn to the window, watching the city below. From this height, everyone looks small and insignificant. Is this how Marcus sees the world? Like pieces on a game board, to be moved and sacrificed at will?
"Settling in?"
I turn to find him in the doorway, jacket and tie removed, sleeves rolled to expose muscular forearms. He looks handsome as ever. Something inside me responds to his presence—a quickening of pulse, a tightening low in my stomach. I hate my body for betraying me this way.
"What choice do I have?"
"More than you realize." He enters the room. "The clothes, the accommodations—they're not chains, Leona. They're tools. Use them."
"For what?"
"For becoming who you need to be to survive."
I turn back to the window. "And who is that, exactly?"
"My wife." He stops behind me, close enough that I can feel his heat but not touching. "A woman who stands at my side, who commands respect, who wields the power of my name."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It can be." His hand settles on my shoulder. "But it has its compensations."
"I need time," I say. "To process all of this."
He nods, stepping back. "You have it. Dinner is at eight. Wear something appropriate—we’re going to an event."
"Already?"
"The world needs to meet Mrs. Drake." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Best to establish your position quickly, before anyone gets ideas."