Chapter 6
MARIAH WOKE before dawn, though sleep had never really claimed her. Each time her body drifted close to rest, heat curled under her skin, sharp and insistent, as though the Brand pulsed in her veins and reminded her of what she could not deny. What she tried—and failed—to ignore.
Leif Severin. His name was a brand of its own, burning hotter than the mark etched beneath her skin.
She tossed the covers aside, breath already shallow.
Her nightgown clung damply, her body restless from dreams too vivid to be dismissed.
Dreams of a man whose gaze stripped her bare more ruthlessly than his hands ever had.
She pressed her palms against her eyes, willing the heat away, only for memory to surge harder.
The cut of his voice, the way he occupied a room with dangerous certainty, the deep timbre that slid beneath her defenses and left her shaking.
Mariah forced herself to rise before the alarm.
The marble floor was cold under her bare feet, but even that could not cool her.
She stood under the punishing stream of the shower, longer than necessary, water striking her skin until it turned pink.
She stared at her reflection in the fogged mirror after, unsettled.
Her body glowed as though it had been touched.
Every inch of her looked flushed, sensitized, as if she had already spent the night with him instead of alone.
She hated the reminder of her weakness, hated that part of her that didn’t want the heat to fade.
Clothes became armor. She pulled on a slate-gray sheath dress that skimmed her figure without clinging, modest but far from safe.
Her breasts pressed against the fabric, an unyielding curve she knew he would notice despite his saying nothing.
She slid into matching heels, each inch of height making her back straighter.
She coiled her hair into sleek submission, pinned and polished, so precise that not a wave dared slip free.
Lipstick followed, in a shade between rose and plum, smooth as lacquer, and her reflection sharpened into someone untouchable.
Or at least someone who wanted to be. Beneath the facade, heat still licked at her veins.
Mariah struggled to control her wayward emotions. She was his assistant now. That was all. Professional. Efficient. Disposable. A role she could play even with her body betraying her. Even with the Dante Brand burning under her skin like a lover’s claim.
By 7:55 she was walking down the corridor toward Leif’s office, her tablet clutched like a weapon. Each step echoed too loud, like the whole building listened. She steadied herself with every breath. Leif was just a man. Just her employer.
Just the man who had branded her soul.
The door opened on his voice. “You’re late.”
She checked her watch instinctively. 7:58. Early. He knew it, but the blade of his gaze told her lateness was not measured by clocks. Dark suit, brilliant blue eyes. He leaned against his desk as if it were a throne, and she the subject who dared approach.
“I’m early,” she replied, crisp as the heels striking marble.
His mouth tilted—not in amusement, but mockery. “For me, you’ll always be late. Sit.”
The command shivered down her spine. She lowered herself into the chair opposite, spine ramrod straight, legs crossed tight, hands folded over her tablet to stop their trembling. He circled his desk and sat, moving with a predator’s control, every motion meticulous.
“We need ground rules,” he said. His tone was iron, no allowance for debate.
“You work for me. That means you don’t question my orders, you don’t wander where you’re not permitted, and you don’t assume privilege you haven’t earned.
You’re not here to tempt me, test me, or distract me.
Do your job, stay out of trouble, and you’ll survive. ”
Her pulse jumped, but she steadied herself, refusing to let him see her rattled.
He wanted her to flinch, to shrink into obedience.
Instead she lifted her chin, forcing her voice into something steadier than she felt.
If he was going to set rules, she would not be a silent, quivering pawn. Her mouth curved.
“Do I get to add rules of my own?”
His eyes locked onto hers, sharp enough to strip her bare. “No.”
The word was flint against tinder. She let a laugh slip, low, husky, sounding more like challenge than surrender. She leaned into it, taking a perverse pleasure in how the sound heated the air between them. “Then you’ll forgive me if I don’t promise to follow yours.”
Something shifted across his face. Not anger. Something darker, hotter, dangerous. He leaned forward and his stare dragged across her skin like a touch. “We’ll see.”
The Brand seared, pulling everything tight through her chest. She shifted subtly in her chair, pressing her thighs together, praying he didn’t notice. The silence stretched, heavy and fraught. He let it hang there until she wanted to scream just to fill the air. Finally his voice cut through.
“Look at me.”
She dragged her gaze up, determined not to flinch. His stare was merciless.
“You will keep your phone on at all times. You will eat when I tell you. You will not disappear into corners or shadows, because if you do I will come after you.” He leaned forward, his forearms braced on the desk, the desk seeming to groan with the potency of his command.
“And when I call your name, you will answer. Immediately.”
Mariah’s throat tightened, but she refused to look away. She wanted to throw the rules back at him, laugh in his face, to show him she wasn’t a pawn he could order about. Her voice came steadier, edged with defiance. “Why?”
His eyes narrowed, the shadows in them deepening. “Because you belong to me now. Whether you admit it or not.”
Heat coursed through her, terrifying and electric, a fever that no willpower could suppress.
She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that she could walk away, that he couldn’t control her.
The words crowded her tongue, sharp and unyielding, but the Brand’s answering pulse betrayed her, throbbing in her chest and between her thighs as if it laughed at the lie.
She clenched her hands around her tablet, nails biting into the casing, and pressed her thighs tighter together, trying to mask the ache building there. Still, she forced her gaze to remain level, determined not to let him see just how much power he had over her body.
The tremor racing down her spine spread into her belly, up into her throat, until she was certain he could see it.
That he could sense every secret reaction she wanted to keep hidden but also the iron thread of resistance she held onto.
His gaze lingered on her mouth, her knees, her trembling fingers, as though he was already cataloging each weakness.
She met that stare with a flicker of her own daring, a silent challenge.
A shiver coursed through her, caught between fury and a reckless longing to see how far he would push her.
He leaned closer, picking up the thread of rules as if he hadn’t let the silence drag her to the edge.
His voice dropped, each word measured. “When I say silence, you’ll keep it.
When I say speak, you’ll speak. If I tell you to walk into a room of wolves, you’ll walk in smiling.
Because my word is the difference between your life and your death. ”
Her lips parted, outrage flaring. But he didn’t stop.
“And another thing. You will not flirt with anyone in my circle. Not with my men, not with rivals, not with allies. Your smile, your voice, every glance you give, it all belongs to me now. Do you understand?”
Heat rushed into her face. She wanted to deny him, to laugh it off as arrogance, but the Brand surged with vicious pleasure at his claim. Her voice emerged fierce, roughened by heat and outrage. “And if I don’t?”
His eyes hardened, his tone dropping to something hard and absolute. “Then I’ll remind you. As often as it takes.”
The silence stretched again, heavy and fraught, her pulse loud in her ears. She could almost hear the seconds tick past, though neither of them moved. When he finally stood, it was with lethal grace, as though deciding to spare her. For now.
“We’re late,” he said, and her stomach clenched when she glanced at her watch again.
8:12. He’d made her squirm on purpose, let the meeting slip just to make his point.
She gathered her tablet, rose, and followed.
She told herself not to notice how broad his shoulders were, how every step he took seemed to drag her body forward. Told herself not to feel the pull.
In the elevator, silence pressed around them.
She tried to focus on the numbers flashing overhead as they descended, but his reflection in the mirrored walls was everywhere.
Tall, Nordic beautiful in a way that scraped her raw.
She adjusted her grip on the tablet just to keep her hands busy.
He said nothing at first, but the air vibrated with what neither of them spoke.
Finally, his voice cut through the hum of the elevator.
“This meeting isn’t about pleasantries. It’s about territory.
Lines being tested, and men who want to know if I’m strong enough to hold them.
” He glanced at her reflection, eyes glittering.
“You’ll take notes. You’ll remember every detail.
But everything said in that room remains in that room. No exceptions.”
Mariah’s mouth went dry. She nodded, the tablet tight in her hands. “Of course.”
His stare lingered, sharp, weighing. “Swear it.”
Her heart stuttered. “I swear.”