His thumb is still on my lip. Rough. Callused. The skin there burns like he’s branded me. The silence in the room stretches, tight as a piano wire about to snap, but Stavros doesn't pull away. He doesn't even blink. He just stares down at me with those abyss-black eyes, reading every flicker of fear in my face like it’s a headline.
"One month," I repeat, my voice trembling with a rage that feels too big for my body. "I didn't agree to anything."
"Your agreement isn't required," he rumbles. His thumb slides from my lip to my jaw, tracing the bone with a possessiveness that makes my stomach flip. "Only your obedience."
That word snaps the last thread of my control. Obedience. Like I’m a dog. Like I’m a thing to be trained.
I lift my hand and swing. Hard. aiming for that arrogant, scarred
