Chapter 2 - The Silence in the Elevator"Mateo, wait!" Declan shouted as Lorenzo and three heavy-set enforcers grabbed his arms, driving his frame back toward a side service exit. "She doesn't love you! She’s drowning in your shadow!"
Mateo didn't even turn his head. He tightened his grip on my hand, guiding me cleanly through the parted crowd toward the private VIP elevator at the back of the foyer.
Two hundred trapped guests watched us pass in total, speech-bound horror.
When we stepped into the private elevator, the heavy brass doors slid shut, sealing out the noise of the ballroom, leaving only the quiet, mechanical hum of the cables carrying us up toward the penthouse suite.
I stood against the mirrored back wall of the elevator, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs.
The brief, poisonous thrill of making Mateo jealous had completely vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, suffocating wave of panic. My hands were freezing; my throat felt tight.
Mateo stood facing the doors, his back to me, his broad shoulders taut under his midnight-blue suit jacket. He didn't speak. He didn't yell.
"Mateo..." I whispered, my voice breaking slightly.
He didn't turn around. "Quiet, Vivienne."
"I... I just wanted you to look at me," I choked out, tears of frustration and terror welling behind my eyes. "You haven't spoken to me in three weeks! You treat me like an ornament! You adjusted my necklace tonight without even making eye contact!"
The elevator chimed softly.
BEEP.
The doors opened onto the private foyer of our two-story penthouse overlooking Manhattan.
Mateo stepped out first, unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket, tossing it onto the leather sofa near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rain-swept city skyline.
He turned to face me.
Under the warm amber lighting of the living room, his face was carved from stone. His gray eyes held a dark, terrifying fire that I had never seen in the three years of our marriage.
"You wanted my attention, Vivienne?" Mateo asked softly, taking slow, deliberate steps toward where I stood near the foyer archway. "Is that what this was? A child’s game to see if I still possessed a temper?"
"It wasn't a game!" I shouted, holding my chin high despite my trembling knees. "You left before sunrise! You come back after midnight! I am your wife, Mateo, not a trophy you leave locked in a glass case!"
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Mateo stopped two inches from me. He reached out, his long, broad fingers gently, firmly cupping my jawline, forcing me to look straight into his storm-gray eyes.
"Tell me exactly what he whispered to you," Mateo commanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, velvet register, "before you touched him."
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