Chapter 4 - The Fire in the PenthouseThe rain outside the penthouse windows hammered against the glass, painting long, liquid shadows across the marble floor.
I looked up into Mateo’s gray eyes—seeing no longer the cold, distant husband who ignored me at galas, but the fierce, protective man who would burn the world to keep me safe.
"I don't care about the shadows, Mateo," I whispered softly, my hands sliding up his broad chest to wrap around his neck, my fingers burying into his dark hair. "I don't want a safe glass case. I want you."
Mateo groaned into my throat, his possessive grip around my waist lifting me effortlessly off my feet, pulling my body flush against his.
His lips met mine in a fierce, consuming kiss that erased three weeks of silence, three weeks of doubt, and every lingering trace of Declan Fitzpatrick’s touch. It was not gentle; it was an absolute, unyielding claim that claimed my mouth, my breath, and my soul.
I gasped into the kiss, my arms tightening around his neck as he carried me across the living room toward the master suite.
He set me down gently on the edge of the grand canopy bed, his broad hands coming up to frame my face, his warm thumbs stroking my cheekbones as his eyes searched mine under the dim amber light of the bedside lamp.
"You are my wife, Vivienne," Mateo whispered, his baritone vibrating against my lips. "The diamonds on your neck mean nothing. The penthouse means nothing. You are the only thing in this city that I will die for."
"Then don't leave me in the dark again, Mateo," I promised softly, reaching up to press my lips gently against his jaw. "Fight your wars... but let me stand beside you."
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Mateo looked down at me—taking in my fierce hazel eyes, my unbroken courage, and the unshakeable loyalty that bound us together.
"Starting tonight, my queen," Mateo swore softly, "we fight together."
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