Vincent's POV
In the middle of a meeting with a client, my phone vibrates against the table. Normally, I ignore such interruptions, but when I glance at the screen and see the message from one of my guards, my jaw tightens.
Sir, the lady insists on leaving. She has packed all her belongings and won't listen to us.
I narrow my eyes. I expected resistance from her—defiance was written all over her from the beginning—but for her to think she could walk out on me? No. I can't allow that.
"Don't allow her to leave. I am on my way." I text back.
Karen's voice continues, filling the office with details about shipment schedules and delivery timelines. I hear every word, but the edge of distraction gnaws at me. My patience is thinner than usual.
"I'll have my assistant prepare all the necessary paperwork," I say smoothly, cutting her short. "Payment will be made upon delivery. You'll have your goods by the end of the week."
Her smile stretches with relief, but I don't linger. The moment the meeting concludes, I'm already striding out, my expression unreadable. My driver moves to open the car for me, but I wave him off and take the wheel myself.
The drive feels longer than it should, my grip firm on the steering wheel as the thought of her—thinking she could walk out of my house, out of my reach—feeds the quiet storm brewing inside me.
When I finally pull into the estate, my suspicion is confirmed. There she is. At the entrance, her small frame dwarfed by the mountain of luggage she's foolishly dragged with her. The sight almost makes me laugh. Those suitcases are far too heavy for her, yet she intends to haul them out of my life as if it's that simple.
I kill the engine and step out, straightening to my full height as I walk toward her. Every guard, every maid in sight lowers their gaze, already aware of the silent command radiating from me.
"Leave us," I say without raising my voice.
One by one, they scatter, retreating into the shadows until it's only the two of us standing there—her clutching the handles of her bags like a lifeline, me closing the distance between us with measured steps.
"What are you trying to do, Ella?" I ask, eyes narrowed. My voice is low, but there's no mistaking the warning in it.
"I'm trying to leave you." Her answer is sharp, almost reckless, and it sends a wave of irritation through me. She really believes she can just walk away.
"That is definitely not going to happen." I say as I step closer. My gaze doesn't waver from hers. "I married you for a reason, and part of that was for show. You're supposed to stand beside me, not run at the first chance you get. If you can't even play the part of my wife properly, then you're already failing, darling."
The words come out harsher than I intend. I see it instantly—the flash of pain in her eyes. It unsettles me more than I care to admit. I'm not proud of it, but pride has never been my weakness—control has.
She swallows hard, turning her face away from me. "My cab will be here any moment."
I grit my teeth. "And I said you are not leaving."
There is a maid walking close by. I snap my fingers, gesturing at the bags. "Take her things back upstairs."
"Yes, sir," she murmurs, moving quickly.
"Why are you doing this?" Ella's voice cracks slightly, her frustration bleeding through. Her eyes dart back to me, demanding an answer, and for the first time, I don't have one I can give without tearing down the walls I've built.
I also don't know why I am doing this anymore—whether it's about her father, or the selfish, gnawing need to keep her near me.
I ignore her question, my eyes fixed on the way her hands clutch the luggage, refusing to let go even as the maid tugs at them.
"Let's hope you don't attempt something like this again," I say evenly, my voice edged with warning. "Otherwise, I might just have to keep you locked in your room—your freedom depending entirely on whether I'm in the mood to grant it."
Her eyes widen slightly, disbelief flickering across her face.
"Don't look at me like that," I add, stepping closer. "I don't throw around empty threats. Try me a second time, and you'll learn for yourself just how serious I am."
At last, her grip loosens. The maid drags the suitcases back inside while Ella continues to stare at me, as though she's imagining all the ways she'd like to put a knife through my chest. She doesn't say a word, only glares at me with that defiant fire in her eyes before finally turning away.
I don't actually mean what I said earlier, but it's better she believes it. Fear will keep her where I want her. If she didn't hate me before, then I'm certain she does now that I've threatened to take away her freedom.
She storms off, shoes clicking against the floor, and I follow a few steps behind. She's walking faster now, as if trying to put distance between us, though she knows I'll always be right there.
I watch her as she strides into the kitchen, goes straight to the fridge, and pulls out whatever she plans to prepare. She doesn't glance my way once, focused entirely on her task. When she's done, she slides it into the microwave. For some reason, I find myself captivated—why does it feel so damn good to watch her do something as simple as that?
The machine beeps, and she retrieves her bowl without hesitation. With her food in hand, she brushes past me as though I'm nothing but part of the wall. I turn my head, following her with my eyes as she walks away, heading upstairs without sparing me a second look.