The after party had finally burned itself out. The music faded into echoes, the guests drifted away into the shadows of the estate, and silence reclaimed the halls.
Kasmine felt lightheaded, her body buzzing from too much champagne and too many new experiences. The wild laughter and shameless stares still lingered in her mind. She barely had the strength to walk by herself, so the maids gently guided her to the bridal chamber, where the air was scented with roses and candlelight.
One of the maids smiled softly and handed her a silk slip—thin, sheer, designed to tease more than conceal. Kasmine's cheeks heated as she dressed, the fabric clinging to her curves, barely hiding the delicate lace of her undergarments.
When the door opened, and Bryce stepped in, his eyes darkened instantly.
He closed the distance in two strides, his gaze sweeping over her body in that sinful silk. His jaw tightened, his fists flexed at his sides, and then his control snapped.
"Kasmine…" his voice was rough, strained. "You'll drive me mad."
He caught her by the waist, crushing his mouth against hers in a kiss so deep she couldn't breathe. She whimpered softly as his tongue claimed her, his teeth nipping at her lower lip until she melted into him, dizzy and burning.
His hands slid up, cupping her breasts through the thin fabric. His thumbs teased her hardened peaks until she gasped, arching against him. With a growl, he tugged the silk down, exposing her. His lips trailed lower, hot and hungry, until he took one nipple into his mouth.
Kasmine cried out, clutching his shoulders as his tongue swirled, sucking hard while his other hand kneaded the other breast.
"Bryce—ahh…"
Her voice only seemed to fuel him. He kissed lower, licking across her belly, then turned her gently and pressed his lips to every curve of her body, every angle, every vulnerable place. His kisses worshipped and consumed her at once, leaving no part untouched.
By the time his hands slid to her hips and down to her thighs, she was trembling, her breath coming in ragged waves. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down slowly, letting the silk brush down her legs.
When she stood bare before him, her skin flushed pink, he lowered himself and spread her thighs apart. His finger traced her wetness, sliding gently against her folds.
"Kasmine," he murmured, "you're already so ready for me."
Then he pushed a finger inside her.
She gasped sharply, her body clenching painfully around him. A broken cry escaped her lips, her nails digging into his arm.
"Ah—Bryce, it hurts—"
He froze. His eyes snapped up to her face, catching the shock and tears glistening in her eyes.
Understanding hit him like a storm. His finger withdrew immediately, his chest heaving. "You're… a virgin?"
She nodded faintly, trembling.
For a long moment, he just stared at her—his powerful body tight with need, his desire raging, but his control ironclad. He cupped her face tenderly, his voice low but firm.
"Then I can't. Not like this. Not when you're under the haze of alcohol, not when you're trembling and afraid."
She blinked up at him, confused. "Bryce…?"
He kissed her softly, slower this time, a vow in the touch. "Your first time won't be rushed, or stolen, or lost in a drunken night. It will be special. It will be mine—but only when you're ready, when you'll remember every second."
He pulled her gently into his arms, wrapping her against his chest. His erection throbbed painfully against her stomach, but he forced himself to breathe, to calm, to protect.
Kasmine buried her face against him, overwhelmed by everything—his hunger, his restraint, and the terrifying warmth blooming in her heart.
That night, Bryce Stone did not claim her body.
He claimed something far more dangerous.
Her trust.
Sunlight spilled gently across the wide windows of the master bedroom, golden warmth filtering through the silk curtains. The night before lingered in Kasmine's body—the memory of Bryce's heated kisses, the way his hands had claimed every inch of her skin, and the shocking discovery that had made him stop.
Her heart was still pounding when her eyes fluttered open. Bryce was asleep beside her, his broad chest rising and falling with steady breaths. His arm was draped around her waist, heavy and protective, as though even in sleep he couldn't let her go.
Carefully, slowly, she slipped from his embrace, her bare feet padding across the marble floor. Her body still tingled where his mouth had lingered. The faint ache between her thighs reminded her of his touch, and her cheeks flamed at the thought.
She bathed quickly, trying to calm her racing thoughts, then slipped into something casual—a pair of denim bum shorts that showed off her long legs and a tiny singlet that left her back and chest bare. She hesitated in the mirror, tugging at the straps, wondering if she should change. But no… she wanted to please him. She wanted him to see her and remember that she wasn't a child—she could be his wife.
In the kitchen, she busied herself preparing breakfast just the way he liked it, just the way he had ordered on the very first day she met him. Fresh coffee, rich and dark, eggs seasoned exactly right, toast crisped perfectly, and an assortment of fruit laid out neatly. She moved with determination, though her hands trembled from nerves.
The maids entered quietly, their eyes widening at the sight of the young mistress cooking with her own hands. Their whispers floated through the room before they could stop themselves.
"Did you see her neck?" one murmured behind her hand.
"And her back—look at the marks…" another gasped softly.
"She's covered in them. The Master must have…"
Kasmine froze, her face heating as she realized what they were talking about. The hickeys. She had noticed them faintly in the mirror after her bath, blooming red and purple along her throat, her collarbone, and even the swell of her chest. She tugged her singlet higher, trying to hide them, but the fabric was too small, too revealing.
Her ears burned as the maids giggled softly, bowing their heads when she glanced their way.
"K-Keep quiet and set the table," she whispered, embarrassed.
By the time Bryce finally stirred awake and walked into the dining room, his shirt half-buttoned, hair still damp from a quick shower, Kasmine was standing nervously behind the table, her head lowered.
The moment his eyes landed on her, he stopped.
The bum shorts. The tiny singlet. The breakfast spread. And her flushed, shy face as she tried to avoid his gaze.
A slow, dangerous smile tugged at his lips.
"Trying to kill me first thing in the morning, little wife?" he drawled, his voice thick with amusement and desire.
Kasmine swallowed hard, lowering her gaze further. "I just… I thought you'd want breakfast. The way you asked me that day…"
He stepped closer, circling the table until he was in front of her. He lifted her chin with two fingers, forcing her to meet his smoldering eyes.
"You remembered."
Her heart fluttered as his thumb brushed along her jawline. Then his gaze dipped lower, catching the faint purple bruises he had left scattered across her skin. His eyes darkened, pride and possessiveness flashing there.
When she squirmed and tugged her singlet higher, he chuckled low.
"Don't hide them. Every mark is mine."
Her breath caught. His words made her weak inside, but she turned quickly to the table, hiding her face. "Eat before it gets cold."
He smirked, taking his seat, his gaze never leaving her as she fussed over the plates.
The maids lingered at the edges of the room, stealing glances, their whispers soft but knowing. And though Kasmine's cheeks burned with shyness, deep inside, she couldn't deny it—last night had changed something between them.
For the first time, she wasn't just the girl tied to him by contract.
She was his woman.
By noon, the Stone penthouse was unusually quiet. Bryce had returned from a quick meeting, expecting to find Kasmine lounging in her room or reading the fashion magazines his mother had sent her. Instead, the smell of food greeted him as he stepped inside.
He paused in the doorway of the kitchen.
There she was, hair tied loosely, still wearing that tiny singlet and shorts, standing over the counter as she carefully prepared his lunch. Steam rose from the pot, her delicate hands moving with precision as she plated everything.
His brow furrowed. "Kasmine?"
She turned quickly, startled. "O-oh… you're back already."
He strode closer, watching her set the plates with care. "What are you doing?"
"Cooking," she said simply, smiling nervously. "I thought you might be hungry after your meeting."
"You don't need to do this." His voice was firm but laced with something softer, something almost protective. "That's why the maids are here."
Her lashes lowered, but she shook her head stubbornly. "No. I want to. From now until the end of our contract, I'll take care of these things. Cooking, arranging, laundry… everything a wife should do."
Bryce's eyes darkened as he studied her. She wasn't just saying it like an obligation—she meant it.
After lunch, he followed her quietly, curiosity tugging at him. She carried a basket of clothes down the hallway, humming softly to herself, and placed them into the washing machine. A few minutes later, she was in their bedroom, folding fresh sheets, smoothing the pillows, arranging his suits neatly in the wardrobe.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching in silence. She didn't notice at first—her focus was entirely on making their space perfect.
When she finally turned, startled to see him standing there, she froze. "Y-you're watching me again."
"Because I can't understand you." His voice was low, unreadable. "Why do all this when you don't have to?"
Her lips curved into a shy but firm smile. "Because I want to be more than just a name on a contract. If I'm to be Mrs. Stone, then I'll act like it… at least until the day it ends."
For the first time in years, Bryce was speechless. No woman had ever lifted a finger for him—not in this way. They only took, demanded, and expected. But Kasmine… she was giving, without asking for anything in return.
His jaw tightened, emotions swirling in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar.
Later that evening, he summoned all the maids into the grand hall. They stood nervously, exchanging glances, while Kasmine shifted uncomfortably at his side.
Bryce's deep voice cut through the air. "From this day forward, you will treat her with the same respect you show me. She is your mistress, your lady of the house. You will call her Mrs. Stone. Always."
The maids bowed in unison, their voices echoing. "Yes, Master Stone. Yes, Mrs. Stone."
Kasmine's eyes widened, her chest tightening with a rush of emotion. She wanted to protest, to say she didn't need such formalities. But when Bryce's hand settled on the small of her back, steady and possessive, she stayed silent.
In that moment, she wasn't just playing the role of his wife.
She was Mrs. Stone.