Midnight call: married to the deadly CEO by dark queen

Anna's footsteps echoed through the marble hallway, but her mind was louder — every word from that man's mouth replayed in her head like a curse.

"You signed the contract, Mrs. Williams. You belong to me now."

Belong? She clenched her fists. I'm not some pet he can keep on a leash.

She reached the door to her new bedroom — more like a golden cage. She hated how beautiful it was. The silk sheets, the perfume of roses on the nightstand, the huge king-size bed that reminded her this wasn't just marriage — it was ownership.

She pushed the door open — only to find him sitting there. Damian Williams, the city's cold-blooded king in a black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal expensive silver cufflinks. He looked like sin and power made flesh.

His eyes lifted lazily to hers, dark and sharp. "You're late."

She wanted to spit back that she didn't owe him anything — but the words froze when he stood. His height swallowed the room, and his scent — clean, expensive, dangerous — surrounded her.

"I said," Damian murmured, stepping closer, "you're late."

Anna backed up until her spine hit the door. "I didn't know I had a curfew, husband."

His lips twitched — not quite a smile, more like a predator baring teeth. He raised a hand and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. The touch was gentle. The grip that followed wasn't.

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You think this marriage is pretend, don't you?" His thumb traced her lower lip, lingering. "Do you want me to show you how real it is?"

Her breath caught. Her heart betrayed her — pounding so loud she wondered if he could hear it.

She hated him. She hated that part of her was curious, too.

"Let me go." Her voice cracked. Weak. She hated that too.

His hand slid to her throat, not choking — just resting there, feeling her pulse. His touch was ice and fire at once. "I'm only going to say this once, Anna. Don't test me."

She opened her mouth to speak — but he silenced her the cruelest way: with a kiss.

It wasn't gentle. It was a claim, teeth and tongue, stealing her air. Her hands pushed at his chest, but his hold just tightened — one arm locked around her waist, dragging her against his hard body.

She felt how strong he was. How easily he could crush her.

He broke the kiss first, but didn't move away. His lips brushed her ear, voice low and dangerous. "If you run again, Anna, I'll drag you back — and you won't be sleeping alone next time."

A shiver crawled down her spine. She hated how her knees felt weak.

Damian stepped back, adjusting his shirt cuffs like nothing happened. "Get some sleep. You'll need your strength."

"For what?" she snapped, breathless, humiliated.

He didn't answer. Just smirked — that wicked curve of his lips that promised danger.

And then he left her alone in that golden cage — heart racing, lips bruised, mind screaming a truth she refused to accept:

She was his wife.

But maybe she was his prisoner, too.