My Husband Died, I Bedded His Brother

Chapter 4 Marked

That night in the penthouse became a nightmare I would never escape.

I didn't wear mourning clothes. Instead, I slipped into a stunning red silk slip dress. Underneath, I wore nothing.

In a house draped entirely in white for mourning, it was practically an act of defiance.

When I pushed open the door, only a dim floor lamp illuminated the living room.

Davis sat in the shadows, unmoving.

"Come here." He patted his thigh.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood and walked over with trembling legs, carefully settling onto his lap.

The hem of my dress slid down slightly. He didn't touch me.

Leaning back in his chair, arms resting casually on the armrests, he studied me with an openly possessive gaze, taking in every detail of the silk clinging to my body.

It was somehow more humiliating than being touched. Like I was an offering placed on an altar, waiting for him to decide what to do with me.

Half an hour later, my entire body felt weak under his scrutiny. I could barely sit upright.

Davis finally reached for a lipstick lying on the table. He tugged my right shoulder strap aside.

"Such fair skin, Rachel." His fingertips slowly brushed along my collarbone until a faint blush bloomed across my skin.

Then the cool lipstick touched me. He was writing. Actually writing on me.

Stroke by stroke, deliberate and heavy, as if stamping ownership onto something that belonged to him.

"Davis... you..." My voice shook. A soft sound escaped my lips before I could stop it.

"Shh." Davis lowered his head, his breath brushing my ear.

"Don't you know? A sacrifice should always bear its master's seal. Be good. Open your legs."

That night, he covered my skin with Jones's name written in vivid red.

At the very end, over my heart, he slowly wrote a single character: "Davis."

He made me sit on his lap and recount everything Jones had ever done to me.

Every mistake earned a cold correction. Every hesitation was met with another reminder to tell the truth.

By the end, I was drenched in cold sweat, tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

Davis lifted his gaze toward me. "We're supposed to be mourning my brother tonight."

His lips curved slightly. "So why do you look more nervous than anyone here?"

That was when I truly understood.

Davis was insane. He didn't just want me. He wanted to humiliate the perfect eldest son everyone worshipped.

And he was enjoying every second of it.