The Devil’s Bride

Chapter 11: Toxic Jealousy

Ethan’s POV

The mansion was completely quiet when we returned from the gala.

Moore had been entirely silent during the entire ride home, staring out the tinted glass window like a broken porcelain doll.She should stay exactly that way—quiet, submissive, and utterly terrified of my reach.

I loosened my silk tie the moment we stepped into the grand foyer, the marble echoing sharply under our footsteps. “Go upstairs. I have important work to finish in my study.”

She simply nodded without looking at me and disappeared toward the grand staircase. I watched the graceful sway of her hips in that short black dress, vividly remembering how I’d roughly bent her over my mahogany desk just hours ago. My c**k twitched at the memory.

An hour later, I found myself walking through the dark hallways toward the kitchen to pour a drink. The house was dimly lit, the expansive marble floors cold under my shoes.

That was when I heard soft voices.

I stopped just outside the kitchen entrance, completely hidden by the deep shadows of the hallway.

Moore stood at the massive marble island, still in her short black cocktail dress. She was barefoot, filling a glass with water from the filtered tap. Connor—that worthless, lower-class servant—was standing entirely too close to her, speaking in a low, gentle tone.

“…you don’t have to go through this absolute nightmare alone,” Connor was saying softly. “If you ever need anything at all—”

Moore looked up at him with soft, profoundly grateful eyes. A small, genuine smile touched her lips. The exact same kind of beautiful smile she had never once given me.

White-hot rage ignited in my chest, vicious and immediate.

How f*****g dare he.

I had bought her. I owned her body, and her entire life. I had f****d her over my desk just hours ago and filled her with my seed. She belonged to me—body, asset, and name. And yet this complete nobody was standing in my kitchen, offering her comfort, making her smile like she was some helpless damsel he could actually save.

The pure entitlement of it disgusted me. She was my possession. My investment. No one else on this planet had the right to give her even a single drop of human kindness. That was my exclusive role—whether I chose to graciously grant it or cruelly withhold it.

I stepped directly into the kitchen, my presence instantly sucking the air out of the room.

Both of them froze immediately.

“Connor,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, smooth, and lethal. “I wasn’t aware I paid my security staff to play therapist in my kitchen.”

Connor straightened his posture immediately. “Mr. Vance, she was just getting water. I was only—”

“Get the f**k out,” I cut him off, my tone dropping to pure ice. “And don’t let me catch you speaking to my wife again. Ever.”

Moore’s face went completely pale. “Ethan, please… he was only being kind—”

“Kind?” I let out a low, mocking laugh as I walked closer, invading their space. “He’s a paid servant, Moore. His only job is to serve this household, not to offer comfort to what belongs entirely to me. Go upstairs. Now.”

She hesitated for half a second, her eyes quickly flicking to Connor with deep worry. That single, protective look made the rage burn ten times hotter. She should only ever look at me with that intensity.

The moment her heels hurried out of the room, I turned my gaze back to Connor.

“You seem to have completely forgotten your place,” I said quietly, calmly adjusting my diamond cufflinks. “My wife is not your concern. She is mine. Everything about her—her tears, her body, her smiles—belongs strictly to me. If I see you anywhere near her again, I won’t just terminate your employment. I will personally ensure you regret ever breathing the same air as her. Am I clear?”

Connor held my gaze for a tense second longer than I liked, then nodded stiffly and left the room.

I stood alone in the luxurious, empty kitchen, the faint scent of her still lingering in the air where she had been standing.

She was mine.

Not because I loved her—that concept was entirely laughable. Love is a pathetic concept reserved for the weak and the poor, and I am proudly neither. She was mine simply because I had paid the invoice for her. Because I had successfully claimed her. Because no one else had the right to make her feel safe or seen.

I poured myself a neat glass of whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the crystal.

This irrational anger was beneath a man of my stature. She was temporary. A corporate tool. A warm, tight body to use whenever I demanded it. Yet the mental image of her smiling so gently at Connor refused to leave my mind.

I finished the drink in one swallow and headed upstairs.

Moore would be waiting in the dark.

And tonight, I had a surprise for her—the kind of surprise that would remind her every single day of her existence that she belonged to me, and for my twisted pleasure alone.

No one else’s.