HIS TO COMMAND

Chapter10

Chapter 10 – Chains and Choices

The Thorne mansion never truly slept.

Even in silence, the house breathed with secrets. Its walls seemed to carry whispers of arguments long past, of servants rushing through candlelit corridors, of Ambrose Thorne’s booming voice that once commanded both family and empire. Now, without him, the estate felt like a beast waiting to see which son would master it—or tear it apart.

Emerald had tried to sleep. She lay stiff on the mattress in the cold guest chamber Roman had designated hers when she arrived, staring at the ceiling until her eyes blurred. But rest never came in this house. Not with so many questions clawing at her mind.

Roman had been working late in his study again. She’d seen the light under his door on her way to bed, seen his tall frame hunched over the desk like the weight of the entire empire pressed against his shoulders. That man never allowed himself to falter in public, but behind closed doors? His solitude carried an edge of desperation she didn’t know how to name.

And yet, what unsettled her more than his grief was his obsession with control. With her.

Emerald slipped quietly from her room. Her bare feet whispered against the marble floor, shawl wrapped around her shoulders, more armor than comfort. She didn’t know why she was moving toward Roman study. Curiosity? Recklessness? A hunger for truths she wasn’t prepared to face?

The door was cracked open. A faint glow spilled into the hall.

Her hand trembled against the brass handle before she eased it wider. The room was empty. Roman’s jacket lay tossed across the leather chair, his desk covered in neatly stacked contracts, ledgers, and correspondence. The faint scent of his cologne still lingered, sharp cedar and smoke.

Emerald stepped inside. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the lamp. She traced her fingers over the desk’s smooth surface. It felt wrong to be here, trespassing in his private kingdom. But then—Roman had already trespassed into her life, her marriage, her choices. Why shouldn’t she return the favor?

A drawer sat slightly ajar. Her gaze locked on it.

Her breath caught.

She reached out slowly, tugging it open.

Inside was a folder. Its label stopped her heart.

Emerald Thorne.

Her fingers shook as she pulled it out. She flipped it open and the air left her lungs.

Her entire life lay on those pages.

Records of her schooling. Financial history. Her medical files—private information only a doctor should have seen. Reports of her movements before the marriage, down to dates and times. Her father’s name was circled in one report. Her mother’s accident was noted in another, with clipped, emotionless precision.

She felt cold. Violated.

Roman had known everything about her long before she set foot in this house. He had been watching. Calculating.

Why?

Was she a pawn in some larger scheme, just as her father had been ruined by Ambrose? Was this marriage not a punishment but something darker, a plot spun long before she realized she was caught?

The floor creaked.

Emerald slammed the folder shut, shoving it back into the drawer just as a voice whispered her name.

“Emerald?”

She spun.

Damien stood in the doorway. His shirt collar hung loose, tie gone, sleeves rolled up. A glass of whiskey dangled in his hand, half-empty. His eyes, sharp even when dulled by drink, softened as they found hers.

Her throat tightened. “What are you doing here?”

He gave a low, humorless laugh. “Could you ask the same question?” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a click. “Though I know you better than to think you’re rifling through files for sport.”

Emerald’s pulse stumbled. He’d seen her. Perhaps even guessed.

“Damien,” she whispered. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Not enough to forget.” He swirled the glass before setting it aside on the desk. “Not enough to forget how this house eats people alive. My father. My mother. Me.” His eyes locked on hers, darker now. “And now you.”

“That’s not true,” she shot back, though her voice betrayed her unease.

He stepped closer, the faint burn of whiskey on his breath. “It is. Roman doesn’t love you, Emerald. He can’t. Men like him don’t love. They conquer. They devour.” His voice cracked, bitter and raw. “And you—you fight back, but you’re burning all the same.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. His gaze was stripped of charm, stripped of the easy smile he used as a shield. What looked back at her now was nothing but truth and pain.

He took another step. “If things had been different…” His voice dropped, husky, almost broken. “If he hadn’t claimed you first, I would have—”

He leaned in.

His lips hovered a breath from hers, his body trembling with restraint. For one terrifying, intoxicating second, Emerald felt the weight of his longing, his warmth, his desperate need to offer her something gentler than chains.

And a part of her wanted to close the gap.

But Roman’s face surged into her mind—not soft, never soft, but ruthless, unrelenting, consuming. The man who had shattered her life and yet held her pulse in his fist.

Her survival instinct roared.

“No.” Emerald pressed her palm hard against Damien’s chest, shoving back the pull of temptation.

Damien froze. The rejection sliced between them.

“I am his wife,” she said, voice shaking but firm. “And no amount of whiskey changes that.”

His chest rose against her hand. His jaw flexed, shame warring with something deeper. At last, he stepped back, hands clenched at his sides. “Forgive me,” he whispered hoarsely. “I shouldn’t have—”

But Emerald fled before he could finish, her shawl trailing like a broken wing behind her.

---

Morning came with storm clouds gathering over the mansion.

Roman summoned the entire household to the great hall. Servants lined the walls, Vanessa hovered with barely concealed anticipation, and Damien stood silent near the fireplace. Emerald remained at Roman’s side, her stomach twisting with unease.

Roman’s voice boomed across the room. “From this day forward, there will be no confusion in this house.” His hand rested possessively at the small of Emerald’s back, the touch more like a shackle than comfort. “Emerald stays by me. She sleeps in my room. She follows me where I go. She answers only to me.”

Murmurs rippled through the staff. Some bowed their heads quickly. Vanessa’s face flared crimson with rage.

Emerald’s breath caught. His words were not a vow of protection. They were chains being locked around her.

And then—

“How possessive of you, Roman,” a sharp voice cut through the tension. “Your father would be proud. He was a jailer too.”

The room froze.

Helena descended the staircase with the poise of a queen. Her silver hair was pinned elegantly, her posture regal, her eyes glittering with steel. Every step carried authority. She had no need to raise her voice—her presence alone commanded silence.

Emerald’s heart lurched. She hadn’t expected Helena back so soon.

Helena crossed the hall, her gaze sweeping over her sons before landing on Emerald. She stopped before her, eyes narrowing with quiet intensity.

“You remind me of myself when I was young,” Helena murmured. “Do you want to know the secret to surviving men like Roman?”

Emerald’s lips parted. “…What?”

“Never let them see you break. They can cage your body, but not your mind.”

Roman’s jaw clenched. “Mother.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “Don’t snarl at me, boy. You’re not your father yet.”

The servants held their breath. No one—no one—spoke to Roman like that.

Helena’s lips curved into a razor-sharp smile. “Careful, Roman. You may think you own her, but women like Emerald… they choose who they belong to. And that choice can unmake empires.”

Emerald’s pulse thundered. She didn’t know if Helena’s words were a warning, a blessing, or both.

But Roman’s eyes burned into her, darker than she’d ever seen. Not just anger. Not just control. Something hotter. Something terrifying.

Obsession.

---

Later that night, Emerald sat alone—no, not alone. Not anymore. In his room. Her room had been stripped bare and her belongings moved without her consent. Roman had made his decree, and no one had dared question it.

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest.

Was this jealousy? Possession? Some twisted version of love?

The door opened. Roman stepped inside, his eyes locked on her. Silence stretched between them, crackling like lightning.

Without a word, he crossed the room, his hand catching her chin, tilting her face to his.

“Defiance,” he whispered, his breath brushing her lips. “It makes me want to break you.”

Her body stiffened, heart pounding.

And then his mouth claimed hers.

It wasn’t a kiss of tenderness—it was a war, fierce and consuming, as if he needed to prove she was his with every unyielding press of his lips. Emerald gasped against him, the fight rising in her chest. She should push him away, should claw herself free.

But a crueler truth twisted through her veins.

Her body didn’t move.

Her pulse betrayed her.

When he pulled back, his gaze devoured her, triumphant and dangerous. “You can hate me all you want,” Roman murmured. “But you’ll never escape me.”

Emerald’s mind spun, Helena’s words echoing: They can cage your body, no

t your mind.

But as Roman’s dark eyes held her, she wondered if even her mind was safe anymore.

And the cruelest part—she didn’t know if she wanted it to be.

—