The First Night That Wasn’t
1069 Words
The bedroom lights were off when I entered, but I knew he was there.
I could feel him before I saw him.
Dominic stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, hands in his pockets, tuxedo jacket discarded, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. The skyline lit his silhouette, casting a golden glow along his jawline like the night itself bowed to him.
He didn’t look at me when he spoke.
“Do you always shake when you lie?”
My breath caught. “What?”
“At the board meeting,” he said calmly. “When I told them you’d be joining the foundation, you smiled. But your hands trembled.”
I crossed my arms, suddenly cold despite the warm air in the room. “I wasn’t prepared. You didn’t tell me.”
“I don’t explain my moves, Elena. I expect my queen to move with me. Not behind me.”
Queen.
The word didn’t fit me. Not in this world. Not next to him.
“I never asked for this.”
He turned slowly, gaze sharp, like he could see straight through my skin.
“No, you didn’t. But you took it. And now you need to learn how to wear the crown without bleeding.”
I swallowed hard. “And what about you? Do you ever bleed, Dominic? Or is your heart made of concrete too?”
He took one step toward me. Then another.
I stood my ground, but every inch of my body was screaming to either run or reach for him.
“I bleed when I choose,” he said. “And never for the wrong woman.”
The air between us thickened. His eyes dropped to my mouth for a fraction of a second, and I hated how much I noticed.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I whispered.
“Why?”
“Because you’ll make me believe you want me.”
His expression didn’t change. Not even a twitch.
“I don’t need you to believe anything. I need you to be useful.”
There it was. The knife. Clean, precise, brutal.
I stepped back like the words had slapped me. Maybe they had.
“So this is what I am to you. A useful mistake.”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “No. You were a smart mistake.”
Then he walked past me, brushing my shoulder slightly as he did, and disappeared into the bathroom.
The door clicked shut behind him, and I stood in the middle of the master bedroom, drowning in silence, in his words, in the way his scent still lingered on my skin from the gala.
I hated him.
I wanted him.
And I hated myself even more for wanting him.
⸻
I tried to sleep, but my mind spun like a storm refusing to pass.
The sheets were too soft. The room too quiet. The wedding ring too heavy.
I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours before I heard the bathroom door open again.
He emerged shirtless.
I should’ve looked away.
I didn’t.
His torso was carved — all hard lines, shadows, and scars. The kind of body that wasn’t born of vanity, but violence. A man who’d fought for power and taken every hit along the way.
“You’re still awake,” he said.
“So are you.”
He walked over to the bed and stood at his side.
“I can sleep in the guest room,” I offered quietly. “We don’t have to do this.”
He raised a brow. “Do what?”
“This. Pretend to be a couple. Share a bed like—”
“I don’t pretend, Elena.”
He slid into the bed beside me, body radiating heat but not offering any of it. His tone dropped as he added, “You’re my wife. This is your place now.”
The words landed in the pit of my stomach like stone.
“But that doesn’t mean I’ll touch you,” he added.
I turned to him. “Why not?”
He didn’t flinch. “Because you want me to.”
My throat tightened. “So you’re punishing me for that?”
“No.” He turned his head slowly. “I’m protecting you. Because if I touch you, Elena, I won’t stop. And you’ll never be able to lie to yourself again about who you really are.”
A flush spread down my chest. “And who am I, exactly?”
“The girl who craves what doesn’t belong to her.”
I sat up, eyes stinging. “You think I stole you from her.”
“I think,” he said evenly, “you never tried to stop me.”
I slapped the pillow and stood. “I didn’t ask for you. I didn’t ask for this marriage. I didn’t ask to be dragged into your cold little empire like some pet project. I was fine being invisible. I was safe there.”
Dominic was on his feet before I could blink. He closed the space between us in two strides.
“You were miserable there,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Hiding in her shadow. Letting her take everything you wanted while you sat and clapped for her like a loyal dog.”
My hand rose before I could stop it.
But he caught my wrist mid-air.
And for a moment, neither of us breathed.
His grip was tight but not cruel. His jaw clenched. His eyes burned into mine like wildfire frozen behind glass.
“You want to hate me,” he said. “You want to paint me as the villain so you can feel pure.”
“I don’t feel pure,” I whispered.
“Good,” he said. “Because you’re not.”
He released my wrist.
I stumbled back, heart racing, and turned away before he could see the tears threatening to betray me.
Behind me, his voice softened — not kind, but honest.
“You didn’t take Camilla’s place, Elena. You created your own.”
I didn’t know how long I stood there in silence.
When I finally turned around, he was back in bed, eyes closed, like none of it had happened.
But I felt it.
The shift.
Something had cracked open between us. Something dark and hungry and real.
And I wasn’t sure if I should run.
Or fall.
- Writer
