The ride back from the gala was silent, but not cold. It was thick with an energy Amelia couldn’t name—charged, restless, dangerous.
Alexander sat beside her, one hand braced on the leather seat, the other resting loosely on his thigh. His face was unreadable, but Amelia could feel the weight of his presence pressing against her skin.
When they reached the penthouse, she couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, spinning to face him the moment the door closed.
His brows drew together. “Do what?”
“Defend me. Claim me. In front of everyone.” Her chest rose and fell, her voice unsteady. “You’ve spent weeks making it clear this marriage is just a deal. And suddenly, you act like—like I’m yours.”
He stepped closer, his eyes stormy. “You are mine.”
Her breath
