Chapter 3 THE DEVIL'S BED

Liana had never felt so exposed.

Not even when she was seventeen, standing in the hallway of her father's estate, crying silently as Dominic pressed a kiss against her tear-soaked cheek and promised he'd find her again. That was a different kind of vulnerability-naïve, tender.

This was something else.

This was calculated. Inevitable.

The penthouse was quiet when they returned from the gala, but her heart was not. It beat like a drum in her chest, as if trying to warn her of the man whose presence filled every inch of the room.

Dominic loosened his tie with a flick of his fingers, dark eyes fixed on her like he could hear every thought she was trying to suppress.

"You didn't say much tonight," he said. His voice wasn't accusing-just observant. As always.

"You said enough for both of us," she replied, kicking off her heels and walking toward the bar in the corner. She poured herself a glass of something amber and sharp and downed it without tasting it.

She needed to feel something that wasn't him.

"You handled yourself well," he continued, stepping behind her. His reflection appeared in the mirror behind the bar-tall, powerful, untouchable. "You played the part."

She set the glass down. "That's all I am to you, isn't it? A part in your sick little performance."

He didn't respond immediately. And that silence wrapped around her like silk-dangerous, suffocating, hard to escape.

Then, quietly, "Is that what you think this is?"

She turned to face him, crossing her arms to steady herself. "Don't pretend this is anything more than revenge."

Dominic moved closer, slow and deliberate. "You think I would go through all this trouble just for revenge?"

"Yes," she snapped. "Because that's who you are now, Dominic. You don't feel. You calculate. You build empires, you destroy enemies, and you use people like chess pieces. And I just happen to be the queen you needed."

A long pause passed between them. Then-

"Wrong," he said. His voice was low, but it vibrated through her ribcage like a warning.

He stepped even closer, so close she could smell his cologne-woodsy and dark, like a forest at nightfall. His hand lifted, not to touch her, but to trace the air between them.

"You're not the queen," he said softly. "You're the weakness I never outgrew."

Her breath caught.

And in that moment, the air between them shifted. No more venom. No more power plays.

Just heat.

Undeniable. Dangerous. And very, very real.

"Don't do this," she whispered.

"I'm not doing anything," he murmured, eyes never leaving hers. "You're the one trembling."

She hated that he was right.

She hated even more that part of her wanted to close the distance.

But then, Dominic turned and walked away.

"You can sleep in the master bedroom tonight," he said, loosening the last button of his shirt. "Or take the guest room down the hall. I won't touch you... unless you ask me to."

She stared at him.

"You think I'd ever ask for that?"

He met her gaze evenly. "I think you will. Eventually."

***

The master bedroom was dark when she entered, lit only by the soft city lights bleeding in through the curtains. She didn't know why she chose this room. Maybe because it still smelled like him. Maybe because part of her wanted to prove to herself that she wasn't afraid.

But she was.

Of him. Of herself. Of the twisted, magnetic pull between them.

Liana sat on the edge of the massive bed, fingers trembling as she reached behind her to unzip the crimson dress. It fell in a pool at her feet, and for the first time that night, she felt bare.

Not naked-bare. Vulnerable in ways she didn't know how to name.

The bathroom door creaked open.

She turned instinctively-only to see him. Shirtless. Wet hair. Towel slung low on his hips. And eyes that devoured her like he'd been starving for years.

Neither of them moved.

The silence between them crackled with heat. And when he stepped toward her-just one step-her breath caught.

"I told you I wouldn't touch you," he said, voice hoarse. "But I didn't say I wouldn't look."

She swallowed hard, her body betraying her again-leaning forward, aching toward him like gravity itself had chosen sides.

"Then don't look," she whispered.

"I can't help it."

He stood there, every inch of him sculpted and lethal, and yet-somehow-he looked at her like she was the one who could destroy him.

She turned her face away. "You said this wasn't revenge."

"It's not."

"Then what is it?"

He took a slow breath.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But it's not over. Not until I know why you left me. Not until I know if you're lying when you say you hate me."

Her heart slammed into her chest.

He took another step. Then another.

She should have stopped him. She should have run. But her body betrayed her completely this time-she didn't move.

He leaned down, voiced just a breath against her skin.

"When you finally beg me to touch you," he said, "I want you to remember this moment. Because I gave you a choice."

And then-he left.

Just like that.

Leaving her alone in the devil's bed.