The bedroom door flew open before I could think further. Ashton walked in, rain clinging to him, his clothes damp and dark. He didn't look at me, not even for a second. He went straight into the bathroom, and soon the sound of running water filled the room.
Sleep was no longer an option. I sat up, pulled on a sweater, and opened the wardrobe. Out of habit, I took out his pajamas and placed them neatly by the bathroom door. Small gestures like this had become instinctive over the years, things a bonded mate did, even when the bond felt thin and brittle.
I stepped onto the balcony instead. The rain had begun to fall, light but steady. The air smelled clean, sharp, and charged. The city lights below blurred through the drizzle, and somewhere deep in my chest, something stirred uneasily. I rested my hands on the railing, trying to calm the restless pull inside me.
Footsteps sounded behind me. I turned to see Ashton emerge from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was wet, water sliding down his shoulders and chest. He looked powerful like this, untamed, as if he was born to command storms and silence rooms.
I looked away too late. His eyes caught mine, and his brows drew together slightly.
"You're still awake?" he added flatly. "I thought you'd learned how to stay out of the way by now."
"Come here," he said, his voice devoid of warmth, just an order.
I walked over without thinking. He tossed the towel at me. "Dry my hair."You might as well be useful," he said, already looking away."
This was normal. His dominance filled the space naturally, like gravity. He sat on the edge of the bed, and I climbed up behind him, kneeling as I gently dried his hair.
"Grandpa's funeral is tomorrow," I said softly. "We should go to the family home early." It wasn't a conversation; it was just duty.
"Mm," he replied, nothing more.
I fell silent. I always knew when not to push. I focused on the slow motion of my hands, on the rise and fall of his shoulders. When I finished, I set the towel aside and lay back down.
Lately, sleep had come too easily. My body felt heavier, slower, as if it were guarding something precious. I closed my eyes, expecting him to leave for his study like he always did.
But he didn't. The mattress dipped behind me, and the sheets shifted. My eyes opened in surprise just as his arm slid around my waist, firm and sure, pulling me against his chest.
"Don't misunderstand," he murmured near my ear. "This doesn't mean anything."
My breath caught. His body was warm, solid, familiar in a way that hurt. Before I could turn or speak, his lips brushed mine: soft, brief, almost hesitant.
That single touch sent a quiet shiver through me. Instinct surged, and emotion followed. For one fragile moment, the bond between us tightened, whispering promises neither of us dared to speak aloud.
I lifted my eyes to him, feeling confused and tense. "Ashton, I'm..."
"Unwilling?" he interrupted coolly.
His lips curved slightly. "Or are you about to pretend this matters to you now?"
His gaze darkened, something sharp and restless flashing in his eyes. The air between us felt tight and charged, like a challenge I didn't know how to answer. I looked away.
It wasn't that I didn't want him; wanting had never been the problem. Want was easy. Control was not.
"Can you be gentler?" I asked quietly, my hand resting against my stomach without thinking. Everything inside me felt fragile, as if one wrong move could shatter it.
His jaw tightened. He exhaled sharply.
"You're not made of glass," he said. "And you're not fragile. Stop acting like you are."
The bed shifted. His presence closed in, heavy and overwhelming. The room filled with heat and pressure, his dominance crashing over me like a tide that didn't stop to ask for permission. I clenched my teeth, curling inward, focusing on holding myself still, trying to protect whatever I could.
Outside, the rain began to pour harder. Thunder cracked through the sky, sharp and sudden, and lightning lit up the room in brief flashes. Each burst of light felt too bright, too much, like the night itself was reacting to the storm inside him.
When it was over, he said "Don't read into this," he said over. "It was just instinct."he then pulled away without a word and went into the bathroom.
I lay there, soaked in cold sweat, my body aching. I considered getting up to take something for the pain, but that thought vanished as quickly as it came. Instead, I stayed still, breathing slowly and counting each heartbeat.
The phone rang on the bedside table.
I glanced at the clock. Eleven.
I didn't need to see the name on the screen to know who it was.
The sound of water stopped. Ashton stepped out, a towel around his waist, and picked up the phone. I watched his face as he listened, his brows drawing together.
"Rebecca, stop it," he said, his voice low and tense.
He ended the call, dressed quickly, and reached for his jacket.
Usually, I would have said nothing, but tonight, something inside me refused to stay quiet.
I reached out and caught his arm. "Can you stay tonight?"
He looked down at me, displeasure flickering across his face. "Was that enough to make you clingy?"
His eyes flicked briefly to the bed, then back to me.
"Or do you always confuse obligation with affection?"
The words stung.
I shook my head, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "Tomorrow is Grandpa's funeral. No matter who you care about, shouldn't you show some restraint?"
His expression hardened.
"Are you threatening me?" he asked softly.
In one swift movement, his fingers caught my chin and lifted my face until I had no choice but to look at him. His voice dropped, dangerous yet calm.
"You've grown bold, Scarlett Stovall. Don't forget your place," he continued quietly. "You were never chosen. You were assigned."