Chapter 2

Lyra's POV

The next evening, I slipped into that silk slip dress.

The thing was practically held together by threads—thin straps that looked like they'd snap with the slightest tug, a neckline plunging dangerously low, and a hem that barely grazed the tops of my thighs.

I painted my lips a bold red and dabbed a bit of woody perfume along my collarbones.

Now that I knew Damian's hand, I didn't mind upping the ante.

I poured myself a whiskey on the rocks, left my feet bare, and pushed open the study door.

Damian was seated behind his desk, reviewing documents.

At the sound, he glanced up.

The moment his eyes landed on me, I swear I watched his pupils contract sharply, his breath catching for a full three seconds.

"Lyra?" His voice came out lower than usual.

His gaze flicked from my exposed collarbones to my thighs before he forced it back down to the papers in front of him.

"Evening, husband." I drew out the last word deliberately, crossing over to his desk.

I didn't stop there. I walked around and leaned against the edge right beside his chair.

Leaning forward slightly, I brought the glass of whiskey to his lips.

"Working late again? Have a drink."

With the shift in my posture, the neckline of the slip dress dipped even lower.

I could feel every muscle in Damian's body lock up like stone.

His grip on the pen tightened until his knuckles went white, veins standing out on the back of his hand.

"What the hell are you wearing?" He didn't take the glass. "Go back upstairs, put some clothes on, and get out."

"I'm not cold." I smiled faintly and, instead of backing off, climbed right onto his lap.

His breathing turned heavy and ragged in an instant.

I looped my arms around his rigid neck, fingers trailing lightly through the short hair behind his ear.

"Damian, we've been married a month. You planning to make me a widow while I'm still breathing?"

A flush of red crept into the corners of his eyes.

I could feel the heat radiating off him, climbing by the second.

"Lyra, don't push me." His jaw was tight. His hands hovered in midair, like he wanted to touch me but was fighting some deep, primal urge not to.

"What if I am pushing you?" I met his gaze without flinching. "Are you incapable, or just unwilling?"

That question hit a nerve—hard.

Damian's hand shot out, gripping my waist and shoving me off his lap with enough force to send me stumbling.

Even though he'd clearly tried to hold back, I still lost my balance. My lower back slammed into the edge of the desk, and I sucked in a sharp breath from the pain.

"Get out." He stood abruptly. "Stop with this childish nonsense. If you're bored, take the Kovac black card and go shopping. I don't have time for whatever game this is."

Without so much as a glance in my direction, he stormed past me and into the en suite bathroom.

The door slammed shut. A second later, I heard the rush of water.

I stood there, rubbing my aching lower back, fury rising fast and hot in my chest.

I'd thrown myself at him, and he shoved me away?

Even if he had some secret he couldn't talk about, did he really have to hurt me to hide it?

"If you can't handle it, just say so!" I snapped, too angry to care. "There are plenty of other men out there, and I can damn well find one!"

I slammed the whiskey glass down on the desk and turned to storm out.

As I yanked the door open, I caught it from the corner of my eye—Damian pulling open a drawer, taking something out.

I was furious, and his first instinct wasn't to come after me?

I couldn't make out what it was.

Only that he brought it up to his face and inhaled slowly, deliberately.

Something cold settled in my chest without warning.

Because if that was something that belonged to Chloe—