Chapter 4 Poison Of Pride

• "You're still up," Casian’s voice dropped like a heavy stone, his gravelly rumble echoing against the concrete floor the second he stepped out of the elevator.
• Megan didn't startle. She kept her back to him, focusing on the simmering pot. "I promised you dinner, Mr. Morello. A good chef doesn't leave her client starving, no matter how ungrateful he is."
• Casian let out a short, mocking laugh, the sound of his leather shoes dragging as he walked toward the kitchen. "Client? Is that what we are now, Megan? I thought you preferred the term 'husband' when you were blackmailing me in Brooklyn."
• "I use whatever term keeps you compliant," Megan countered, turning around and tilting her chin up defensively. She watched him close the distance, but as he got closer, her nostrils flared. "You've been drinking. And not the expensive whiskey you hide behind. Cheap gin. From a corporate lounge near Wall Street."
• Casian froze, his features instantly hardening into a cold mask. "Are you tracking my scent now, Megan? Is that your new trick?"
• "I don't need tricks. Your skin practically reeks of stress, Casian," Megan said, stepping out from behind the counter, holding a silver tasting spoon like a weapon. "What happened? Did the board of directors find out about our little arrangement? Did the great King of Wall Street get questioned by his subjects?"
• In two swift, blinding strides, Casian closed the distance between them. His powerful hand shot out, gripping her waist and pulling her flush against his towering frame, forcing a sharp gasp from her lips as her chest pressed tightly against his.
• "You think you’re so smart, don't you?" Casian hissed, his breath hot against her face, his fingers digging into her skin to anchor her hips firmly against his hard thighs. "You want to know what happened today? The board approved the transition. But they want a public appearance. A charity gala this Friday. They want to see the woman who managed to tame the sole heir of the Morello empire."
• Megan’s heart hammered violently against her ribs, the intense physical heat radiating from him sending a treacherous, familiar ache straight to her core. "Then give them what they want. Put me on display, Casian. Show them your beautiful, gold-digging wife from Brooklyn. Let's see who blinks first."
• Casian’s jaw clenched so tightly the vein on his neck bulged. "You think this is a game," he growled, his breathing turning incredibly heavy as he leaned down, his lips brushing past her jawline to trace a hot, wet line down her neck. "I will break you, Megan. Before Friday night, I will make sure you remember exactly who owns you in this house."
• Megan caught her breath, her eyes fluttering shut as a wave of pleasure crashed through her, her body betraying her completely as her thighs tightened instinctively. "You don't own me, Casian," she gasped out, her hands shifting to push against his hard chest with newfound strength. "You only own my presence. My mind, and my kitchen, belong entirely to me."
• Casian pulled back slowly, his eyes wild with a mixture of burning frustration and raw, unbridled lust. "We'll see about that on Friday night. The dress will be delivered tomorrow. Make sure it fits. I don't tolerate mistakes in public."
• Megan stood by the counter, her breath slowly returning to normal as he abruptly let go of her waist and stepped back into the shadow.
• "The dress will fit, husband," Megan spoke up, her voice echoing clearly across the silent penthouse. "Just make sure your pride can handle the attention."
• Casian stopped dead at the base of the floating staircase, his back stiffening as her words hit him, his hands balling into tight fists before he marched up the stairs without turning around.