Chapter 5 Armor Of A Sovereign

• "Is the dress to your satisfaction, or do I need to fire my personal shopper?" Casian asked, his baritone voice cutting through the hum of the kitchen refrigerator.
• Megan didn't flinch. She kept her hands wrapped around her mug of tea, her eyes fixed on the long garment bag lying flat across the island. "The dress is fine, Casian. It’s the color I find amusing. Midnight black. Are we celebrating your transition to the throne or attending a funeral for your pride?"
• Casian let out a short, rough laugh, tossing his sunglasses onto the marble surface with a sharp clack. "We are celebrating the fact that Morello Holdings stays in my hands. And tonight, you are going to look exactly like the silent, supportive wife the board expects you to be."
• "A silent wife?" Megan tilted her chin up, a mocking smile curving her lips as he stepped right into her personal space. "You’ve known me for a week, Casian. Have I ever struck you as a woman who stays quiet?"
• Casian’s expression hardened instantly, his chest almost brushing hers. "You will play the part, Megan. The Plaza Hotel will be crawling with Wall Street press. If you say one wrong word, if you give the board even a single reason to think this marriage is a sham—"
• "What?" Megan interrupted, her breath hitching as his body heat completely enveloped her. "You'll divorce me? We signed the contract, husband. Two years. You break it, you lose everything."
• In one swift motion, Casian’s hand shot out, his powerful fingers gripping her waist and lifting her effortlessly until she was forced to sit on the edge of the high marble counter. Megan gasped, her hands instinctively flying to his broad shoulders to steady herself. His hard thighs instantly wedged between hers, locking her in place, his body heat completely enveloping her.
• "Do not test my patience, Megan," Casian hissed, his breath hot against her lips, his fingers digging into her skin through her sweater. "The contract protects your wealth. It doesn't protect you from the things I can do to you behind closed doors."
• "Is that so?" Megan whispered, her breath hitching as his hip pressed firmly against her core, sending a sudden, electric ache straight through her body. Her skin tingled where his fingers held her. "And what exactly do you plan to do, husband? Lock me away? Or break your own rules and put me in your bed?"
• Casian’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening to a near-black pitch. His gaze dropped hungrily to her lips, his breathing turning incredibly heavy. "You think you’re untouchable because you know how to handle a knife. But you have no idea how easily I can ruin you."
• "Then do it," Megan taunted softly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tailored shirt, pulling him just a fraction closer until their lips almost brushed. "Show me the ruthless monster everyone in New York is so afraid of."
• Casian let out a low, ragged growl. He leaned down, his lips brushing past her mouth to press a harsh, demanding kiss right below her jawline. Megan’s eyes fluttered shut, a gasp of pure pleasure escaping her throat as his rough tongue traced a burning path down the sensitive skin of her neck. Her thighs tightened around his hips instinctively, her body betraying every ounce of her anger, melting into the raw, primal excitement that always exploded between them.
• "You are a plague, Megan," Casian murmured darkly against her throat, his teeth lightly grazing her skin, threatening to leave a brilliant red mark just above her collarbone.
• "And you're the one who signed the contract to keep me," Megan gasped out, her hands shifting to press against his chest, forcing him back just enough so she could breathe, though her heart was hammering like a trapped bird.
• Casian pulled back slowly, his chest heaving, his hazel eyes wild with a mixture of blinding frustration and unbridled lust. He stared at her flushed cheeks and her swollen lips, his fingers slowly releasing their tight grip on her waist.
• "Put the dress on," Casian said, his voice thick and rough as he stepped back, his cold corporate mask struggling to return. "The car leaves in twenty minutes. If you’re not down, I’m dragging you to the gala exactly as you are."
• Megan slid off the counter, her legs feeling momentarily weak, but she quickly straightened her clothes, a victorious, sharp smile curving her lips.
• "I'll be ready, Casian," Megan spoke up, her voice steady and resonant as he walked toward the elevator. "Just make sure you don't stare too hard tonight. The press might think you actually love me."
• Casian stopped dead in tracks, his back stiffening as her words hit him. He didn't turn around, his hands balling into tight fists before the elevator doors slid shut, separating them.
• Twenty minutes later, the grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was a sea of flashing cameras, expensive champagne, and the suffocating scent of high society perfume.
• Megan walked side-by-side with Casian, her arm looped securely through his. The midnight black silk dress fit her perfectly, hugging every curve of her waist and hips, while the low-cut back exposed her smooth skin. Casian looked immaculate in a classic black tuxedo, his expression a wall of cold, unreadable ice.
• "Smile, darling," Casian whispered through gritted teeth as dozens of photographers rushed toward them. "The Wall Street Journal is watching."
• "I am smiling, husband," Megan replied smoothly, her lips curved into a flawless, captivating smile as the cameras flashed. "Though I’m mostly smiling at the thought of how much you hate holding my hand right now."
• Casian’s grip on her waist tightened significantly, his large hand pressing her close against his side as they moved toward the VIP lounge where the board members were waiting. "Keep playing with fire, Megan. The night is still young."
• "Nona Vance—ah, excuse me, Mrs. Morello!" a sharp, older voice interrupted them.
• Megan turned to see an elderly man with silver hair and a tailored grey suit approaching. It was Thomas Vance, the senior board member who had openly opposed Arthur’s will.
• "Mr. Vance," Casian acknowledged, his voice turning completely professional, though his aura remained intensely dominant. "I assume you’ve reviewed the final quarterly reports?"
• "The reports are excellent, Casian," Thomas said, his eyes shifting to Megan, scanning her with a cold, condescending look. "I’m just surprised to see the rumors were true. A private chef from Brooklyn, suddenly running the family estate. I must ask, Mrs. Morello, what is your secret recipe for capturing a billionaire's heart so quickly?"
• The insult was thinly veiled, a direct slap to her background. Casian’s jaw hardened, his posture growing rigid as he prepared to deliver a cold, corporate response to defend his choice.
• However, Megan did not need his defensiveness.
• She took a half-step forward, her smile widening into something incredibly sharp, her eyes locking onto Thomas with absolute confidence.
• "There is no secret recipe, Mr. Vance," Megan said, her voice clear and carrying just enough weight to catch the attention of the surrounding guests. "A good chef simply knows how to identify quality, and more importantly, how to eliminate the bitter elements that ruin the overall taste. I’m sure you understand exactly what I mean when it comes to managing the board."
• Thomas’s face turned instantly pale, his eyes widening in shock at her blatant audacity.
• Beside her, Megan felt Casian’s body relax slightly, a flash of pure, genuine amusement darting through his hazel eyes before he looked down at her.
• "My wife is quite discerning, Thomas," Casian spoke up, his voice dropping to a low, possessive register as his hand slid lower, resting firmly on the small of Megan’s bare back. "And I highly suggest you take her advice before the next board meeting."
• Thomas swallowed hard, nodding quickly before excusing himself into the crowd.
• Megan turned her head to look at Casian, her eyebrow arched. "Did the King of Wall Street just back me up?"
• Casian leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear, his breath sending a familiar jolt of electricity down her spine. "Don't get used to it, Megan. You handled the wolf, but inside the penthouse, I’m still the one who rules."
• Megan smiled, her eyes flashing with a cold, unbreakable defiance as she looked up at him. "Then let's go home, husband. I want to see how long your rule lasts tonight."