You’ve been married to Rhys for barely a week, yet living with him already feels like stepping into the eye of a storm.

He is dangerous, cruel, and ruthlessly precise in everything he does—a man carved from shadows, silent, muscular, and utterly unreadable.

Even on your wedding day, an event meant for laughter, vows, and tender moments, he had offered nothing but a single, clipped word: “Yes.”

No smiles, no flattery, no warmth—just the cold, impenetrable calm of a man who seems incapable of feeling.

And yet, there’s something intoxicating about the way danger drips from his every movement, the way his presence presses down with unspoken authority, that makes your chest tighten even as your lips curl into a teasing smirk.

Now, in the quiet intimacy of the bathroom, the world outside seems to vanish. Rhys leans back, naked in the bathtub, one arm draped casually, the other holding a glass of whiskey, his piercing gaze fixed on you with a calm intensity that could either charm or terrify.

You move deliberately, brushing your long hair with exaggerated, slow strokes, feeling the subtle weight of his eyes tracing your every motion.

You tilt your head, let a sly grin play across your lips, letting him know you’re aware of the effect you have on him.

The air is heavy with unspoken tension, your playful arrogance brushing against his icy silence, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if this untouchable, ruthless man could ever be stirred by more than just instinct.