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“Cora.” His voice drops so low it causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. But you will take the glass and drink with your husband on your wedding night. And you will learn, starting now, that when I give you an instruction, you will follow it.”

“Or what?” I spit, finally looking up at him. “You’ll threaten my father and force me to marry you? Too late, Roman. You’ve already played that card. You have nothing left to hold over me.”

The silence stretches between us as his lips curl into the patient, knowing smile of a man who has planned for every contingency, and I realize with a sinking heart that he is prepared to stand here all night. He has nowhere else to be and nothing he wants more than my submission. Swallowing my pride, my hand trembles slightly as I lift it to take the glass from him.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and the words send a shiver down my spine that I tell myself is revulsion.

Roman drains his glass and sets it on a side table before removing his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of a chair, and rolling up his sleeves. I watch him with my heart thumping against my ribs. This is it. I knew this moment was coming, but that doesn’t mean I am dreading the consummation of this sham marriage any less.

Instead of reaching for me, he crosses the apartment to an arrangement of furniture that faces the windows and sits in a large leather-upholstered armchair. “Come here, angel.”

With the champagne flute shaking in my hand, I silently refuse his request.

“Cora.”

“I said no.” My voice is higher than I want it to be, breathless with fear. “I’m not your dog, Roman. I’m not going to come when you call.”

“I was hoping we could avoid this tonight.” He sighs, and it’s a sound of genuine regret. “I wanted our first evening as husband and wife to be… instructional, rather than punitive. But you insist on testing me, don’t you? It’s almost as if you can’t help yourself.” Roman stands, annoyance written across his face, and I take a step back. He follows my retreat until my spine hits the cold glass of the window. “Last chance,” he warns softly. “Come sit with me.”

I lift my chin, channeling every ounce of blue-blooded Harrington arrogance from each family member who came before me. “Make me.” He moves faster than I expect for a man his size, his large hand wrapping firmly around my upper arm before I have a chance to react. I struggle, kicking at his shins and trying to twist away as he half drags me across the room to his chair. “Let go!”

“Stop fighting me, Cora,” he instructs calmly as he retakes his seat. Before I understand what’s happening, I find myself across his lap. I freeze, unable to process the indignity and humiliation of being draped over his knees like a misbehaving brat. He pulls the skirt of my wedding dress up my back until my panty-covered ass is fully exposed.

“What are you… Roman! Don’t you da—” I’m silenced by my own gasp when his hand comes down on my backside with a crack that echoes through the silent apartment. Heat blooms across my skin where he struck. “You bastard! I’ll kill you, I’ll⁠—”

He spanks me again, harder, and I yelp, squirming futilely against his hold. His arm is like iron across my back, pinning me in place, as his hand rises and falls with methodical precision. The obscene sound of his palm meeting my flesh fills the room as he alternates between my cheeks.

“You will not speak to me with disrespect.” His voice is utterly composed, as if he’s discussing the weather, rather than assaulting his new wife. “You will not defy my instructions. You will not test my patience.”

“I hate you!” I scream, tears of humiliation springing to my eyes. “I hate you, I hate y⁠—”

Smack. Smack. Smack.

His rhythm is relentless, each strike building on the last, the heat spreading until my skin burns beneath the thin silk of my underwear. “You are my wife,” he continues, his hand finally coming to rest heavily on my heated flesh. I can feel the intimate warmth of his palm through the thin fabric as he possessively palms my cheek. “That means something to me. It means you belong to me. It means I am responsible for you—for your behavior, your well-being, and when needed, your discipline.”

“You’re insane,” I sob into the leather chair, my mascara running, and my perfect wedding updo coming undone. “This is insane.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees. “But it’s also necessary. You need to understand the new order of things, and that your defiance has consequences.” He lifts me from across his legs and into his lap. I try to stand, but my unsteady legs cause me to fall against his chest. “Look at me.”

I shake my head, pressing my face into his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him despite myself.

“Cora. Look at me.”

My eyes are swimming, and my vision is blurred, but I can see him clearly enough when I lift my head to read his expression. He’s not angry or even smug. “That was your first lesson.” He reaches up, his thumb tenderly brushing a tear from my cheek. “Your first punishment. There will be others if you keep defying me. But there will also be rewards, angel. There will be pleasure—if you learn to submit.”

My bottom throbs with heat, and my dignity lies in ruins as I cling to him like a drowning woman. But mere breaths from giving him what he wants, I snarl, “I’ll never submit to you.”

“You will,” he counters, and unlike me, there’s no doubt in his voice. “You will submit because you have no choice. Because you want to. I will teach you to crave it. To crave me.”

He stands, lifting me easily. Cradled in his arms, he carries me to the bedroom. When we cross the threshold, I tense, expecting him to throw me on the bed and take what he wants. Instead, he sets me down on the edge of the mattress gently before stepping back to look at me. “Tonight, you sleep alone.”

Although I’m getting what I want, I blink up at him in confusion. “What?”

“I could take you now. We both know that. You’d fight, and you’d lose. In the end, you’d lie there while I used you. And tomorrow, you’d hate me even more than you do now. But that’s not what I want. I want you to be willing and desperate. I want you to come to me, begging me to take not just your body, but your submission.”

“That will never happen,” I spit, my voice still trembling.

“We’ll see.” Roman turns to leave, and I should be grateful that my wedding night won’t be the assault I feared. But instead, I feel lost. His punishment has left me raw and vulnerable, and every step he takes toward the door feels like abandonment.