Page 13 of Vintage

Out of nowhere, my hand just hung there, empty in the air, the warmth of my wife completely vanished! My eyes darted around, searching for her presence—she was there just a second ago, and now? Gone! Just like that!

"Are you looking for someone?" That sweet, sickly voice pulled me in, and I was helpless against it.

This was never how it used to be. But ever since she started showing up with her stupid cakes and flowers, chatting about art and creation, I actuallyfelt at ease. The gnawing sense of loss? Poof! It vanished, and I was actually happy about it.

Willow, that charming little distraction, loved to keep me company and help me in the studio. So, when she invited me for lunch and dinner at her place, how could I say no? Not when her tea smelled like a damn garden and her cake was a revelation! It was like a soothing balm for my soul!

But then, hours slipped away with her, and I felt a twinge of guilt leaving her alone in that desolate mansion. And the townsfolk? They treated her like dirt! Sure, they’d take her money, but warmth? Kindness? Forget it. They suddenly were just as ugly as their attitudes.

She was a stranger when she bought that house, and it was hard to wrap my head around the fact that the people of Willow Crest could be so cruel.

"I was looking for my wife," I told her, and she shot me a comforting smile before her gaze drifted to the dance floor behind us.

"That lovely woman is having a blast, so maybe you shouldn’t bother her," Willow suggested.

I couldn't take my eyes off her, but when I turned, there she was—my wife, wrapped up in the arms of some pathetic loser, laughing like she was in a damn fairytale. The calmness on her face, once twisted in anguish, made my heart pound like a war drum.

She was chatting with him, giggling, while he leaned in, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

That sight? It ignited a fire in my veins.

How dare he lay a finger on my wife?!

A red mist descended over my vision, and my feet moved on their own, stalking toward her like a predator. My fists clenched so tight, the veins on my arms bulged with rage.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and I marched straight to Amery. She didn’t bother looking at me. The moment I stood behind her, that creep’s smug grin shifted from her to me, and it was crystal clear—he knew exactly who I was and why I was there.

No one uses my wife to play games with me.

I laid my hand on her shoulder, and she spun around, halting in her tracks.

"Who the hell—" Her eyes shot daggers at me, furious at my interruption, but I was seething at the sight of her with him.

"Your husband, Mrs. Rowan." My voice was a low growl, and with her tiny frame in front of my towering form, she looked like prey, ripe for the taking, ready to be devoured.

She shoved the guy away, sensing my fury, and gasped, "Ro."

I couldn’t tear my gaze from her fragile little self.

Of course, I thrive on that fear in her eyes just as much as I adore her.

But there was a side of me she didn’t need to see—not this crazed, obsessive monster who wanted to punish her and possess her entirely.

"We're leaving, Mrs. Rowan."

I clamped down on her hand like a vice, yanking her out of the club, and I could see Darius smirking in my peripheral vision while Willow's eyes were drowning in sadness. But you know what? For the first time in ages, I didn’t give a damn about her tears because my wife was my only focus.

"Ro, don’t be insane!" she screamed, struggling to break free from my grip, but tonight? Not a chance in hell was she escaping.

Not until I decided it was time.

I stormed over to my Jeep, and yanked her in front of me, her back slamming against the passenger door with a painful thud that made her groan.

Sweetheart, why?

I leaned in, boxing her in with my arms, trapping her between me and the car. A predator cornering its prey.

She glared at me, teeth clenched, every fiber of her being radiating defiance, but I could see her squirming, pressing her back against the cold metal, wincing in discomfort.

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