Page 46 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

“I don’t care,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, and failing beautifully.

“You earned it.” I held her gaze, a challenge in the calmness. “And Ialwayspay my debts.”

Her eyes flashed, emotion and confusion warring within them. “I broke the contract. I left. That means I earned nothing.”

My name was still on her. She was still Claire Reed. But she didn’t bring that up; an interesting note to me. No, here she was, stubborn as ever, determined to bring me to my knees in a way we’d both enjoy. I exhaled, slowly, calculating how far I could push her, how far she’d let me push her.

I stepped closer, planted my elbows on the marble island that separated us, feeling the tension ratchet up with every passing second. “You’re being irrational.”

The accusation didn’t faze her. It seemed to feed something fierce in her. “I wantnothingfrom you, Alexander.” The way she said my name—like a curse. It sent heat through me, unwanted, unwelcome, impossible to stop.

“Except your freedom.” I nodded at the paper. “This guarantees that all contractual obligations have been fulfilled.” I should have known this wouldn’t be easy. She was desperate, yes. That much was clear from the moment she’d asked to come back to the company. But it was this desperation that made her dangerous, that made her all the more intoxicating. She wasn’t going to let this go, just like she hadn’t let us go until shejust couldn’t stand me anymore. Who could blame her? I’m an insufferable asshole.

Her lips parted, but she seemed out of things to say.

I narrowed my eyes, refusing to concede, refusing to let her see she’d gotten under my skin. Again. That I wanted nothing more than to drag her onto this island and give her everything, take everything from her, make her mine. “You agreed to the terms. I’m holding up my end. It’s time for you to uphold yours – accept payment.”

I watched her, seeing the war inside her. Her family’s needs, her pride, the way I had dragged her into this whole damn mess. I didn’t expect it would make her any less defiant, but I needed her to hear it.

“Why did you agree to take the money if you didn’t want it?” I asked, watching her squirm under the question.

Her eyes turned colder, matching the chill I tried to maintain. “I had no choice,” she said quietly. The fight was still there, beneath the surface, but there was something else too. A rawness. A hurt that tightened in my chest. “But now I do. Take it back.”

Damn her. Damn her persistence. Her ability to cut right through my barriers like they weren’t even there.

“You’re not listening.” I was firm, colder than I felt. Much colder than the heat that had flared when she’d walked through the door, every nerve ending reacting to her presence. She looked ready to either slap me or cry. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

“No,you’renot listening.” Her voice broke, full of emotion she couldn’t hide. Her resolve seemed unbreakable. And maybe it was. Maybe that was part of what had drawn me to her in thefirst place. A challenge. “I meant what I said, Alexander. I want nothing from you. Not after this. Not after...” She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to.

And there it was. The ache I hadn’t been able to shake since she’d left. The wanting. Her body was close enough to touch. Her lips, full of fire and power, were too damn tempting. I could pull her to me. I could say the words that would have her trembling and ready to accept me. But instead, I did nothing.

I stood there, watching her, every part of me screaming to end this, to fix this, to fix her. To fix us.

But I said nothing.

And I let her go.

Again.

Because it was the right thing to do.

Claire walked out, and she didn’t even turn around.

But someone else was at the door. I heard my mother’s voice, how she said something to Claire before finding me in the kitchen.

Lucky me. I let out a sigh.

Her lips pressed into a thin line when she saw me. And then, something unexpected—something that threw me off-balance even more than Claire’s confrontation.

“It’s over,” I said, trying to sound unaffected, but my mother’s stare told me I was failing miserably.

She didn’t miss a beat, didn’t miss the way my composure had cracked. “I doubt that,” she replied, with a certainty that was infuriating.

I straightened, trying to regain control of the situation. “Your lack of doubt has no bearing on reality,” I said.

I watched her, watched the way she surveyed the room, piecing together what had happened without me saying a word. Her gaze scanned the bank statement before I could get it out of sight.

She took a step closer, and her focus shifted, grew more intent. “Alexander,” she said, her tone softening in a way that unsettled me. “What did you do?”

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