Page 27 of Bound in Silk

A smile curls one corner of his mouth, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "That was me being restrained, Seraphina."

I believe him. That's the terrifying part. The man who stands before me, who looks at me like I'm both salvation and temptation, would burn the world to ash if I disappeared again.

"I needed space," I explain, though the words sound hollow even to my own ears. "Everything happened so fast—the gallery opening, us, the pregnancy. I just.. panicked."

"And now?" His voice drops an octave, becoming that dangerous velvet rumble that makes my toes curl against the hardwood floor.

"Now I accept my fate." The words should feel like surrender, like defeat. Instead, they taste like truth.

Knox's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. He sets his mug down on the nearby console with deliberate care. "Your fate?" He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face up. "Is that what I am to you? Some cosmic punishment?"

"No," I whisper, my pulse quickening. "That's not what I meant."

"Then perhaps you should explain exactly what you meant." His breath fans across my face, mingling with mine. "Because I am many things, Seraphina, but I am not a sentence to be served."

I close my eyes, gathering my scattered thoughts. When I open them again, Knox is still there, still watching me with that intense focus that makes me feel like the only woman in existence.

"I meant that I accept that this—us—is inevitable. That from the moment you walked into my gallery and looked at me like I was more valuable than every painting on display, some part of me knew I couldn't escape you." My voice grows stronger with each word. "I accept that you will never let me go, and I'm... I'm not sure I want you to anymore."

Something dark and hungry flares in Knox's gaze. His hand slides from my chin to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. "Say it again," he demands, the words a growl against my lips.

"I don't want you to let me go."

He crushes his mouth to mine, not asking permission, not seeking consent—simply taking what he considers his. And God help me, I give it freely. My hands clutch at his shoulders, my body melting against his solid frame. The mug in my hand tilts dangerously, but Knox, ever aware of everything in his orbit, takes it from me without breaking the kiss and sets it aside.

When he finally releases me, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, our shared air hot and intimate.

"I searched for you for six hours," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Do you know what that was like? To know you were out there, carrying my child, thinking you could disappear from my life?"

Guilt washes over me, an uncomfortable heat that spreads through my chest. "I'm sorry," I whisper, and I mean it. Not for trying to escape, perhaps, but for the pain I caused him. For not understanding sooner that this man's obsession with me isn't something to fear, but to embrace.

"I don't want your apologies." His hands frame my face, his eyes drilling into mine. "I want your promise. Your vow that you will never do that again. That you understand, truly understand, that you are mine. That our child is mine. That there is nowhere on this earth you could go that I would not find you."

There's something beautiful in his madness, in his absolute certainty. In a world of tepid feelings and casual discarding, Knox Vance wants me with a fervor that borders on religious.

"I understand," I tell him, reaching up to trace the hard line of his jaw. "I do. You'll never let me go."

"Never." The word is a vow, a threat, a promise.

And as his mouth claims mine again, as his hands slide possessively over the curves of my body, as he presses me against the window with the city spread out beneath us like a glittering offering, I surrender completely to the knowledge that I am caught. Captured. Claimed.

I am Knox Vance's, and he will never let me go.

And the most terrifying revelation of all? I don't want him to.

Chapter Sixteen

Seraphina

My fingers brushagainst the faint marks on my wrists, and I feel a jolt—not pain, but memory of being thoroughly claimed, thoroughly possessed, thoroughly dominated by the man sleeping beside me. Dawn light filters through the partially drawn curtains, painting Knox's sleeping form in gentle gold that softens his usual intensity. I should be angry about yesterday—about being thrown over his shoulder in public, about being tied to this bed, about being shown exactly what happens when I attempt to create space from Knox Vance's overwhelming presence. Instead, I find myself overwhelmed by a different emotion entirely, one I've been fighting since the moment he interrupted my wedding, one I've denied even to myself despite all evidence to the contrary. The emotion rises in me like a wave, unstoppable and terrifying in its power. I love him. Despite everything—the kidnapping, the control, the possessiveness that should repel me but somehow does the opposite. I love Knox Vance with a totality that frightens me more than any of his domineering actions ever could. And I don'tknow what to do with that realization, how to reconcile it with my fear of losing myself in his overwhelming presence, how to surrender to it without being completely consumed.

I study his face in sleep, the rare vulnerability that shows only in these unguarded moments. The slight furrow between his brows, as if he's solving problems even in dreams. The surprisingly long lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. The mouth that can deliver ruthless business ultimatums and breathtaking tenderness in equal measure. In sleep, the calculating billionaire recedes, leaving just Knox—the man who has moved heaven and earth to bring me back into his life, who has adjusted and adapted and compromised in ways I never thought possible from someone so unyielding.

Yesterday should have been my breaking point. The public spectacle of being carried through midtown Manhattan over his shoulder, the photos that are undoubtedly splashed across gossip sites and social media by now, the primal claiming that followed when we returned to the penthouse—all of it should have confirmed my worst fears about losing myself in his overwhelming presence. Should have proven that Knox Vance will always prioritize possession over partnership, control over compromise.

Instead, it revealed something I've been fighting since the moment he stormed into the cathedral and reclaimed me from Richard's arms. Something I tried to deny during those weeks on the island, during our return to New York, during the gradual rebuilding of intimacy between us. Something I ran from yesterday when I fled to that hotel room in a desperate grab for clarity.

I love him. Completely. Irrevocably. With a depth and intensity that makes every previous relationship seem like pale imitation, that makes my nearly-marriage to Richard look like the desperate grasping for safety it always was.

---