Page 22 of Bound in Matrimony

His expression doesn't change—no guilt, no apology, not even surprise that I've discovered his acquisition. "Yes."

"Without telling me."

"I was going to tell you when the transition was complete." He doesn't release my hands, his thumbs tracing small circles on my wrists. "I didn't want you to worry about the details."

"The details of my own career?" I raise an eyebrow, but there's no heat in my voice.

He studies me carefully, reading my mood with that uncanny perception that unnerved me when we first met. "You're not angry."

"I should be." I move closer, into his space. "It's presumptuous, controlling, and completely over the top. Like replacing my entire wardrobe. Like most things you do."

His eyes narrow slightly. "But?"

"But I've realized something." I place my palm over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath his expensive suit. Beneath my name, permanently inked into his skin. "I love how obsessed you are with me."

His breath catches, the only sign that my words have affected him.

"I love that you can't bear to have any part of my life outside your sphere of influence." I step even closer, until we're breathing the same air. "I love that you need to possess me so completely that you'd buy my workplace to ensure it's perfect for me."

His hands move to my waist, gripping with controlled strength. "Say it again."

"I love your obsession." I slide my hands up to frame his face. "I love how you've marked me as yours in a hundred different ways. I love knowing that the most powerful man I've ever met is completely fixated on claiming every aspect of my existence."

The control he maintains so effortlessly fractures. He crushes me against him, his mouth claiming mine with bruising intensity. I return his kiss with equal fervor, acknowledging with my body what I've just admitted with words—that his all-consuming need for me creates a security I've never known before.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark with emotion. "No one has ever understood before," he says, his voice rough. "They see the control, the possessiveness. They don't see what drives it."

"I see you." I press my forehead to his. "All of you. And I'm not going anywhere, Knox. Not ever. So you can stop buying every building I enter."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "No promises."

I laugh, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kisses me again. There in his office, surrounded by the symbols of his power and success, I surrender to the knowledge that being the obsession of Knox Vance isn't a limitation.

It's the most profound freedom I've ever known.

Chapter Thirteen

Knox

I've clearedmy schedule for the rest of the day. Billions in potential deals can wait. Board meetings can be postponed. The empire I've built from nothing will continue standing without my constant attention for a few hours. Nothing matters right now except the woman who confessed, with those remarkable green eyes steady on mine, that she loves my obsession with her. Seraphina Vance—my wife, my possession, my reason for everything—understands the depth of my need in a way no one else ever has. And tonight, I intend to show her a side of myself I've rarely revealed: patience. For once, I won't take her hard and fast, claiming her body with the same ruthless determination I apply to business acquisitions. Tonight, I'll make love to her slowly, deliberately, proving that my obsession has layers she hasn't yet discovered.

The penthouse is transformed according to my exacting specifications by the time we arrive home. Candlelight bathes every surface in warm, golden light. Dinner—prepared by a chef I flew in from Paris for the occasion—waits under silvercovers. Her favorite flowers fill the space with subtle fragrance. Music plays softly from the hidden speakers—a playlist I curated myself from the classical pieces she favors.

"What's all this?" Seraphina asks as I guide her inside, her eyes widening at the scene I've created.

"This is me showing you that obsession has many forms." I take her coat, my fingers lingering at the nape of her neck. "Not all of them involve acquiring galleries behind your back."

Her laugh is soft, without a trace of the resentment another woman might harbor. "I rather liked that particular demonstration of your possessiveness."

"I know." I lead her to the table, pulling out her chair. "That's why you're dangerous, Seraphina. You encourage my worst tendencies."

"Or your best ones." She settles into her seat, the candlelight catching the gold in her honey-blonde hair. "Depending on your perspective."

I pour sparkling water into her glass and take my seat across from her. The distance between us feels like an unwelcome obstacle, but I remind myself of my purpose. Patience. Control of a different sort than I usually exercise with her.

Her acceptance of my obsessive nature has unlocked something in me. Most women would have been horrified to discover I'd secretly purchased their workplace. They would have seen it as controlling, manipulative, excessive. Seraphina saw it for what it was—a manifestation of my need to protect and possess what matters most to me. And instead of fighting against it, she embraced it. Embraced me, with all my sharp edges and consuming needs.

I owe her something in return. A glimpse of the vulnerability that drives my relentless pursuit of her. A demonstration that my obsession isn't just about control—it's about devotion.

---