"You forget who I am."

Zayan's voice was a low growl in the dim light of their bedroom, the weight of his words pressing against Aaliya's skin like a brand.

She stood by the window, the moonlight tracing the defiant line of her shoulders. "I know exactly who you are," she said, her voice steady—but the flicker of her pulse at her throat betrayed her. "A man who thinks marriage is ownership."

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest as he closed the distance between them. His fingers caught her wrist, pulling her back against him—hard. The heat of his body seared through the thin fabric of her nightdress, his breath a whisper against her ear.

"No, Sweetheart," he corrected, his grip tightening just enough to make her breath hitch. "Marriage is responsibility. And I take what's mine very seriously."

She twisted in his hold, but he didn't relent. Instead, his free hand slid around her waist, possessive and unyielding, locking her in place. His lips brushed the curve of her shoulder, not quite a kiss—just a threat of one.

"You want to fight me?" His voice was velvet-wrapped steel. "Go ahead. But you won't win."

Aaliya turned her face away, but he caught her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. The fire in his eyes wasn't just anger—it was something darker. Something hungry.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Her lashes fluttered, but she held his stare. "Or what?"

A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. "Or I'll remind you exactly what happens when you test me."

His thumb traced her lower lip, the touch featherlight—a taunt. She could pull away. She should pull away.

But she didn't.

And that was all the invitation he needed.

In one swift motion, he spun her around, her back pressed against the wall, his body caging her in. No escape. His knee slid between hers, and the gasp that left her lips was his victory.

"You think I'm cruel?" he murmured, his mouth hovering over hers. "You have no idea what I'm capable of when it comes to you."

And then—finally—he closed the distance.

His kiss wasn't gentle. It was claiming. A conquest. A warning.

When he finally pulled away, her lips were parted, her breaths uneven. His fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head back just enough to expose the delicate column of her throat.

"Remember this," he said, his voice rough with restraint. "Every time you defy me, every time you challenge me—I will always bring you back to this."

A shiver ran down her spine.

Not from fear.

From anticipation.

Because as much as she hated to admit it—his darkness called to hers.

And then his lips were at her ear, his voice a dark promise that shattered the last of her resistance:

"Sweetheart... you can run, you can fight, you can hate me all you want."

A pause. His teeth grazed her earlobe—just enough to sting.

"But at the end of the day, you're mine. And I always take what's mine."

Hey lovely reader's ❣️. How's the prologue? Please don't forget to vote and leave a comment. Thank you for reading!