Kiru Taye

Excerpt:

The SUV rolled through black security gates and into Braeburn Island quiet, where wealth hid behind walls and armed men. Idehen pulled up in front of the glass-fronted garage of his new house—modern lines, dark red and white, all angles and windows that could watch the world back. He’d bought it a month ago because he liked control, and this place was built for it.

“You live on Braeburn Island?” Daniella asked, awe slipping through her guard.

He’d lived in a city penthouse when she worked for him. This was different. This was an island for people who couldn’t afford to be reachable.

“Yes. I bought it a month ago.” He got out and opened her door. The night air hit, cool and sharp, and he watched her like she might decide to run anyway.

“A month ago?” Her brow creased. “Has Osagie seen it?”

Osagie had been away with Gina for weeks. He’d known Idehen was house-hunting, but he hadn’t been here to see the sale close.

“No.” His gaze stayed on her face. “Apart from staff and movers, you’re the first.”

He held out his hand. When his fingers closed around hers trembling ones, it was possessive by instinct and deliberate by choice. It should’ve pleased him. Yet, it also unsettled him because he was the reason she was shaking.

They walked up a lit path through trimmed lawn and palms toward black double doors with frosted glass, light glowing behind them, both a promise and a warning.

Daniella kept herself rigid, refusing even an accidental brush of his arm. Her fear was palpable, but victory landed wrong. He wanted obedience because obedience made protection possible. He wanted her defiance because it proved he had not broken the woman he meant to keep safe. The contradiction sat heavy in his chest.

The threat had worked exactly as designed. Daniella was in his house, beyond Bolaji’s reach, and afraid of him. Idehen could defend the first two outcomes. The third tasted too much like ash.

The doors opened onto marble and quiet luxury. Her heels clicked too loud in the space, rebellion in every step as he led her up the stairs to the bedroom he’d had prepared.

He stopped at the doorway and let her look. Then he spoke his policy. “You’ll remain here until the wedding. My staff will cater to your needs.”

She turned, arms folding under her breasts. “I hope this isn’t your bedroom. I won’t share your bed.”

His mind snapped to her bedroom—her hands on his neck, her mouth on his, the slurred papa bear that had split him open. Need surged, hot and immediate, and he caged it behind a tight jaw. She could deny it all she wanted. His body didn’t believe her.

Still, it was a problem. Lust made men careless. Careless men died.

“You are safe.” His voice stayed level, but the edge underneath was real. “Your room is yours.” He let the promise settle before adding, “Do not mistake restraint for distance, Daniella.”

“What does that mean? Are you going to sleep with other people?” she hissed, and there it was—heat under anger, a crack in the mask.

He hadn’t been with a woman in over a year. Not because he couldn’t, but because he refused to let need make decisions for him. He had no intention of taking anyone else to his bed. Still, he shrugged—baiting her on purpose—because her denial was a war of attrition, and he was tired of losing ground in his own house.

“What?” Her arms dropped, fists clenched at her sides. She looked ready to lunge.

“Are you jealous?” he asked, exuding calm. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I don’t.” Her voice hitched. “I don’t care. Obviously. Don’t get it twisted. If you want to collect women as a hobby, that is your business. I simply object on principle. Quality control. Public health. Spiritual sanitation. Not jealousy.”

He stepped closer anyway, crowding her until the air thinned. He wanted her off-balance because it kept her close.

“Is this why you didn’t tell your friends we’re getting married?” His voice stayed low, but a sharp edge slipped through. “You’re ashamed. Embarrassed to take my name.” The accusation was pride warring with insecurity, and he despised himself for it.

That anyone—Daniella—could get under his skin and make him feel uncertain was unacceptable. He’d built himself out of discipline and damage, and he trusted both more than tenderness. Yet, Daniella’s silence exposed the flaw in his construction. He could force a decision, secure a house, contain a threat, and still have no idea how to make another person choose him.

Her lips parted, then pressed shut. When she met his eyes, defiance was a blade. “Believe whatever you want. I will never give my heart to another man. Not after Bolaji. You can have my body. But you will never have me, not really.”

He leaned in, close enough to feel her breath hitch. Want dragged at him, hot and stupid, and he crushed it.

“Daniella, I see you and I accept your challenge.” His voice softened into something more dangerous than anger. “In the end, you will be mine in every way that matters.”

She turned away, city lights blurring in the glass, giving him only her reflection—shaking, stubborn, refusing to break where he could see it.

He watched her a second longer than he should have. He’d summoned this storm, and now, it lived in his house. He turned and left before his restraint snapped and proved her right to fear him.