Claim my wedding night.

Samira entered the penthouse with an air of defiance, her posture stiff as she sensed Ray’s eyes on her. The luxurious space seemed to close in on her, amplifying the tension between them. Ray followed closely, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor, but she refused to acknowledge him. Every corner of the room seemed to harbor shadows of the turbulent past that had brought them to this moment.

Ray moved towards the drinks cabinet with the nonchalance of someone entirely in control. As he poured himself a drink, Samira’s gaze was drawn to him despite herself. She couldn’t shake the unease that clawed at her insides. His earlier words and actions had left her with a gnawing sense of dread, one that she tried to mask with an icy exterior.

"Stop looking like a frightened virgin, I won't leap on you," he said, his voice smooth but laced with sarcasm. He met her eyes with a knowing smirk, as if daring her to challenge him.

"How can I be sure of that? You told me that you once desired me," Samira shot back, her tone defiant but tinged with insecurity. She didn’t trust him, not after everything he had done, and certainly not when she saw the way his eyes lingered on her.

Ray’s expression hardened, his smirk fading. "That was when I still believed you to be the real Delly. I lost interest when I found out that you are nothing but fake," he retorted sharply, each word a deliberate wound. He took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the moment before delivering the final blow. "You talk so highly of yourself, for a woman who gave her first to a man who dumped her the next morning."

Samira’s face flushed with a mixture of shame and fury. She hated how easily he could get under her skin, how effortlessly he wielded her past against her. But she refused to let him see how much his words hurt. "Well, I am glad that I don’t seem to interest you," she replied coolly, lifting her chin in defiance. "And I can only hope that Delly shows up soon."

Ray’s eyes narrowed, clearly enjoying the game they were playing. "Do I sense a bit of jealousy in there?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery.

"Jealous? I am far from feeling that. Now tell me about our sleeping arrangement because I don’t want to share the same room with you," Samira demanded, her words blunt and to the point.

"I feel the same way, and that’s why I got the housekeeper to move your things to the other room," Ray responded, his tone matter-of-fact.

Samira nodded, relief washing over her. But as she turned to leave, she hesitated, a thought nagging at her. "And another thing, I would like to continue working. Don’t be surprised when you see me working…"

"Never! No wife of mine works," Ray interrupted fiercely, his eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity.

Samira stared at him in disbelief. "So you expect me to sit idly in this huge house and let you provide for me? You married me to be a housewife?"

"It’s a luxurious life, the real Delly would certainly be ecstatic about that idea," Ray said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"But I’m not the real Delly," Samira snapped, her anger bubbling to the surface. "And I won’t sit around doing nothing all day. What about putting some cash in an envelope and throwing it right on my face, is that what you’re trying to imply here?"

Before she could continue, Ray closed the distance between them in a flash, his arms snaking around her waist, pulling her close. The suddenness of the move caught her off guard, and she stiffened in his embrace. His grip was firm, possessive, but she could sense the conflict beneath his bravado.

"My wife is meant to stay at home and do my bidding, and as you are my wife, you will stay home and do what I say," Ray whispered, his voice low and menacing. "Any more word from you and I will claim my wedding night."

Samira’s breath hitched at his threat, but she refused to let him see her fear. She turned to leave, heading towards her room, but his voice stopped her in her tracks.

"I will be going on a business trip tomorrow, and it will take a month," Ray said, his tone softer this time, almost as if he were offering an olive branch.

"Fine," Samira muttered, not bothering to look back.

"Aren’t you going to miss me?" he asked, his voice teasing.

Samira paused, the absurdity of his question causing her to turn around. How did she end up with such a man? "I won’t," she replied coldly. "And I’m sure you’ll have someone with you to distract you during this trip."

"Of course I will," Ray responded without hesitation. "You don’t expect me to stay celibate for one month when my only wife can’t stand my guts the same way I can’t stand hers."

Samira let out a sarcastic laugh, leaning against the staircase railing for support. "As a good wife, I think I’m obliged to pack some clothes for you!" she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

Ray blinked, clearly caught off guard by her response. But before he could recover, Samira added, "What color do you prefer? I mean when I pack your underwear?"

Ray choked on his drink, coughing as he stared at her in disbelief. "Easy there, my fake wife, I didn’t know you were that eager…" he trailed off, eyeing her as if trying to decipher her intentions. "Black," he finally answered, his voice quieter now, unsure.

Samira didn’t bother replying. She turned on her heel and stormed off to her room, leaving Ray standing there, his glass empty and his mind reeling. Was she for real?