05: The Switch

Lilith raised a brow.

"My black card?" Rayne asked.

"Don’t you have one? I was under the notion I was marrying a billionaire. Was I wrong?"

She was pulling his legs, yanking at his ego, and she could already see the anger brewing in his gaze.

"You were not wrong," he gritted out, dipping his hands into his pocket and pulling out the card. She reached to collect it, but he snatched it up.

"You should freshen up first," he said, raking his eyes down her body.

Lilith rolled her eyes. "I can do that later, but right now I need to eat," she said in a whiny voice. She reached out for the card and took it with a wink.

"Are you coming with me, or do you want me to enjoy the view of the City of Light alone?"

Thirty minutes later, she was dragging a brooding Rayne De Luca with her as she explored the streets of Paris, smiling widely while buying every snack she came across.

"Is this your idea of eating out, or are you just being a nuisance?" he asked.

Lilith rolled her eyes at his question, coming to a stop in front of an art shop where a series of painted works were displayed. She munched on the last chip from her recent snack bag.

"You think I’m a nuisance? Such a pretty compliment from my dear husband. You truly know how to make a woman feel special."

"That was not a compliment," he hissed.

Of course it wasn’t. But her sarcasm was in full-blown mode today, and she was ready to get on every nerve Rayne De Luca had in his body—down to the very last one.

"I didn’t beg you to follow me, Rayne," she told him. "You willingly volunteered."

"Because you can’t be out alone in a city you barely know!" he snapped.

"Good, then act like the bodyguard you want to be and stop whining like a baby," she shot back.

"Did you just—"

Lilith didn’t wait for his reaction. She found her way into the shop, leaving him standing outside.

"Welcome," the shop owner greeted. "Did you find something that caught your eye?" he asked, grinning.

She glanced around, carefully studying the paintings. No offense, but they were all mediocre. But when she looked back at her husband, whose gaze on her was purely murderous, she clicked her tongue.

"Actually, everything caught my eye, so I’ll take it all."

The shop owner’s mouth widened in shock, his jaw nearly falling to the floor—ironically. "Everything?"

"Of course. Every painting in this shop." Lilith brought out Rayne’s black card and smirked. "This black card is in charge."

The man visibly gulped, looking from her to the card and back again. "Do you want me to pack it up for you, or do you want it to be sent to your home?"

"Here is my address." She wrote out the hotel suite and room number, then handed it to him. "Send it there."

"Your shopping spree is not done, is it?" Rayne asked when she returned outside.

"What? Of course not. Why would it be over when my husband has enough to spare?" she answered cheekily, clicking her tongue like it was stupid of him to ask that question.

If looks could kill, she was sure she’d be six feet under by now—courtesy of her husband. He looked like he was ready to stab her any moment from now.

Another hour passed before she finished her impulse buying and they returned to their hotel room. She could already feel the anger exuding from Rayne with every step they took closer to their door.

She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t scared of him. She wouldn’t allow him to make her feel small.

But she guessed she was wrong.

The door had barely closed when he turned to her and growled, "You like to be dramatic, don’t you, sweet vixen?"

Her heart thumped loudly as he moved closer, backing her against the now closed door.

She took a large gulp. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," she mumbled.

"Are you sure you don’t? Need I remind you what you’ve done, my sweet vixen?" His voice was calm—so damn calm—but it reminded her of the storm that always came after such stillness.

She had known all her tantrums would bring her here, but she hadn’t cared then, and even now she tried not to care as much.

"And what will you do?" she threw at him fiercely. "What the fuck will you do to me?"

Rayne snickered at her words as if she were a mere amusement to him, a joker putting on a circus show.

Oh, how she hated Rayne De Luca. She hated him so much she wanted to rip his head off.

He raised his hands suddenly and reached for her neck, causing a yelp to fall from her lips as he pressed hard, almost cutting off her airflow.

"You have a foul mouth, vixen. I do not like that."

"Who said I cared about what you like, Rayne De Luca?" she spat, despite the fact that his hands steadily kept pressing, making her eyes water from the pressure.

He smirked. "That’s the fucking point. The fact that you do not care—and I want to make you!"

She struggled against his hold, dreading the moment his grip got tighter and his gaze dimmer.

"You are delusional," she forced herself to speak.

"Exactly," he said, a wicked grin gracing his features. "I never claimed otherwise."

She reached for his hand on her throat and, with all the strength she could muster, wrenched it free. A needful breath escaped her lips as she finally broke free.

"Fucking bastard," she snapped.

"Not only do you have a foul mouth," Rayne began slowly, now staring at her with what seemed like a newfound perspective, "you seem to have strength in the right places. I’m impressed."

Her fists clenched, her throat throbbed from the almost-crushing grip, and she bit her lip in pure, undiluted anger. She didn’t want to impress Rayne De Luca. And yet, everything she did seemed to amuse him.

"Now go to bed, wife," he continued. "You should be well rested before our honeymoon night. I wouldn’t want you passing out on me now, would I?"

He knew what he was insinuating. A knowing smirk accompanied his words, and she couldn’t help the shiver that ran down her spine at the mere thought of it.

•

Lilith munched on a bar of chocolate as she stared at the notepad before her.

Her sketches were disheveled tonight.

They were dirty. Forbidden.

Splashes of thoughts that should never have crossed her mind.

Forbidden, she repeated.

It stared back at her—haunting, demeaning.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to let it go.

She would never kneel before a man. But why did this sketch say otherwise?

She threw her notepad into her box like it burned her and zipped the bag shut quickly, as if someone could burst in at any moment and see how far gone she had become.