Sharing a bed

It appeared that they were not only sharing the same bed but also the same blanket. Sherry gingerly lifted the covers and got inside the bed, making sure she stayed as far as she could from him. If she were to move further to her left, she would only fall flat on the sleek marble floor, cold and unforgiving.

She had slept on this bed before, so she remembered how soft it was, but with Dallion next to her, she doubted she would be able to sleep soundly.

Taking a quick glance at him, she noticed the glasses perched on his nose, something she hadn’t seen before. Did mafia bosses like him need glasses? How odd, Sherry thought to herself. Seeing that he was no longer talking to her and had immersed himself in reading, the man seemed somewhat calmer—his usual cold, intense aura replaced with something that seemed... reasonable. For now, at least.

The dim lighting from the lamp on his nightstand cast shadows over his chiseled features, enhancing the contrast of his sharp jawline and fierce eyes. Sherry couldn’t deny that if Dallion wasn’t such a dangerous man—if he weren’t so controlling and terrifying—he would be considered one of the most attractive men in the underworld. But looks didn’t change the fact that he was a ruthless, unpredictable monster. Without wanting to disturb him, she sank deeper into the plush pillow, pulling the blanket close to her face, her eyes peeking out cautiously.

With the exhaustion from the long, rainy night and the meal settling comfortably in her stomach, Sherry slowly began to drift off into sleep, her fears and anxieties momentarily silenced.

Dallion, having finished the last page of his book, finally closed it and placed it on the table beside him. He then removed his glasses, setting them atop the book. His gaze shifted to the woman beside him—Sherry, her face now turned towards his side of the bed.

She was sleeping deeply now, her initial nervous energy having dissipated. Her guard was completely down, and she was utterly unaware of her surroundings. His eyes trailed over her face, taking in her long lashes that brushed lightly against her cheek and the way her lips parted slightly as she breathed. Her delicate, jade-green eyes were closed, though he knew they often tried to understand him— but it was just an impossible task that only made her more intriguing. The warmth under the shared blanket was rising, and if he stretched his hand just a little more, he could touch her. The thought made him smirk.

Sherry's defenselessness now reminded him of the first time he had seen her. His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before turning to the lamp beside him. He switched off the bedside lamp, letting the room fall into darkness.

Sherry dreamt of her mother that night. They were in the lavish kitchen of their mansion, where she sat on the countertop watching her mother cook, just as she always did. It was one of the few places where she ever felt safe, isolated from a world that had always turned against them ever since her father left. The dream blurred at some point, and she woke up suddenly, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dim room.

Something felt heavy around her waist, restricting her movement. Confused, she blinked at the ceiling before shifting her eyes downward—to the arm draped around her. Her eyes widened in horror.

Her gaze flew to Dallion, whose head rested much too close to her, one side of his face pressed into the pillow. Sherry froze. Oh, dear God! she screamed internally. Terrified, she carefully tried to lift his arm off her waist, praying that he wouldn’t wake up and discover them like this. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the more she thought about the compromising position, the more she panicked.

She inched his arm up, slowly, painstakingly, until it was suspended midair. Just when she thought she was free, his arm began to fall back toward her. In a moment of desperation, she rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a soft thud.

Before he could stir, Sherry scrambled to the bathroom and hid behind the shower curtain, her heart racing from both fear and embarrassment. That perverted criminal! She should have known better, but she had foolishly hoped he might behave decently for once. Until now, Dallion had tormented her in every way imaginable, but he had never crossed the line into anything sexual. Still, she wasn’t going to take any chances. Next time, she would barricade the bed with pillows to ensure he couldn’t breach her space again.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she saw her flushed cheeks—burning hot from sheer mortification. Taking a deep breath, she peered out from behind the curtain. Dallion had pulled her pillow into his arms and was now holding it in his sleep. Whether it was a habit or not, Sherry couldn’t help but glare at him. This man was not only psychotic, narcissistic, and bipolar—he was a damned pervert too.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she considered leaving the room, but the risk of running into one of his men in this unfamiliar mansion stopped her. She remembered his warning from the night before—something about not blindly trusting anyone, even in his own home. It was a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked everywhere, even under the roof of the Cross Empire.

Walking over to the window, she stared out at the sprawling estate. How on earth would she escape this fortress? The Cross residence was perched at the top of a hill, with dense forests surrounding it on all sides. The bridge leading out was heavily guarded, and slipping past unnoticed would be impossible. There was no way to jump from the windows, as the house was surrounded by water—churning waves that crashed against the cliffs. And she was no swimmer.

Could she ever escape? And if so, when?

Lost in thought, Sherry didn’t notice that Dallion was watching her from the bed, his eyes fixed on her like a hawk. He had woken the moment her trembling hands had touched his arm, but he hadn’t moved, curious to see what she would do. He hadn’t intended to hold her while he slept, but now that he had, he remembered the feel of her slim waist beneath his hand.

She was planning her escape—that much was clear from the way she gazed out at the world beyond the mansion. But Dallion had no intention of letting her go. She belonged to him now, bound by the silent, invisible chains of his will. And once he set his eyes on something, it was his—forever.

When Sherry finally sensed his gaze, she turned to face him.

"How was your sleep?" he asked, his voice low and casual.

"It was... okay."

"Just okay?" he raised an eyebrow, almost disappointed.