Ruthless Monarch

I’m hoping by marrying her, I’ll keep him distracted as he tries to find another in.

Instead of heading to my room, I head to the state-of-the-art gym I have situated on this floor.

Luka is already there, waiting to spar with me.

I pull off my shirt and throw on my own gloves. When I’m ready to fight, I step into the center of the room to meet him.

Throwing all my weight and frustrations into the next thirty minutes gives me a good workout.

By the time I feel ready to start my day, I’m sweaty and hungry.

“See you in thirty,” I say to Luka before I pull my gloves off and head out of the room.

Again, I bypass the elevator and walk up the stairs. When I get to the landing, I turn the corner and am met with Viviana.

She’s freshly showered.

In a white cashmere sweater, soft and angelic like her, and the jeans she must have packed.

Her hair is slightly damp, and she is wearing no makeup.

She’s different than most of the women I fuck, and that being said, she is completely out of place standing before me. This is my warehouse to do business. I never bring women not in the family here. Like generations of men in my position, I keep a pied-à-terre for my many indulgences.

No one knows about this location, so bringing her here is a risk but a calculated one. And one I still had to take.

“Viviana,” I address her coolly.

She’s gorgeous. Young and innocent. The kind of woman begging to be tempted and teased.

But I can’t think that way right now.

Yes, one day, she will give in to my needs, but by the way she scowls at me, I know that’s not in the foreseeable future.

Which is fine. I have too much shit on my plate to deal with a needy wife.

She continues to stare at me, not speaking.

“Is there something I can do for you?”

“No.” She turns back around. It’s as if she left the room to see if she could, and now that she knows she can, she is turning back to hide.

“Your breakfast will be served in thirty minutes. Floor two.”

“Okay.” She starts to walk, mumbling, “Tyrant,” under her breath.

“Did you say something, Princess?”

“Nope.

“You sure? ’Cause I could have sworn you did.” I smirk, not letting her off easy.

“I said take a shower, you smell.”

“That’s unfortunate, seeing as one day you are going to lie beneath me and give me heirs.”

“I will give you something much less pleasant if you try forcing yourself on me.” Her voice barely shakes as she threatens me.

“Feisty. I like that.”

“In that case, I’ll stop.” With that, she hurries down the hall, not allowing me to say anything else. It makes me chuckle as I watch as she makes her way into the room. Once she is out of sight, I go to my own. Throwing off my wet clothes, I turn the shower on.

Fifteen minutes later, I head down to the second floor.

My men aren’t here. No one is. I start to eat, expecting Viviana to come.

But she never does. Throwing my napkin down, I storm up the stairs. My fist hitting her door.

I could open it, but that would certainly start shit off on the wrong note. So instead, I’m acting like a crazed lunatic.

The door flies open.

She stands in front of me. Eyes wide. A mix of fear and stubbornness looking back at me.

“Yes.”

“I told you breakfast was being served,” I grit out, annoyed with how she ignored me.

“I’m not hungry.”

“It wasn’t a choice.”

“Well then, you should have led with that. ‘Good Morning, Viviana. Your presence is ordered at the breakfast table.’”

“Viviana. You will get your ass downstairs. Now! We have things to discuss.”

“Jeez. Okay. You don’t have to be a tyrant.”

“Well, it seems I do. Seeing as you have chosen not to listen to me.”

“I didn't know.” She rolls her eyes at me. Anyone else who did that would most likely get shot. But when she does it, it gives me the reverse feelings. I don’t want to shoot her. I want to bend her over and smack her ass instead.

All thoughts I probably shouldn’t be having right now. Especially about my soon-to-be wife.

I turn, telling her I’m done, and she is smart enough to follow me.

Once we are in the dining room again, she sits in the chair across from me.

“What do we need to discuss?” she asks.

“Tomorrow,” I answer, knowing full well she will be confused. And I’m right as she answers.

“Tomorrow?”

“Our wedding.”

Her eyes go wide. It looks like she is trying to process the new information I have thrown at her, and she can’t. “Wait,” she starts and then stops. “What do you mean? You expect me to marry you that soon?”

“I would do it today.” I shrug. “But I have back-to-back meetings, and I have my priorities straight.”