chapter5

The air in the room was thick with a new kind of danger—not of violence, but of forced intimacy. "Are you threatening me?" Nathan’s voice was a low rumble.

Suzanne struggled for breath, the weight of his presence nearly overwhelming. "Please," she whispered, "don't force me into a life I no longer recognize."

Nathan narrowed his eyes. Looking at her now, her features had a haunting quality that reminded him of Sally’s childhood photos. A cold, meaningful smile touched his lips. "I have to admit, your surgeons did an incredible job. It’s no wonder my grandmother is so taken with you."

Suzanne froze. Hers as a child? Before she could unpack the implication, Nathan pulled back.

"Fine," he said curtly. "I agree."

Without another word, he turned and swept out of the room with Cole following in his wake. Suzanne stood in the silence, bewildered. Had he agreed to the divorce, or to her demand that he act like a faithful husband?

As night fell, a restless breeze stirred the curtains. Cole delivered a meal to her room, and Suzanne spent the evening attempting to distract herself with a book on military strategy. It was late when she finally sought the sanctuary of a shower. Realizing she had no clean clothes, she washed her tattered attire and hung them by the window, wrapping herself in a fresh towel before stepping back into the bedroom.

She stopped dead.

Nathan was there, his shirt discarded. The light caught the chiseled lines of his frame and the faint, silver scars that spoke of a decade of frontline service. Suzanne’s face burned with an instant, uncontrollable heat.

Nathan glanced at her, his brow furrowed. He noted her flushed skin and the wary, wide-eyed look that seemed entirely too genuine to be an act. His gaze swept over her—a clinical assessment of the "work" Cole had described—before he reached into the closet and tossed a set of casual sportswear at her.

"Put them on," he commanded.

As he walked toward the bathroom, Suzanne found her voice. "What are you doing here, Mr. Morrison?"

He didn't turn around. "You were the one who insisted we live as husband and wife. Or did you forget your own ultimatum?"

Suzanne exhaled, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had meant for the ultimatum to drive him away, to force a divorce. Instead, she had accidentally invited him in.

Fifteen minutes later, Nathan emerged in dark pajamas. Suzanne stood up, her fingers twisting the hem of the oversized shirt he’d given her. "Mr. Morrison, we need to talk. This... this isn't going to work."

"It’s late," Nathan replied, pulling a spare blanket from the closet and moving toward the bed. "We’ll talk tomorrow."

"But the divorce—"

"Not for now," he said, lying down and closing his eyes.

"Then," Suzanne said, her voice trembling with a mix of frustration and fear, "you had better stay on your side. You had better act the part of a husband who respects his wife."

"Okay," he agreed without hesitation.

The directness of his answer left her restless. Knowing his heart belonged to another woman, Suzanne assumed he wouldn't want her near him. She quietly gathered her pillow and blanket, spreading them out on the floor in the dim moonlight.

Suddenly, the overhead lights flared to life.

Nathan stood over her, his expression stern. "What are you doing?"

"Sleeping!" she retorted, shielding her eyes.

Before she could protest, Nathan reached down and hoisted her up—blanket and all—with effortless strength. He carried her to the bed and dropped her onto the mattress. The impact made her head spin, her recent injuries throbbing in protest.

Before she could scramble away, Nathan moved, pinning her down with the sheer weight of his presence. Suzanne instinctively shoved at his chest, her hands meeting the solid, warm reality of him. Her breath became erratic, her body tensing in a whirlwind of fear and a strange, unwanted anticipation. She stared up at him, trapped in the shadow of the man she had loved from afar, wondering if he intended to claim the rights she had so boldly demanded.