I didn't sleep.
I couldn't.
Not with him lying next to me, calm and collected like this wasn't the strangest night of our lives.
I kept my back to him. Eyes wide open. Hands clenched under the sheets. I counted every breath I took, every time the clock ticked another second into silence.
I had planned to endure this marriage.
Survive it.
But nothing could've prepared me for what it felt like to sleep next to the devil's brother.
And he didn't make it easy either.
Just after midnight, he walked out of the shower, fresh steam still clinging to his skin—and wearing nothing but black briefs.
I nearly choked.
Killian Rhys, cold-hearted bastard of the century, walked around like he hadn't just murdered my last brain cell. His body was lethal. Cut abs, sculpted chest, and a V-line that practically pointed straight to hell.
The briefs did nothing to hide the problem between his legs.
God help me, it wasn't even fair.
And the worst part?
He knew.
He glanced at me—only once—but it was enough. His lips twitched. Just slightly. Like he was laughing without making a sound.
"Are you enjoying the view, Mrs. Rhys?" he said casually, voice deep and soaked in sleep.
I turned my back faster than lightning.
"No," I snapped, heat rushing to my cheeks.
He chuckled, low and rough, then flicked the light off and climbed into bed beside me.
That was hours ago. He fell asleep fast. Like he had no conscience. No guilt. No thoughts beyond the pleasure of making me uncomfortable.
Me? I was burning alive under the sheets. Every inch of me tense. Every part of me hating how aware I was of his body, his breath, his warmth.
Why the hell did his side of the bed feel like it was pulling me in?
Why was my heart racing?
Why was I even reacting?
This was Killian.
This was the man I was supposed to endure.
Not desire.
---
"You're still awake."
His voice cut through the darkness. Calm. Smooth. Too close to my ear.
I flinched.
"I'm fine," I said quickly.
"You're not fine. You're fidgeting like you're about to snap."
"Maybe I am."
He rolled over. I felt the shift in the mattress before I felt his hand brush the hair away from the back of my neck.
"Maybe you're just scared of what this is becoming."
I swallowed hard.
"What is it becoming, Killian?"
Silence.
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. His fingers stayed tangled in my hair for a moment longer before he pulled away like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn't touched the part of me I'd hidden from everyone.
Including myself.
---
At dawn, I finally sat up. My limbs ached. My brain was fogged. But sleep wasn't coming, and neither was peace.
I padded into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. My reflection was a mess. Dark circles, red-rimmed eyes, lips bitten from stress.
This was day one.
Just day one.
I gripped the edge of the sink, inhaling slowly.
You can do this.
You have to.
For him.
My son's face flashed in my mind.
That smile. Those eyes. The way he clung to me every night like I was his entire world.
He was why I was here.
Why I married the devil.
Why I had to become a devil too.
I squared my shoulders.
Then I opened the door and walked back into the bedroom.
Killian was sitting up, coffee in hand, shirtless, scrolling through his phone like he hadn't made my entire existence a mental warzone just hours ago.
His eyes lifted to mine, calm and unreadable.
"Sleep well, wifey?"
I didn't answer. I just walked past him, straight to the closet.
"Still ignoring me?" he asked. "How long do you think that'll last?"
"Longer than your patience, I hope," I muttered under my breath.
He chuckled. "We'll see about that."
And then, just before I shut the door behind me, he said:
"You looked at me last night like you wanted something."
I froze.
"Here's the thing, Noelle," he continued, voice low and deadly. "If you keep looking at me like that… one day, I'll give it to you."
The door slammed shut.
But my body was still trembling.
Not from fear.
Not from hatred.
From the horrifying, undeniable truth…
I wanted him to.