Page 125 of No One But Me
I found her.
Living room. Curled on the couch with a book in her lap and reading lamp casting shadows across her face. Hair pulled back. Bare feet tucked beneath her. Looking peaceful. Comfortable.
Safe.
Her eyes snapped up when I filled the doorway. Widened. Fear flickered across her features—sharp, immediate, exactly what she should feel.
She knew. Knew she'd crossed a line tonight that couldn't be uncrossed.
I stalked toward her without a word. Each step deliberate. Measured. The kind of approach that gave prey just enough time to understand they'd already been caught.
She tried to stand—book tumbling from her lap, hands braced against the couch cushions.
No chance.
I grabbed her before she got upright. One arm around her waist, lifting, repositioning her weight with brutal efficiency. She gasped as I threw her over my shoulder like she weighed nothing.
Because she didn't.
Not to me.
Not compared to the fury currently lighting every nerve ending on fire.
"Put me down!"
Her fists pounded against my back—ineffective, desperate, the kind of resistance that only proved how powerless she actually was.
I didn't answer. Didn't slow. Just carried her toward the stairs with long strides that ate up distance while she squirmed and cursed and demanded things she had no right to demand anymore.
She'd made her choice tonight. Stayed away when I told her to come.
Hidden when I told her to be seen. Defied me when the only acceptable response was obedience.
Now she'd learn exactly what that cost.
My hand came down on her ass—sharp, sudden, a promise of worse to come.
She yelped.
I kept walking.
I kicked the bedroom door open hard enough the wood cracked against the wall. Dropped her onto the bed so hard the mattress bounced.
She pushed herself up immediately—breathless, hair wild, eyes blazing with the kind of fury that would've been impressive if she had any actual power here.
She didn't.
I stood over her, chest heaving, sweat from the game still clinging to my skin beneath clothes I hadn't bothered changing. My pulse hammered. Vision narrowed to just her—defiant, beautiful, mine.
Every muscle coiled tight with rage I could barely contain. "You didn't come."
The words came out rough. Accusatory. Stripped of any pretense that this was about hockey or appearances or anything beyond the fundamental betrayal of her absence.
Belle glared up at me, chin lifted despite being sprawled on her back.
"I don't belong to you."
Something dark flashed behind my eyes. Something dangerous that had been building all night—through every empty seat, every unanswered text, every second she made me look like a fool.
