Chapter 8

The rhythmic crashing of the ocean waves against the cliffs echoed in the silent bedroom.

It was 3:00 AM. The temperature in the room had dropped significantly.

Annabel shivered in her sleep. Driven by pure, unconscious instinct, she rolled over, seeking warmth.

Her hand slipped across the sheets. Her palm landed flat against the bare, scorching hot skin of Gregorio's chest.

Gregorio wasn't asleep. He hadn't slept a single minute.

The soft touch of her hand was like a match dropping into a pool of gasoline.

His control snapped.

He flipped over instantly. His heavy body pinned her to the mattress.

Annabel woke up with a gasp. Her eyes flew open in terror. She pushed her hands against his broad shoulders, trying to shove him off.

Gregorio's eyes were pitch black in the dim light. The restraint he had fought for hours was completely gone, replaced by a raw, consuming hunger.

"You asked for this," he growled against her mouth.

He crushed his lips against hers, swallowing her protests. His hands were rough, tearing the fragile black lace until it ripped away completely.

Annabel cried out, tears spilling down her cheeks. "The contract... you said..."

He didn't let her finish. He silenced her with another bruising kiss. His body took over, driven by a primal, undeniable attraction that his mind violently refused to accept.

The encounter was punishing, desperate, and entirely out of control. It lasted until the first light of dawn crept through the curtains.

When Annabel woke up again, the sun was bright.

Her entire body felt like it had been beaten. Her muscles screamed as she sat up.

The space beside her was cold. Gregorio was gone.

She looked down at her skin. The marks from last night were darker, more extensive. A wave of profound sadness washed over her.

She forced herself out of bed. She showered, put on a thick, high-necked cashmere sweater to hide the bruises, and walked downstairs.

She stepped out onto the sunlit patio.

Eleonora was sitting at the wrought-iron table, reading the Wall Street Journal. She looked up at Annabel and smiled. It was a terrifying, victorious smile.

Gregorio sat at the opposite end of the table. He was staring at his iPad. As Annabel approached, his shoulders stiffened. He didn't look up.

Annabel sat down.

A private chef immediately placed a large ceramic bowl in front of her.

The smell hit her instantly. It was pungent and earthy. The bowl was filled with a thick, dark green soup made of maca root, heavy folic acid greens, and raw organic liver.

"Eat it all," Eleonora commanded, staring directly at Annabel's flat stomach. "It increases fertility. Every drop."

Annabel's stomach violently revolted. The smell made her gag. Her hand shook as she picked up the silver spoon.

She looked at Gregorio. She silently begged him to say something. To stop this humiliation.

Gregorio finally looked up. His eyes met hers for a split second. A flash of intense guilt crossed his face, quickly buried under a mask of cold indifference.

"Don't waste my mother's efforts," he said flatly. He looked back down at his screen.

Annabel's heart shattered. The last shred of hope died. She was nothing to him but a breeding mare.

She closed her eyes, held her breath, and forced the foul-tasting liquid down her throat.

Gregorio watched her swallow from the corner of his eye. His chest tightened painfully. He couldn't stand it anymore.

He shoved his chair back. It screeched against the stone floor.

"There's an emergency at the firm," he announced abruptly, grabbing his jacket. "I have to fly back to Manhattan right now."

Annabel wiped her mouth with a napkin. She stood up, her face completely blank, and followed him to the helicopter like a hollow shell.