---
When it was over, Nathaniel remained over her for a moment, his breath warm against her skin, his hand still possessively resting over her stomach.
He didn't speak, not right away. He didn't need to. His silence was its own kind of domination—a quiet satisfaction, like a hunter surveying the snare he'd set.
Then, with a final glance into her eyes—searching for something, or perhaps confirming it—he slowly pulled away. Evelyn curled in on herself instinctively, the cold seeping into her bones as his warmth vanished.
He stood, adjusting his shirt with the same careless precision he used to shatter her resolve.
"Let them in," he called smoothly, and the heavy door creaked open almost immediately. Two maids stepped in, heads bowed, their gazes fixed to the floor.
Nathaniel didn't even look at them. "Take care of her. Gently."
