Craving for My Tyrant Husband

That night, Everleigh sat on the edge of the bed in the guest room, staring at the yellow diamond. She had taken it off and put it on a chain around her neck. It was too heavy to wear on her finger-too heavy with implication. Her phone buzzed in her hand. Incoming Video Call: Gus. She panicked. She dropped the phone on the duvet. "Answer it!" Illa yelled from the hallway. She was eavesdropping, of course. "Check if he's hot! Or if he's a troll!" Evie took a deep breath. She picked up the phone. She put her thumb over the camera lens and hit accept. The screen lit up. The connection was clear, encrypted. The image was dark. He was in a room with low lighting. She could see the collar of a dark shirt, broad shoulders, the back of a leather chair. "Move your hand, Evie," his voice came through the speaker. It was even deeper than the recording. "I want to see you." "I... I'm not wearing makeup," she stammered. "I didn't marry your makeup. Move your hand." It was a command, soft but firm. Her thumb slid away from the lens. She saw herself in the corner of the screen-wet hair, wide eyes, looking terrified. Then she looked at him. He leaned forward into the light. Evie stopped breathing. He wasn't a troll. He wasn't an old man. He was... devastating. Dark hair, cut short. A nose that was straight and aristocratic. And eyes that were so dark they looked black, framed by thick lashes. But it was the jawline that got her-sharp, tense, covered in a shadow of stubble. He looked familiar. Like a dream she'd forgotten. He tilted his head, the light casting half his face in shadow. "Disappointed?" "No," Evie whispered. "You're... not bald." He smirked. A slow, lazy curving of his lips that made her stomach flip. "Glad to meet your standards. Illa has been feeding you lies." "Where are you?" she asked. "London," he said smoothly. "Business. The time difference is a killer." He glanced at something off-screen, a subtle movement, but it was enough to convey the pressure of a world she couldn't see. The background was tastefully blurred, a generic but expensive-looking office. "Does the ring fit?" he asked, his gaze dropping to her neck where the diamond rested against her collarbone. His eyes darkened. "It fits. It's too much, Gus. I'm afraid I'll lose it." "If you lose it, I'll buy another one," he said. "You're my wife now. Get used to it." "What is your full name?" Evie asked suddenly. "The certificate was stained. I can't just call you Gus forever." He hesitated. For a split second, a shadow passed over his face. "Gideon," he said. "Gideon Augustus Williams." "Like the emperor," Evie said. "It suits you. You're bossy enough." He chuckled, a low rumble. "You can call me Gus. Only my enemies call me by my full name." Suddenly, a voice spoke from his side of the line. A man's voice, urgent. "Sir, the board is waiting. The Tokyo market is opening..." Gus hit a button, muting his end. He looked at someone off-screen, his expression shifting from indulgent to terrifyingly cold in a nanosecond. He said something sharp, then turned back to Evie, his face softening. "I have to go. Work." "Okay," she said. "Goodnight... Gus." "Goodnight, Evie." The screen went black. She sat there for a long time, her heart racing. Illa burst into the room. "Well? Verdict?" "He's hot," Evie admitted. "Very hot. His name is Gideon Augustus." Illa froze. "Agustus?" "It's his middle name. See? Just a name." Illa let out a nervous laugh. "Right. Just a name. Because if my brother looked at a woman the way you're smiling right now, the world would probably end. He's a monk. A celibate, workaholic monk." "Gus isn't a monk," Evie said, thinking of the hickey on her neck. Next door, Agustus Williams put down his phone. He walked to the window and looked at the light in the guest room of the adjacent penthouse. "Sir?" his assistant asked tentatively. "The acquisition?" "Cancel the morning meeting," Agustus said, not looking away from the window. "And get me the tie that matches the blue dress she wore in her profile picture. I want to wear it tomorrow." "Sir?" "Just do it."