Zander’s POV.
The tension inside the cabin was unbearable, so thick it felt like the air itself was pressing down on me, suffocating me.
Aria’s words still echoed in my mind, sharp and cutting, slicing through my thoughts like shards of broken glass. Every syllable she had spoken, every venomous word, felt like a deliberate attempt to tear me down, to challenge me, to remind me that she didn’t fear me.
And the slap-God, the stinging slap-burned hotter than anything I could have imagined. It wasn’t the pain on my cheek that hurt the most; it was what it symbolized. It was her defiance, her complete rejection of me, and her utter refusal to submit to the bond that tied us together. She was supposed to be mine, bound to me by fate itself, yet she fought me at every turn, like she could somehow break the unbreakable.
I couldn’t think straight. My fists were clenched so tightly that my nails dug into the flesh of my palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks that stung but did nothing to calm the storm within me.
The pain wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough to ground me in that moment. Everything about her-her fiery defiance, her refusal to obey, her constant rejection of everything I stood for-was driving me to the edge of my sanity. She was supposed to belong to me, to surrender herself to me, body and soul. That was how this was meant to work.
I wanted her body, and she was supposed to give it to me. Easy and simple. Yet here she was, glaring at me from the bed, her eyes filled with loathing, as if I was nothing more than an enemy she despised with every fiber of her being.
“You’re pathetic,” she spat, her voice dripping with venom, her chest rising and falling as she glared at me with fire in her eyes. Her words weren’t loud, but they struck harder than any scream could have. “You can throw all the tantrums you want, Zander, but it won’t change anything. I’ll never be yours-not in the way you want.” Her voice was steady, her tone mocking, as if she was daring me to argue, daring me to prove her wrong.
Her words were like a dagger, piercing straight into my pride and twisting with every syllable. I felt it-the sharp, unbearable pain of my control slipping, of my pride crumbling. I couldn’t take it anymore. The rage surged forward like a tidal wave, drowning out all reason, all restraint. With a growl that came from somewhere deep inside me, I lunged forward. My hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with a force that made her gasp. Her eyes widened in shock, but I didn’t stop. I yanked her off the bed, dragging her toward the door of the cabin without hesitation.
“Zander!” she shouted, her voice filled with both anger and desperation as she struggled against my grip. “Let me go!” Her free hand pushed against me, her feet digging into the floor as she resisted, but it was useless. I was stronger, and the anger coursing through me was too powerful to ignore.
I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. The rage was too loud, too consuming, drowning out everything else. I pulled the door open with one hand, the other still gripping her wrist tightly. Without a word, I shoved her out into the main cabin, the force of my actions making her stumble. She caught herself on one of the seats, her body jolting forward before she managed to steady herself. Her wide eyes locked onto mine, a mixture of disbelief and fury flashing across her face.
“Stay out here,” I hissed, my voice low, dangerous, and trembling with barely-contained rage. “If you don’t want to act like my wife, then don’t bother acting like you belong in here with me.” My words were sharp, cutting, designed to hurt her just as much as she had hurt me moments earlier.
Her lips parted, her expression shifting from shock to something deeper-something rawer-but I didn’t give her the chance to respond. I didn’t want to hear what she had to say. Without a second thought, I slammed the door shut with a force that made the walls of the jet shudder. The sound echoed through the cabin, loud and final, like the closing of a chapter I wasn’t sure I could go back to.
For a moment, I stood there, my back to the door, my breathing heavy and uneven. My hands trembled at my sides, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins as I tried to calm the storm inside me. But it didn’t work. The anger was still there, boiling beneath the surface, refusing to settle. The frustration, the humiliation, the overwhelming sense of failure-it all churned within me, threatening to spill over again.
I turned away from the door and sank onto the edge of the bed, my body heavy with exhaustion I didn’t want to acknowledge. I buried my face in my hands, my mind a chaotic mess of emotions I couldn’t sort through. Anger and frustration warred with something deeper, something more vulnerable that I refused to name. I hated this feeling. I hated feeling weak, out of control, vulnerable to her in a way that made me feel like I was losing a battle I hadn’t even realized I was fighting.
I hated that she had this power over me. It wasn’t just her defiance or her rejection that infuriated me-it was the way she made me feel, the way she got under my skin and unraveled everything I thought I knew about myself.
Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, the silence in the cabin growing heavier with each passing second. My breathing slowed, but the anger didn’t fade completely. It lingered, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the next spark to ignite it again. I knew it wasn’t over. It was never over with her.
And yet, beneath the anger, buried deep where I didn’t want to acknowledge it, there was another emotion. Guilt. It sat there like a stone in my chest, heavy and unrelenting. I’d lost control. Again. I’d let my emotions get the better of me, and now I was left with the aftermath-the silence, the heaviness, the knowledge that I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.