Silent Devotion: When My Cold Marriage Turns Burning Hot

"Everybody kept passing drinks around. I didn't want to make a scene, so I just went along. I promise it won't happen again," Dayna said.

Her words came out gentle and careful, but Vincent's icy silence didn't waver. She tried to offer more, but then his hand made his intentions clear, stealing the breath right out of her.

Color rushed to her face, and she ducked her head, voice barely more than a whisper. "Can we... wait until we're inside?"

"No," he responded, the word brooking no argument, firm and commanding.

There was no escaping him. Flustered, Dayna tried to unfasten his shirt, her hands clumsy and slow, nerves getting the best of her.

Patience had never been Vincent's strong suit. In one swift move, he caught her dress and pulled it free.

A shiver raced over her as cool air brushed her skin, her body revealed beneath the car's subdued glow.

The yellow dress she had chosen for the night proved no match for Vincent's determination. Her undergarments soon followed, slipping away with a practiced hand.

The stillness of the garage was broken only by the metallic snap of his belt buckle, the sound echoing in the empty space.

The Lamborghini rocked gently as they moved together. Each breath mingled, hers shallow and uncertain, his measured and steady, filling the close air with heat.

Night air drifted in from outside, but the heat between them quickly outpaced the chill. Every time her hair swept across his chest, it sent another ripple through him. Their gazes locked, both of them fierce and hungry for more.

Blushing fiercely, Dayna felt torn between embarrassment and the way her body instinctively yielded to his touch. She clung to him, her arms around his shoulders, while Vincent's mouth found the soft curve of her breast.

A sudden, stinging nip made her gasp, her breath stuttering out.

Just as she thought he might stop, Vincent eased her back against the seat, and started again—his hunger undiminished, his movements only more intense.

Her mind went blank, lost in the haze of sensation.

Time slipped away until she was trembling, breathless, and too exhausted to even sit upright.

When it was finally over, Vincent got dressed, wrapping her gently in his jacket before lifting her from the back seat.

By the time they entered the house, Dayna had already fallen asleep. Her cheeks still glowed with color, and sweat dampened her lashes. Even in rest, she looked troubled, softly muttering in her dreams.

Regret crept in—maybe he had let things get too intense.

He carried her to the bathroom, drawing a warm bath to soothe her before settling her into bed. Only when she was tucked beneath the sheets did he slip away to shower.

Soon after, dressed in a robe, Vincent stood in silence at the window. The city stretched out below him as he lit a cigarette, his face ghostly in the shifting shadows of smoke.

A call broke the quiet. Zayne Adams, his assistant, spoke on the line. "Mr. Clarke, someone from Apex Entertainment is asking questions about you."

Vincent's jaw tightened as Michael's name crossed his mind. He didn't respond, simply ended the call after a moment's pause.

He had known the whole story—how Dayna had ended things with Michael and chosen to marry him instead. That had all happened three years ago, well before the wedding.

Now Michael was back, stirring up what Vincent hoped would stay buried.

The tip of his cigarette glowed as he exhaled, smoke curling around his brooding expression. He was supposed to be away for business, his trip scheduled to last a few more days. The second news of Michael's return reached him, he had cleared his agenda and caught the first flight home.

He made it to the restaurant just as Michael cornered Dayna outside. Once, she had loved Michael fiercely. If that man came back, would those feelings come with him?

Gazing out at the city, Vincent let his face slip into shadow, his thoughts hidden beneath the drifting smoke and the hush of midnight.

...

Morning crept in, painting the sky with soft gold before Dayna finally stirred from sleep.

It was nearly nine when she slipped out of bed, stretching off the last traces of exhaustion.

Crossing the hall, she stopped short. Vincent was still at home, seated at the dining table with his laptop open.

Normally, he would have left for work hours ago. Today, he lingered.

Gathering her courage, she made her way over, legs slightly unsteady, and saw that breakfast had already been set for two.

Vincent shut his laptop and set it aside. "Have some breakfast," he said, his voice as steady as ever.

She slid into the chair beside him, and the housemaid appeared with two steaming cups of milk.

Silence settled between them as Vincent began to eat, each motion calm and precise. He never spoke while he was eating—a habit she had come to expect.

After a few minutes, the maid placed his favorite morning magazine at his elbow. He always read something during breakfast, another small ritual.

Glancing down, Dayna caught a glimpse of the cover—and felt her stomach drop.

A familiar image stared back at her.

Noticing her sudden stillness, Vincent picked up the magazine and looked it over.

Splashed across the front page in bold print: "Apex Entertainment's New President Reunites With His First Love—Old Sparks Ignite."

The photo featured last night's encounter outside the restaurant. Michael's face was shown clearly, and though only her profile appeared beside him, anyone who knew Dayna would recognize her instantly.