Silent Devotion: When My Cold Marriage Turns Burning Hot

Dayna's cheeks turned an even brighter shade, the heat of embarrassment rising up to her hairline.

Just then, the door swung open and Clara stepped inside. She stopped short, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene—Dayna caught in Vincent's arms, far too close for a simple work conversation.

Whatever was left of that charged moment vanished. Dayna quickly stepped back, regaining her composure and clearing her throat. "What is it, Clara?" she asked, doing her best to sound unaffected.

Clara hesitated, then found her voice. "There's a meeting about to start. They're waiting on you."

Vincent, unfazed, remained cool and composed. "You should get going," he said to Dayna. "I'll see myself out."

He strode away, Zayne falling in step behind him.

As soon as Vincent disappeared, Clara hurried over, practically vibrating with excitement. She whispered, "Oh my gosh, Dayna, you two looked amazing together! And Mr. Clarke—His eyes were practically glued to you."

Dayna shot her a look, seeing the eager gleam in Clara's eyes. "Didn't you say there's a meeting starting? You'd better get ready."

"I got it! But next time he stops by, I swear I'll knock first," Clara promised, grinning before dashing off.

Left alone, Dayna sat at her desk, thoughts swirling. The memory of Vincent's cold gaze lingered.

He must have overheard Glenn's reprimand. Did he treat her with such care only because he pitied her?

The meeting started. Dayna took her seat at the front, focusing on the presentation. Midway through, Clara quietly slid a small tube of ointment onto the table beside her.

She glanced over, puzzled.

Clara leaned close and whispered, "Mr. Clarke sent this over. He said to use it on your cheek before it leaves a mark. Isn't he the sweetest? Dayna, you're so lucky."

Dayna only managed a small smile, tucking the ointment away without another word.

At the end of the day, Dayna gathered her files and purse, more than ready to head home—when her phone buzzed with an unexpected call.

"Ms. Roberts, do you have time for dinner this evening?"

Normally she would have declined, but this client had been with Roberts Group for years. She couldn't risk offending them, so she agreed.

At the restaurant, a hostess greeted her with a polite smile. "Ms. Roberts, your party is waiting. Right this way."

She followed, stepping into a softly lit private room—only for her mood to drop at the sight inside.

Michael sat at the table, watching her with a familiar smile, dressed impeccably in a crisp white suit.

He stood as she entered, his voice warm and far too inviting. "Dayna, glad you could make it."

Scanning the room, she kept her tone cool. "Was this your idea?"

Michael's smile didn't falter. "We just landed a deal with Mr. Powell, but he had a last-minute conflict and asked me to attend in his place."

Without hesitation, she turned for the door. "If that's the case, I'll have to excuse myself. I have other plans tonight."

As if on cue, the door clicked shut.

Michael closed the distance, taking his time, his voice gentle but insistent. "What, you're not even going to have a conversation with me? I know I wasn't strong enough to keep you before, but things have changed, Dayna."

She met his gaze without flinching. "I'm married now, Michael. Please respect that."

Michael's smile faded, turning brittle at the edges. "You promised you'd stand by me until I made it. You said you'd never walk away."

"That's ancient history, Michael."

She reached for the door again, hoping to end it, but Michael wouldn't allow it to be that easy.

He moved quickly, sliding behind her and locking his arms around her waist. "Dayna... don't leave me like this."

Just then, the door swung open as a waiter entered with a tray, startled by the awkward scene.

Dayna's eyes flicked up—and through the open doorway, she caught sight of Vincent in the hallway.

He stopped mid-step, his entourage halting behind him.

Zayne responded instantly, guiding the group quietly down the corridor, away from the growing tension.

Vincent lingered, his presence as cold and impenetrable as winter stone. His eyes were unreadable, but he didn't miss a thing.

Panic jolted through Dayna. She tried to wrench free, but Michael only tightened his grip, fingers digging in as if he wanted everyone to see. His chin lifted, almost daring Vincent to react.

Michael was staking a claim—trying to show the world Dayna still belonged to him.

"Let go of me, Michael! What's gotten into you?" Dayna hissed, struggling against his grasp.

Vincent was known for his cool detachment, never rattled, always in control—but right now, a storm passed across his features, his stare like shards of ice.

Michael noticed, a smug grin curling his lips, as if he had just won a round.

Vincent took a single step into the room, the space between them crackling with tension. The two men faced each other, nearly eye to eye, the room charged with silent threat.

"Mr. Barnett, let go of my wife." Vincent's voice cut through the tension, low and deliberate, each word razor-sharp.

Michael stood his ground, eyes glinting with defiance. "Dayna is mine. Sooner or later, she'll realize it and come back."

A faint smile flickered at Vincent's lips, but his eyes turned hard as steel, a quiet threat swirling in their depths. "Is that what you think?"

Before Dayna could get a word in, Vincent closed the distance, claiming her hand and pulling her firmly to his side.

With one smooth motion, his palm found the nape of her neck. Without warning, he captured her lips in a searing, possessive kiss—leaving no doubt as to whom she belonged.