Craving for My Tyrant Husband

Chapter 1 Mysterious man Everleigh Roman woke up with a splitting headache from the sunlight. She gr**ned, rolling over. Her cheek rubbed against something impossibly smooth. Cool, slippery, expensive satin. Not the cotton blend she had on her bed in the tiny studio apartment she was currently being evicted from. She reached out blindly for the glass of water that should have been on her nightstand. Her fingers brushed against mahogany, then paper. Thick, textured paper. Evie cracked one eye open. The room spun, a kaleidoscope of beige and gold. She forced her vision to focus on the document under her hand. Certificate of Marriage. Her heart slammed against her ribs, a physical blow that knocked the breath out of her. She sat up, the sheet pooling at her waist. She wasn't wearing her dress. She was wearing a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the fabric smelling of cedarwood and something darker, like rain on asphalt. "No," Evie whispered. "No, no, no." Flashes of memory assaulted her. The charity gala. Darrin's sneer as he told her she was worthless without him. The open bar. So much vodka. And then... a man. A tie. She remembered gripping a silk tie, pulling a face down to hers. She remembered demanding someone save her. She looked around. This wasn't a room; it was a kingdom. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, furniture that probably cost more than her college tuition. On the nightstand, next to a platinum cufflink that glinted maliciously in the sun, was a note. Evie picked it up, her hand trembling so hard the paper rattled. The handwriting was sharp, aggressive. Gone on business. Last night was... memorable. - G. G. She had married a man whose name began with G. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to summon a face. Nothing. Just a blur of a sharp jawline, a sensation of large, warm hands on her waist, and eyes that looked like the deep end of the ocean. Her phone vibrated against the wood, a violent buzz that made her jump. She fished it out from under a pillow that smelled like him. Eighteen missed calls. All from Illa. She swiped the screen, bringing the phone to her ear. "Illa?" "Evie! Oh my god, are you alive?" Illa's voice was a shriek that pierced her headache. "You disappeared! One minute you were crying about Darrin near the ice sculpture, and the next you were gone. Did you get kidnapped? Are you in a ditch?" "I'm in... a hotel," Evie croaked. "Illa, I think I did something st**id." "How st**id? Did you k**l Darrin? Because if you did, I know a guy who can dissolve a body." Evie looked at the certificate again. The seal was embossed. It looked terrifyingly official. "Worse. I got married." Silence. Then, the sound of something shattering on the other end. "Get. Here. Now," Illa ordered, her voice drop-dead serious. "Bring the paper. Do not talk to anyone." Evie hung up and scrambled out of bed. Her legs felt like jelly, muscles aching in places that made her face heat up. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the dresser. Her hair was a bird's nest, and there, right on the curve of her neck, was a bruise. A hi**ey. A dark, possessive mark. She scrubbed her face in the bathroom, trying to wash away the shame. She found her dress from last night draped over a chair, but the zipper was torn from the fabric. "Great," she muttered. "Just great." She had no choice. She pulled the man's shirt tighter and grabbed the trench coat hanging by the door. It swallowed her whole, wrapping her in that same cedarwood scent. It felt like being hugged by a gh**t. Her purse was on the console table. Inside, stuffed next to her lipstick, was a black credit card. Heavy metal. No name, just numbers. And a sticky note with a pin code. She stared at it. Was this payment? Was she... She shoved the card back into the bag,She wasn't taking his money. She was going to fix this. Annulment. Divorce. Whatever it took to erase this man from her life before noon. She opened the door and stepped into the hallway. It was empty. The elevator ride down was an eternity. She watched the numbers drop, her stomach dropping with them. "You are Everleigh Roman," she told her reflection. "You survived your parents' death. You survived the foster system. You survived Darrin. You can survive a dr**ken mistake." The lobby was a cathedral of marble. She kept her head down, clutching the coat around her. "Mrs... Ma'am?" Evie froze. The doorman was holding out a key fob. "The gentleman left this for you. The black sedan out front." She looked at the car. It was sleek, predatory, and probably worth more than her entire existence. "No," she said, her voice shaking. "I'll take a taxi." She pushed past him, out into the humid New York air. She hailed a cab, practically diving into the backseat. "Where to?" the driver asked. "15 Central Park South," she said. Illa's fortress. As the taxi merged into traffic, Evie gripped the marriage certificate in her lap, her knuckles turning white. She didn't know who this man was. She didn't know why he agreed to marry a drunk, crying girl. But she was going to find out, and then she was going to run as far away as possible. Chapter 2 He knew where she was he doorman's eyes lingered on the hi**ey on her neck. She pulled the collar up and practically ran to the elevator. Illa was waiting in her doorway before the elevator doors even opened. She was wearing a silk kimono that cost more than Evie's rent, her face a mask of tragic anticipation. "Inside," Illa commanded, grabbing Evie's arm and hauling her into the foyer. "Shoes off. Spill." She snatched the envelope from Evie's hand before she could even speak. Illa ripped it open, pulling out the certificate with the precision of a forensic scientist. Her eyes scanned the paper. Then they widened. They kept widening until Evie thought they might pop out of Illa's skull. "Everleigh Roman and... Williams?" Illa whispered, her finger tracing the last name. The first name was a dark, ugly blotch. "What is this, a w**e stain? I can't read his first name. But Williams?" Evie collapsed onto Illa's plush white sofa. "I know. He signed the note 'G.' I've been calling him Gus in my head. It sounds like a grandfather's name. Or an antique dealer." Illa looked up at Evie, her face pale. "Evie. Do you know who Williams is?" "There are a thousand Williamses in New York," Evie said, rubbing her temples. "He's probably a hedge fund manager or something. He had a nice room." Illa let out a breath that sounded like a deflating tire. "Right. Right. Of course." She laughed, a nervous, high-pitched sound. "For a second, I thought... but no. That's impossible." "Thought what?" "My tyrannical older brother," Illa said, shuddering. "His name starts with an A, not a G. And besides, we don't call him by his first name. We call him 'Sir' or 'Please Don't K**l Me'. He's a shark. If he got married, it would be on the front page of the Wall Street Journal, and the bride would have been vetted by a committee of lawyers." "See?" Evie said, feeling a wave of relief. "Not him. My Gus left me a note. It was polite." "My brother doesn't know the meaning of the word polite," Illa confirmed. She walked over to the massive floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the park. "He lives right there. Next building." She pointed to the penthouse terrace adjacent to hers. It was separated by a gap of maybe twenty feet, close enough to throw a rock, far enough to require a bridge. "That's his lair," Illa said. "Don't look at it too long. You might turn to stone." Evie shivered, pulling the trench coat tighter. "Well, I'm glad I didn't marry him." "You can stay here," Illa said, turning back to Evie. "Your ex-boyfriend Darrin is probably camping out at your apartment. You're homeless and married. You need a base of operations." "But... your brother is right there." "He's busy," Illa dismissed. "He's in the middle of a hostile takeover of some tech firm. He hasn't stepped on that terrace in months. You'll be safe." She led Evie to the guest room. It was beautiful, airy, and unfortunately, the room closest to the neighboring terrace. "Get settled," Illa said. "I'll get you some honey water for that hangover." As she left, Evie's phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. Awake? Headache? Her heart skipped a beat. It was him. Gus. Evie typed back furiously. Who are you? We need to talk. I want a divorce. The reply came instantly. Three dots dancing on the screen. Divorce isn't on the schedule today. Drink some water. I'm out of town. We'll talk when I'm back. Evie stared at the screen. The audacity. I am not waiting, she typed. This is a mistake. You didn't think it was a mistake last night, he replied. Evie's face burned. She threw the phone onto the bed just as Illa walked in with a steaming mug. "Who are you fighting with?" Illa asked, eyeing the phone. "No one," Evie said quickly. "Just... Gus." Illa rolled her eyes. "Gus. Sounds like a plumber. Or a golden retriever." Night fell quickly in the city. After a dinner of takeout sushi that Evie could barely keep down, she retreated to the guest room. She needed air. She slid open the glass door to the balcony. The city hummed below, a river of light and noise. The air was cool, biting at her bare legs beneath the oversized shirt she was still wearing. Evie looked to the left. The neighboring terrace was dark, a slab of concrete and shadow. Illa said he was a tyrant. A monster. Then, a spark. A tiny, orange glow flared in the darkness of the other balcony. Evie froze. A figure detached itself from the shadows. He was tall. Broad-shouldered. He was leaning against the railing, facing out toward the park, a ci**rette in his hand. The sm**e drifted toward her, carrying that scent. Cedarwood. Rain. Her breath hitched. The silhouette... the way he stood, weight on one leg, shoulders tense... it felt familiar. Viscerally familiar. He turned his head. Evie couldn't see his face, just the sharp angle of a jaw and the glint of eyes reflecting the city lights. He was looking right at her. Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in her ch**t. Was that Illa's brother? Or was it... No. It couldn't be. Evie stepped back, stumbling over the doorframe, and yanked the curtains shut. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "It's just the brother," she told herself. "Just the scary neighbor." Her phone buzzed on the bed. Sl**p well, Evie. The neighbors can be loud. She stared at the text, the bl**d draining from her face. He knew. He knew where she was. Chapter 3 Expensive pink diamond The next morning, Everleigh was sitting at Illa's kitchen island, nursing a coffee, when her phone vibrated again. It wasn't a text this time. It was a notification. Invitation to download: Enigma. "What is that?" Illa asked, leaning over Evie's shoulder, a piece of toast hanging from her mouth. "I don't know. An app invite." Illa squinted,"Enigma? That's military-grade encryption. The server is in a bunker in Switzerland or something. My brother uses it. All the paranoid Wall Street guys do." A text from Gus popped up on Evie's regular message app. Standard texts aren't safe. Download this. Evie frowned. "He's paranoid." "He's rich," Illa corrected. "Download it." Evie did. The interface was stark black and white. No profile pictures. Just one contact listed: Gus. I had your number changed, the first message read. To stop your ex from calling. The new SIM card is with the doorman. Evie bristled. "He changed my number? Without asking?" "Control freak," Illa muttered, chewing her toast. "Definitely rich." Evie typed back. You have no right to control my life. I have every right, came the reply. I'm your husband. And I hold grudges against men who make my wife cry. Evie stared at the word wife. It looked alien on the screen. Ten minutes later, the doorman delivered a small package. Inside was a brand new, top-of-the-line smartphone and a SIM card. Evie swapped the cards. The silence was immediate. No more barrage of hate-texts from Darrin. It felt... lighter. The Enigma app pinged. To apologize for the unilateral decision, and to show sincerity, you need a ring. Evie rolled her eyes. We are getting divorced. I don't need a ring. As long as we are legally married, you wear my ring, he wrote. It's a matter of principle for me. "A matter of principle?" Illa scoffed, reading over Evie's shoulder. "Okay, that's weirdly formal. Maybe he's a distant cousin? Like, a third cousin twice removed who owns a car dealership in Jersey?" You're bossy, Evie typed. A moment later, an audio file appeared in the chat. She pressed play. "Be good, Evie." The voice was low, rough,It was the voice from the hotel room. Evie's face went nuclear red. Illa grabbed the phone. "Play it again." She listened, her eyes widening. "Okay. That voice? That is the voice of a man who has never flown economy. That is a private jet voice." She handed the phone back, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Let's test him." "Test him?" "If he wants to buy you a ring, let him. We'll see if he's a Jersey car dealer or... something else." Illa grabbed Evie's phone and typed. Fine. But I want to pick it out. Go ahead, Gus replied instantly. Send me the link. Illa opened the browser on her iPad and went straight to Harry Winston. "Illa, no!" Evie tried to grab the tablet. "That's insane." "Hush," Illa swatted her hand away. "If he's a fake, he'll gh**t you the second he sees the price. If he's real... well, you get a ring." She didn't go to the engagement ring section. She went to High Jewelry. The stuff that didn't have prices listed, just "Price upon request." "This is too much," Evie said, feeling dizzy as Illa scrolled past diamonds the size of grapes. "It's a stress test," Illa insisted. Next door, in a soundproofed study, Agustus Williams sat at the head of a mahogany table. Twelve men in suits were arguing about a merger. His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He held up a hand. The room went instantly silent. "Five minute recess," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He opened the app. He looked at the link Illa had sent. It was a generic page. He knew exactly what she was doing. Illa. His annoying, meddling little sister. He opened his gallery and selected a photo he'd taken at a private viewing in Sotheby's last week. Back in Illa's apartment, Evie's phone pinged. An image loaded. It wasn't a link. It was a photo of a rough, uncut stone. It glowed with an inner, vibrant pink fire. Do you like this one? the caption read. Or do you prefer it cut? Illa gasped. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated shock. She dropped the toast. "That..." She pointed a trembling finger at the screen. "That is a raw pink diamond. Evie, that's not from a website. That's from an auction catalog. A private one." "Is it expensive?" Evie asked, feeling like a child. Illa looked at her, her face deadly serious. "That stone? It could buy this entire building. Twice." Chapter 4 S**p the j**k "It has to be a Google image," Illa said, her voice shaking slightly. "He's bluffing. He has to be." She snatched Evie's phone and typed: Nice picture. Did you download it from Pinterest? The three dots appeared immediately. Cartier, Fifth Avenue. Ask for Jean-Luc,He's expecting you. Pick two,One for you, and one for the noisy friend. Illa stared at the phone. "The noisy friend? Did he just call me the noisy friend?" Then her eyes lit up. "Wait. He said pick one for me?" "I am not doing this," Evie said, standing up. "This feels like... like I'm being bought. I'm not a sugar baby." It's a wedding ring, Evie, Gus texted, as if reading her mind. You are a wife, not a mi**ress. Go. Before I have security drag you there. "He's bossy," Illa said, already running to her room to change. "I love him. Get dressed. We are going to Cartier." An hour later, they stood in front of the Cartier Mansion. Evie felt like an imposter in her jeans and blazer, but Illa marched in like she owned the place. Before they could even approach the counter, a man in an impeccable suit materialized. "Mrs. Williams?" he asked, bowing slightly to Evie. Her stomach did a flip. "Uh, yes?" "Mr. G has arranged everything. Please, follow me." He led them past the tourists, past the glass cases, up the sweeping staircase to a private room that smelled of lilies and money. Champagne was already poured. Jean-Luc donned white gloves and brought out two velvet trays. "For the bride," he said, opening the first one. A yellow diamond sat on the velvet. It was radiant cut, flanked by two white trillions. It looked like a captured piece of the sun. It was massive. "A Canary diamond," Illa breathed. "Vivid fancy yellow. My god, Evie, the clarity..." "And for the friend," Jean-Luc opened the second box. A pink diamond pendant. Smaller than the raw stone in the picture, but still exquisite. "Mr. G said the yellow suits Mrs. Williams' warmth," Jean-Luc said smoothly. "And the pink is for... amusement." Illa didn't care about the insult. She was already holding the pendant up to her neck. "He can call me whatever he wants. This is gorgeous." Evie looked at the ring. "I can't wear this. It's too big." "Mr. G insisted," Jean-Luc said. "He said if you don't take it, he will question my competence." Emotional blackmail. Effective. Evie slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Not just close-perfectly. A chill went down her spine. How did he know? "It's beautiful," she whispered. For a second, the weight of the gold on her finger felt like an anchor. A promise. The door to the VIP room opened. "I demand to see the manager!" Evie froze. That voice. Darrin walked in, a blonde girl hanging off his arm. He stopped dead when he saw Evie. "Everleigh?" He blinked, then his face twisted into a sneer. "What are you doing here? Applying for a janitor job?" The blonde girl giggled. "Is this the ex who lived in your basement?" Evie instinctively put her hand behind her back. She didn't want to engage. But Illa stepped forward. She held up the pink diamond pendant, letting it catch the light. "Oh, sorry, is the glare bothering you? It's just so... flawless." Darrin's eyes bulged. "Where did you get that?" "Gift," Illa said breezily. "From Evie's husband." "Husband?" Darrin laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "You mean the guy she picked up at the bar? What did he give her? A cubic zirconia?" Jean-Luc stepped forward, his face like stone. "Sir, please lower your voice. You are disturbing our VIP clients." "VIP?" Darrin sputtered. "She's broke! She has nothing!" Evie felt a surge of anger. Not for her, but for the man who had sent her here. Gus wasn't nothing. She brought her hand out from behind her back. The yellow diamond caught the overhead lights and practically exploded with brilliance. It cast a literal reflection on the wall. Darrin stopped breathing. The blonde girl's jaw dropped. "My husband," Evie said, her voice steady, "has excellent taste. And unlike you, he doesn't need to shout to be heard." Darrin looked from the ring to Evie, his face turning a mottled shade of red. He knew jewelry. He knew what that stone was worth. It was worth more than his life. "You..." he stammered. "Jean-Luc," Evie said, turning to the manager. "Could we have some privacy?" "Certainly, Mrs. Williams." Jean-Luc gestured to security. "Sir, please escort these guests out." As Darrin was ushered out, sputtering, Evie looked down at the ring. It felt like armor. She pulled out her phone. Ring received. It fits. Thank you... husband. Chapter 5 He is not a monster 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 hi**ey 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." &2&