The last lust before divorce

Chapter 1: The Final Debt

​The penthouse smelled of cold rain and the heavy, musky scent of Silas's cologne. Elena stared at the divorce papers on the bed.

​"Sign them, Silas. We had a deal."

​Silas didn't move. He stood by the window, his shirt unbuttoned, looking at her like a predator who wasn't done playing with his food. "A deal? You think three years of me owning you ends with a stroke of a pen?"

​"I gave you everything," Elena snapped, her voice trembling. "My youth, my name... my body. Sign the papers."

​Silas walked toward her, his footsteps silent on the plush rug. He gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. His touch was searing, a familiar brand. "You want your freedom so badly? Then give me what I bought you for. One. Last. Time."

​"You're disgusting," she gasped, even as her pulse betrayed her, hammering against her ribs.

​"And yet, you're still here," he whispered, his lips grazing her ear. He spun her around, forcing her to face the mirror. "Look at yourself, Elena. You're shivering. Is it hate? Or is it because you know no one will ever touch you the way I do?"

​He didn't wait for an answer. His hands were everywhere-possessive, rough, demanding. He tore the silk from her shoulders, his mouth crashing onto hers in a kiss that tasted of bourbon and desperation. Elena fought him for a second before the familiar, dark heat took over. It was a battle, a final collision of two people who hated how much they craved each other.

​"The papers, Silas," she moaned against his neck as he lifted her onto the mahogany desk.

​"After," he growled, his eyes dark with an obsessive fire. "I'm going to make sure you remember the feel of me every time you close your eyes for the rest of your life."

​He claimed her right there, amidst the legal documents and the shattered remains of their marriage. Every thrust was a reminder of his power, and every gasp from Elena was a countdown to her escape.

​One Hour Later

​The ink was barely dry on Silas's signature when Elena bolted for the door. She didn't pack. She didn't look back.

​"You'll be back!" Silas shouted from the balcony, his voice raw. "You have nothing, Elena! You're nothing without me!"

​Elena burst through the hotel's revolving doors into the freezing night. A black Rolls Royce sat idling, its engine a low, predatory growl.

​The back door opened. A man stepped out-taller, broader, and radiating a cold authority that made Silas look like a boy.

​"Elena."

​The stranger's voice was like velvet over steel. Silas had followed her down, skidding to a halt on the wet pavement.

​"Who the hell are you?" Silas demanded, reaching for Elena's arm. "Get away from my wife!"

​The stranger didn't flinch. He stepped into the light, his eyes chillingly calm. "She isn't your wife anymore, Thorne. You signed her over the moment you accepted my