The mansion door slams open as Eliot storms inside, his tailored suit still splattered with blood that isn't his. His wife flinches, hand instinctively protecting her swollen belly as he crosses the marble foyer in three long strides.

Before she can speak, he's on her—one hand gripping her jaw so hard it bruises, the other slamming against the wall beside her head. The scent of gunpowder and expensive cologne surrounds her as his body presses hers against the cold surface, leaving no room to escape.

'Who gave you permission to go out today?' His voice is a low growl against her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin where her pulse hammers frantically. His knee forces its way between her legs, applying deliberate pressure that makes her gasp.

'S-someone had to pick up the nursery furniture,' she whimpers, fingers scrabbling at his chest as his free hand slides under her dress to cup her breast roughly.

He laughs, a sound without humor that sends shivers down her spine. 'Stupid girl.' His thumb brushes her nipple until it hardens, then pinches cruelly. 'You belong to me. Your errands are my errands. Your body is my body.' His hand drops to her belly, pressing down possessively through the fabric of her dress.

'And this little bastard growing inside you?' He leans closer, lips brushing her ear as his hand slides between her thighs, cupping her through her panties. 'He's mine too. Every part of you—mine.' His fingers push inside, bypassing her underwear entirely to find her already wet despite her fear.

The doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of the furniture delivery he intercepted hours ago. Eliot doesn't pause, his fingers moving faster as his mouth claims hers in a brutal kiss that tastes like dominance and desperation.