Man in black - sequel

19.Devil in disguise

My mouth parted slightly, breath hitching as I took in the man standing in front of me — tall, powerful, and impossibly gorgeous. His well-built frame glistened with a sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he unwrapped his hands. He looked like he had just stepped out of a Vogue magazine shoot, but more dangerous... more real.

The anger that had flared inside me moments ago flickered, replaced by something else entirely — desire. My eyes betrayed me, trailing over every inch of his sculpted body, memorizing him like he was the most intoxicating thing I'd ever seen.

"Love," he said, his voice laced with unexpected warmth as he stepped away from the punching bag, heading toward me like I hadn't just come in storming. His presence snapped me out of the trance, grounding me right back into my fury.

"I hate you," I spat, hurling my handbag to the floor with a loud thud. "Everything you gave me — I want nothing of it!"
I tugged off the bracelet, ripped out the earrings, and kicked off the sandals he had picked out for me this morning. They clattered dramatically across the floor, each thud echoing the chaos inside me.

He looked amused, infuriatingly so, dragging a hand through his damp, messy hair — and somehow managing to look hotter than ever.

"I even gave you that dress you're wearing, love," he said, his voice dipped in playful arrogance.

The corner of my lip twitched, not with a smile — with rage. "I don't mind taking it off," I snapped, eyes locked on his. "Unless you're okay with your men getting a full view of me naked."

His teasing smirk vanished. His jaw clenched. Storm clouds brewed in his eyes, and the air around us turned heavy with tension.

"Alicia."

"I'm not going to feel bad," I said sharply. "And I'm sure as hell not going to apologize. Why should I? You don't respect me. You don't value what I think. You just parade me around like some trophy wife." My voice cracked. "I hate you."

"Love..." he said again, softer this time — but before he could step closer, his phone buzzed. With a sharp sigh, he answered it, putting it on speaker.

"Boss," came the guard's voice. "Simon Wakefield is at the gate. Says he wants to see Mrs William ."

Duncan's gaze flicked to mine, a slow, dangerous smirk curving his lips. "I told you, love. That man shouldn't dare come near me. He's just called death on himself."

Then into the phone, his voice dipped into icy sarcasm, "Let him in. And make sure he's treated royally."

I stormed out of the room, gritting my teeth, rage pulsing through every step as I bolted down the stairs. My heart was pounding — from fury, not fear. Not of him.
The guards were stationed like statues, guns raised with brutal precision. Simon was on his knees, his hands pinned behind his back, a faint bruise already forming on his cheek.

I barely made it to the last step before Duncan's presence blanketed the air behind me — calm, collected, in control.

I spun to face him, fury sparking like wildfire in my chest.

"Let him go," I said, my voice low but deadly.

Duncan quirked a brow like I had asked him what day it was. "Is that a command, love?" he asked, almost amused.

"I'm not joking, Duncan," I snapped. "This isn't funny — you promised me. You looked me in the eye and promised."

He didn't even flinch. Just stood there — smug, maddening, unreadable.

I laughed bitterly, tears stinging behind my eyelids. "Why do I even try with you? My words clearly don't matter. You never cared. You pretend to listen, but in the end it's always your way. You're just—just—"
I clenched my fists, trembling with frustration.
"You just stone hearted ," I spat, chest heaving.