A Rogue For The Quadruplet Alpha's.

Maria.

I was still lost in my thoughts when my eyes drifted toward Vanessa. She stood there, poised, fingers lightly resting against Damien’s chest, her movements deliberate, calculated, yet dressed in the soft illusion of innocence. Her lips curved into a slight, sweet smile, the kind that seemed harmless at first glance but carried a sharp edge beneath the surface.

She blinked slowly, once, twice, as if considering something trivial, but the tone in her voice betrayed her. "Oh, but isn’t that difficult? I wouldn’t want her getting into trouble..."

It sounded soft. Careful. Almost concerned. And yet, the words carried a subtle mockery, a hint of challenge hidden in the sweetness. The way she spoke suggested the exact opposite of what she claimed. Her gaze flicked toward me briefly, just enough for her amusement to linger like a shadow over my shoulders.

Davian’s eyes didn’t waver. They were locked on me, sharp, assessing, unrelenting. "If she is capable of moving freely through private chambers," he said, his tone calm but laced with unspoken weight, "she is capable of handling a retrieval."

The words hit harder than I expected.

The implication was clear. Precise. A reminder that my freedom, my capabilities, were always measured and weighed by him. By them. By this room. By their expectations. It stung, a quiet ache that pressed at my chest, and yet I kept my expression neutral, careful not to give away the tension twisting inside me.

Damien’s jaw tightened slightly, a brief, subtle flicker of tension that only I noticed. "The vault requires authorization," he said, the statement carrying more than just procedural concern. It was a warning, an attempt to interject logic into a game I already knew I was part of.

"I’ll sign it," Davian replied smoothly, almost lazily, his voice carrying authority that didn’t need to shout. "Let’s see how efficient she truly is."

Vanessa’s smile widened just a fraction, the kind of smile that seemed sweet to anyone else but was pointed in its intention. She turned her eyes fully toward me, her gaze lingering just long enough to make me shiver despite my composure. "I’ll be waiting," she said lightly. "Don’t take too long."

The words weren’t about the shawl. Not really.

It was about power.

About control.

About reminding me, in the most subtle and precise way, where I stood.

I bowed my head, careful to make the movement graceful, measured. "As you wish," I said, each word calm, precise, holding nothing of the storm thrumming inside me. My chest felt tight, almost painfully so, but my face remained still, composed.

I turned toward the door, my steps deliberate, controlled, each one measured as if the floor itself could judge me. As I reached for the handle, I felt their eyes on me again. Vanessa, laughing softly in Damien’s arms, her amusement quiet but sharp, lingering like a knife across my awareness. Davian, silent, watching, weighing, calculating.

And in that moment, I understood perfectly.

This wasn’t a simple task.

This wasn’t a request.

I was about to be set up.

Every glance, every word, every carefully constructed gesture was a part of it. And I was the only one expected to walk forward unafraid.

My heart thumped stubbornly against the cage of my ribs. My mind raced. And yet, outwardly, I remained calm, poised, ready to step into what they had prepared for me.

I had barely taken three steps out of the room when Davian’s voice cut through the air like steel.

"Did I ask you to leave?"

I froze mid-step, my heart skipping a beat. The air seemed to thicken around me, suffocating, but I forced myself to turn slowly, keeping my expression neutral.

"No," I whispered, my voice steady, though my pulse was hammering against my ribs. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

Davian’s gaze lingered on me for a moment, sharp and assessing, before he finally looked away, as if dismissing my hesitation.

"Follow me," he said, his tone controlled but commanding. "We’ll go to my room. You’ll take this signed document to retrieve the shawl."

I nodded once, stiffly, and fell in step behind him. My mind was racing, every instinct screaming at me to stay alert, but I forced myself to remain calm. Each step toward his room felt like a trap, every click of our shoes against the floor echoing louder in my head.

When we reached his room, he gestured for me to wait by the door while he retrieved a document from his desk. He scribbled his signature with precision, his movements smooth and deliberate, the kind of efficiency that made me almost forget the way my body reacted to him just standing there. Almost.

He finally handed the signed paper to me, his hand brushing mine ever so slightly, sending a spark of irritation through me, not because of desire, but because of his audacity.

Then, just as I reached for it, his voice dropped, low and dangerous:

"Tell me, Maria... who are you working for? Darren or Daniel?"

My eyes flicked to him, sharp. His stare was almost piercing, challenging. He wasn’t asking, he was testing. He was giving me one last chance, and I knew it.

My hands clenched lightly around the paper. I could feel the heat rising in my chest, my blood threatening to boil, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing it. I wouldn’t show weakness. I wouldn’t answer him. Not a word.

A long pause followed. The room seemed to shrink around us, the tension so thick I could practically feel it pressing against my skin. My jaw tightened. My mind raced with all the ways I wanted to snap at him, to throw the signed paper down and storm out, but I kept my posture perfect, composed.

Finally, I spoke. Calmly. With measured words, hiding the fire roiling inside me:

"I... need to leave. I’m going to retrieve the shawl for Luna Vanessa."

The moment the words left my mouth, I felt it, the shift in the air, the darkening of his expression. His eyes narrowed slightly, shadows falling over his features, his jaw tightening in a way that made it clear he hadn’t anticipated my stubbornness.

Before I could even take a single step forward, he moved.

Fast.

So fast that my stomach lurched, the sudden rush of movement knocking the air out of me and making my knees threaten to buckle. My senses went sharp, every nerve firing in alarm. The moment stretched for a heartbeat, then his hands were on my waist. Firm. Unyielding. Pulling me toward him with a force that brooked no refusal. I barely had time to register the motion before the space between us vanished.

Then his lips were on mine.

Sharp.

Claiming.

Demanding.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t teasing. Not playful. Not gentle. Not the kind of kiss that hinted at affection or flirtation. It was full, overwhelming, and absolute, a statement of control so clear it left no room for hesitation, no space to resist. My body stiffened immediately, instinct screaming for distance, for escape, for air. My mind, though, froze. Shock anchored me to the spot, my thoughts scattered in a haze of disbelief and tension.

"You..." I managed to think, the word trying to claw its way out of me, but no sound emerged. His mouth pressed harder, sealing my lips against his, leaving me voiceless, a prisoner to the intensity of his claim. Every heartbeat thudded against the next with a wild rhythm that I could feel deep in my chest.

I could feel him.

Every inch of him pressed into me through the thin fabric of my clothes, the warmth of his body, the taut strength of his muscles, the heat radiating from his chest and arms. It pressed against me, encasing me in his presence, leaving no room for the world around us. My pulse roared in my ears, a frantic drumbeat that matched the sudden chaos inside me. My chest rose and fell unevenly against his, breaths shallow, caught between the instinct to flee and the shock of being caught.

And yet, even as his lips dominated mine, even as his hands held me so tightly I thought I might be fused to him, I clung to one thing: my will.

My stubbornness.

I refused to fully submit.

Not entirely.

Every fiber of me resisted the ease of giving in, the temptation to surrender. I didn’t answer his challenge. Not with words. Not with any willing yielding. My body betrayed me in small, reluctant ways, the warmth, the contact, but my mind remained tethered, anchored, refusing to acknowledge complete defeat.

The kiss left no visible mark. Not on my lips. Not on my skin. Yet it carved itself somewhere deeper, somewhere that would not fade. In my mind.

A permanent imprint, sharp and undeniable, a reminder of the force that had claimed me without consent. The kiss spoke louder than any words could. It was an assertion, a declaration, a warning wrapped in flesh and heat.

I could feel the strength in his arms, the power behind every movement, the insistence of his possession. And even as my heart raced, as my thoughts scrambled for control, the impossible truth remained: I could not move him. Not physically, not emotionally, not in that instant.

Every nerve in my body screamed resistance, even as my senses were flooded with awareness of him, his smell, his taste, the smooth hardness beneath my fingers, the warmth against my cheeks, the subtle pressure of his grip. My mind cataloged it all even as it rejected it, marking every detail with a clarity that terrified me.

I realized, with a dangerous mix of irritation and something I refused to name, that the real battle had only just begun.

Davian had assumed control, yes. But I would walk out with that document, and I would retrieve the shawl. And I would survive whatever he threw at me next.

My pulse still racing, my hands trembling ever so slightly around the paper, I stared at him for a long moment, refusing to flinch.

And in that instant, I knew, this wasn’t just about the shawl.

It was about dominance.

Control.

And me.