The signing of the marriage agreement was a swift and straightforward affair, quite unlike the extravagant celebration that followed in the penthouse, and despite my discomfort, I'd tried to immerse myself in the festivities, reminding myself that this was only temporary.

We danced, offered toasts, listened to speeches, and accepted gifts. A few hours later, we left the ceremony to Tristan's private hangar and boarded his private Boeing jet.

I didn't speak to him all through simply because I had nothing to say to him. The memory of him holding me down on that couch and ruthlessly spanking me was still vividly stark in my mind. I didn't think I could look at him the same way after last night.

Later on, I learned from one of the staff that we were heading to a resort in Ha Long Bay. I'd read a lot about Ha Long Bay in the tropical honeymoon destinations article at work. It was a bay in Vietnam known for its undulating emerald waters and limestone islands.

After the pilot announced that we had reached cruising altitude and it was safe to take our seat belts off, Tristan disappeared on me. I didn't care, I spent my time reading magazines and sipping my wine until eventually, I drifted asleep, only jerked awake by the pilot's voice that rumbled over the invisible speakers.

"Touching down in Noi Bai International Airport in five minutes. Please fasten your seat belts."

Upon reaching the airport, we hopped onto the pre-booked seaplane Tristan arranged, flying to the expansive resort that, in my exhaustion, I couldn't fully appreciate.

At the shore station, a petite blonde woman in traditional attire welcomed us with a slight bow and as the athletic men behind her handled our luggage, she led us to a private suite.

Fortunately, the walk through the concrete path and stone steps didn't last long, and soon enough, we emerged in front of a golden door.

"Welcome, Mr. And Mrs. Larsen. It is an honor to have you here. I hope you enjoy your stay." She said, handing us both key cards except they belonged to the same room. "If you need anything please do not hesitate to press the room service buzzer."

I looked down at the golden card and my nerves jumped anew. We were going to be sleeping together.

"Thank you," Tristan said with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes and pressed the card against the censor button.

One step into the stadium plush suite and I was blown away by the imperial layout and rich details. Everything seemed to be made of cherry wood; the floors, walls, dresser, and even the wide four-poster bed positioned opposite the crystal clear floor-to-ceiling glass windows offering a stellar view of the green jungle and moss-covered mountains rising from the water.

It was an ultimate honeymoon suite with an air of natural beauty and it got me wondering; if he could pick a place as grand as this for a honeymoon with a woman he didn't love, what would he do for the one he did love?

When the men stacked our luggage in the corner of the room and exited, I stalked over to mine and opened it, rummaging through for a night dress because I needed to shower and wash everything about this horrendous day away.

Tristan knocked off his shoes and pressed a button that brought the ruddy blinds down the windows. I turned to steal a glance at him, and then I looked at the bed. It was insignificantly small; a very good size for couples who actually planned on cuddling up and having sex but that wasn't us, and the knowledge that we'd have to squeeze together in it didn't help calm my nerves.

"Are we going to be sharing the bed? We can share a room but I will not share a bed with you." I elaborated, aware there were no sofas or soft rugs and it meant one of us would have to sleep on the hard wooden floor.

"Suit yourself." He replied, his fingers flicking open the buttons of his shirt.

Frowning, I snatched up a black California T-shirt and pink shorts. "I'll sleep on the floor."

Ignoring me, he untucked the shirt from his slacks so it fell completely open, bringing to full view his washboard stomach and bulging muscles adorned with vibrant tattoos.

It took all my willpower not to stare.

Look away from the abs.

Look away from the abs.

Oh, who was I kidding?

I couldn't take my eyes off his chest. Seriously, it was like a disease. I'd never seen so much perfectly formed muscle on one man in my entire life. There wasn't an inch of his body not tightly packed with potencies, and his skin was so smooth and tanned that my hands tingled with a desperate need to feel it.

I watched him empty his pockets of his keys and wallet, and then he reached for his belt, undoing it.

My throat tightened. The slacks fell to the floor, exposing his tight black briefs and toned calves. Christ. This man was a machine. When my cheeks started to heat, I forcefully peeled my eyes off him and started to walk towards the bathroom.

"Sienna." He stopped me coolly.

I turned. "What?"

He pointed at the other door. "The bathroom is that way."

My cheeks burned with mortification. Silently, I flounced off in the right direction. Inside, I shut the door with a satisfying bang and rested behind it.

My heart was thumping. I gave it a few seconds and let out a deep sigh.

There was no time to waste.

Walking forward into the shinning bathroom, I started to unpin my veil and free my hair from the multitude of pins that had held it in place.

Once the long black strands cascaded down my shoulders, I unceremoniously kicked off my designer heels. It was then that I attempted to rid myself of the soul-crushing dress. However, the intricate buttons running down from my back to my hips proved to be an insurmountable obstacle.

I fumbled, trying to reach for them but they resisted release. Times like this I wish I didn't have short limbs. A well of frustration overcame me. I puffed out a breath, elbows flaring in the air as I engaged in a ridiculous dance battle with the fabric. Amid my struggle, my elbow knocked down a vase and I yelped as it crashed against the tiled floor and shattered into pieces.

A knock reverberated through the door almost immediately. "What was that?" Tristan asked, his voice penetrating the fragile silence.

Surveying the damage, I answered back. "Nothing, it's fine."

But the bathroom door swung open and he entered, startling me.

"The fuck, I said nothing, why are you in here?!"

"Because I don't trust your judgment." His eyes lowered to the shards of glass on the floor. "Clearly, I was right not to."

"Whatever, get out." I turned back to the mirror and ignored his presence as I resumed my battle with the stubborn dress.

"You're going to ruin the dress."

Pretending like he didn't just speak to me, I continued my voyage. I didn't even know why he was still in here.

"Sienna," he called out, his voice laced with impatience. When I still didn't acknowledge him or cast a glance in his direction, he strode forward and positioned himself behind me.

His proximity sent my heart into an accelerated rhythm, before I could react, his hands swatted mine away and he began deftly undoing the buttons.

I shivered and attempted to turn away but he steadied me by gripping my shoulders. "Stay still," he commanded, his voice carrying a note of authority. "This will go faster if you don't protest."

I met his gaze through the mirror. "I didn't ask for your help."

His response was a wordless one, as a palpable silence hung between us while he leisurely worked on the buttons and I found myself complying, albeit begrudgingly.

His skilled fingers worked quickly, undoing the buttons one by one, his knuckles brushing my spine the entire length.

I swallowed, trying my hardest to shake off the dangerous shivers that rippled through me.

With the final button undone, a rush of cool air swept across my exposed back, causing an involuntary shiver. I hastily adjusted my gown, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I inched away, expecting him to take the hint and leave, but he remained behind me, his eyes levelled on the lower region of my back.

I knew exactly what had caught his attention. It was the imprint he had left behind on my skin.

I yelped and jumped when he suddenly pressed a finger into a burning spot. "Ow! What the fuck?!" I hissed, recoiling to the traumatic pain.

His eyes caught mine in the mirror and our eyes held each other's for a long moment before he spoke again. "You didn't apply anything."

Was I supposed to?

I turned to face him, my annoyance returning. I hissed. "That's none of your business. Leave, please, you're no longer needed here."

He stared at me in silence, looking like he wanted to say something, but then, without another word, he turned and walked out.

About half an hour later, when I stepped out freshly showered and in my T-shirt and all, the lights were dimmed and the room was shrouded in silence.

Tristan was sprawled on the bed, deep in the embrace of sleep, his form a silhouette against the soft glow filtering through the curtains. He slept on his stomach, both hands carelessly thrown on the pillow above his head.

Rolling my eyes at him even if he couldn't see me, I walked over to the wardrobe and opened it. I pulled out a duvet and walked to the center of the room, determined to create some semblance of comfort for myself.

Pillows, yes.

I walked back to the bed to grab a pillow. As I carefully maneuvered one away, Tristan stirred, releasing a soft snore.

I paused. My eyes dropped to him. He released another snore. He must have been exhausted. He didn't even shower.

He smelt nice tho. His alluring scent clung to him like a second skin.

Watching his back rise and fall with every breath he took made a strange tenderness invade my chest. He looked more peaceful when he slept. His features were subtle and calm.

This was the less intimidating, less dangerous side of Tristan Larsen the world rarely saw.

What happened to him to make him so...him?

Was it losing his parents?

Seemingly forgetting the reason why I was there, I lifted my hand and brushed the stunning mess of hair out of his face. He stirred softly in response and groaned.

I smiled, allowing my eyes to wander over the intricate tattoos adorning his back.

I hadn't really looked at them up close before. He had different shapes and sizes of tattoos, all etched like delicate imprints of untold chapters into his skin.

My eyes settled on one of the tattoos. I'd never seen anything like it before. It was a drawing of a two-headed snake coiled around the thorn of a rose. As creepy as that sounded, it kind of looked cool. Compelled by curiosity, the tip of my finger grazed it, and that was when I realized that the tattoo had a faint scar underneath, just like the one on his torso.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed more faded white scars. They were scattered all over his back, some straight lines, some crisscrossed, all hidden under the inky lines of his tattoos.

Then it struck me.

Alarming emotions curled inside me as my eyes skimmed over his back. There were so many tattoos. Did it mean that he-

A distressed groan rumbled from deep within his throat, causing me to recoil back.

He stirred again, muttering something incoherent as he turned.

What was I doing?

Panicking, I swiftly retreated to my makeshift bed with my pillow and lay on it.

The shuffling stopped.

I tossed my blanket over my shoulder and closed my eyes, attempting to escape the labyrinth of my thoughts with my sleep. It didn't come quickly, but when it did, I succumbed to the quiet.

-Only to be jolted awake hours later by the sound of a strangled cry that sliced through the darkness.

My eyes snapped open and I shot up, momentarily disoriented. The room was dark and shrouded with moonlight. Clutching the sheets, I spun around, wondering if the sound was all in my head, but one look at the anguish contorted in Tristan's sleeping face told me it wasn't.

My stomach pulled taut.

He was straining against the sheets, hissing harshly, his body twisting from side to side. He was having a nightmare.

I got up, watching him, unsure of what to do. His distress was palpable and I felt a strange ache in my chest. Despite all the arrogance and coldness, he looked vulnerable in his sleep.

After a moment of hesitation, I approached the bed cautiously.

"Tristan," I summoned in a whisper, not wanting to startle him but hoping to pull him from the grip of the nightmare.

His thrashing intensified and he muttered something unintelligible.

I reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on. The room lit up. His eyes were sealed tight. He was sweating heavily from every pore, clutching the sheets with a white-knuckled force as deep agonized sounds escaped his lips.

My heart pounded violently against the wall of my chest.

What do I do?

"Tristan, wake up," I tried again, a little louder this time, but he didn't respond.

"Tristan." My hand moved forward to touch him but I retracted it as I realized he wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want me here. This was his moment of weakness; he wouldn't want me to see him like this. I should've left, but the pain and torment twisting on his beautiful face made something in me loosen. I couldn't leave him like this. My conscience would eat me alive. I had to wake him up.

Taking a deep breath through my nose to calm my rising nerves, I called out to him one more time, but he didn't respond. Instead, he kept thrashing around, cursing, and shaking the bed along.

I bit my lip. "Tristan. It's just a dream. Please wake up."

"Madeline..." He hissed out through clenched teeth, his head turning from side to side. "Get away from me... Stop..."

Madeline?

Who was she?

"Get your hands off me! Stop! Don't touch me!" He kicked at the covers furiously, as if trying to fight something off with every part of his body.

Fearing he might hurt himself, I took the bold step and shook him lightly. "Hey, Tristan, it's not real, wake up."

"Stop!" He rebuffed, still not hearing me. "Get off!"

My blood roared in my ears. I loomed over him, swallowing the fear and panic that curled up my throat as I grabbed both his clammy shoulders and shook him. "Jesus Christ, Tristan!" I shouted, shaking him flagrantly. "Snap out of it and wake up!"

"I said get the fuck off me!" He yelled at the bark of my command, and in the disorienting blur of the moment, his hand slammed into my chest, pushing me back with so much force that I lost my balance and fell, hitting my head with a bang on the edge of the glass table.

Instant pain shot up my brain and exploded in my head with a blinding whiteness that made my body freeze. My hand instantly went to the side of my head, and I wanted to cry out at the vicious pain, but shock and confusion had my mouth numb.

Tristan jerked up at that moment, looking disoriented and lost, and when his eyes found mine, they stretched wide. "Sienna..." He called, but his words faded, and the heaviness weighed in. All of a sudden, the room felt too small. There wasn't enough air. My lungs clogged, and my world went black.