His expression hardens, and he reaches for my hair, pushing it out of my face with a cold look in his eyes. “I’ll agree to that, so long as we’re clear on one thing: you’re mine as much as I’m yours, and I do not share. You can hide our marriage as much as you want, but it doesn’t make it any less real.” The possessiveness in his gaze makes my stomach tighten, and my heart begins to beat a little wilder. From the moment I found out who I’d marry, I’ve wondered whether any of what we shared was real, whether he truly wants me, or whether it was all an act, a role he was playing. I doubt he’s
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