CHAPTER 172: CHAPTER 172 EMOTIONAL DAMAGE

Bella gasped, eyes flashing with protective rage. "No! You wouldn’t!" But even as she protested, her feet began to move toward him—reluctantly, hesitantly.

"Closer," he said, voice softer now but heavier.

She hesitated again, her bottom lip puffed in a pout. Her heart raced as she thought of her poor plushies—her babies. Finally, she stepped closer. Then he murmured again, "More."

And before she realized, she was standing between his thighs, close enough to feel the heat of his body. Her breath caught as her gaze dropped for a moment—just a second too long and then his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her swiftly into his lap.

Her body tensed, eyes going wide as the chair groaned beneath them.

"D-Don’t do anything to my plushies," she warned, placing her hands on his shoulders to balance herself, flustered and unsure if she wanted to push him away or hold on tighter.

He didn’t reply. Instead, Leonardo gently patted her head, brushing her hair back like she was something precious.

Bella looked at him, heart pounding. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice shaky.

"What am I doing?" he countered softly, his gray eyes unreadable.

"This..." she whispered, looking down, embarrassed by the closeness, the feeling of sitting in his lap, her whole body betraying her with how aware it was of him.

He leaned in, just a little, voice darker than before. "Tell me... why won’t you listen to me?"

Bella’s eyes snapped back to his. "Because I’m my own person," she said, anger flickering in her tone, refusing to let his presence silence her.

His eyes darkened. "No," he growled, hands slowly grazing down her back, "you’re my wife."

Her heart stopped and then picked up again with a painful thud. She stared at him. "No. You’re not my husband."

His jaw clenched hard. His voice dropped, turning cold. "What did you just say?"

"You’re not my husband!!" Bella snapped, eyes blazing.

And the moment the words left her lips, it happened fast.

In a blink, he had her laid across his lap. His large hand pinned her gently but firmly in place.

Before she could even shout, his hand landed on her bottom—sharp, not cruel, but enough to make her jolt.

"Say it," he said, voice rough and low, thick with emotion. "Say I’m your husband."

"N-No! You’re not—!" Another firm spank cut her off, not hard enough to hurt, but her cheeks were burning now—for more than one reason.

"You’re a bad guy!" she cried out, eyes stinging with frustrated tears. "I hate you! You’re not my husband!"

He paused. His hand hovered. And then, slowly, he leaned down, pressing his forehead to her back, breathing heavily.

"Then why," he whispered, "does it hurt when you say that?"

Bella froze.

***

Bella’s cheeks were on fire.

She couldn’t look up. Not at the staff. Not at the mirrored walls. And definitely not at the curious stares aimed their way.

She stepped out of the changing room with her fingers gripping the hem of her sleeves, eyes fixed on the floor. Leonardo walked out behind her, calm, composed, his presence impossible to ignore. The sight of them exiting together was enough to turn every head nearby.

And everyone noticed.

Whispers spread through the boutique like perfume in the air.

Bella felt like shrinking into the carpet.

Still flustered and blinking fast to hold back the tears of embarrassment, she barely noticed when Leonardo came to a stop near a rack of soft-toned dresses. His sharp gray eyes scanned them quickly—too quickly—before he reached out and plucked one from the row.

A soft peach dress.

Elegant. Feminine.

He turned toward her, lifted it up against her figure without asking permission, and tilted his head slightly.

"This one," he said.

Then, without a second glance, he placed the hanger in her trembling hands.

Her throat went dry. "You picked... this?"

He didn’t answer. His phone buzzed in his coat pocket. He checked the screen, answered it with a curt tone, and walked off toward the far side of the boutique, leaving her behind—alone, pink-faced, and holding a dress that somehow made her feel like she belonged to him.

Behind the counter, the sales assistants watched with wide eyes and wicked smiles.

One of them leaned in, whispering, "Do you think we need to clean that changing room?"

Another giggled behind her palm. "Do you think they... you know... did something in there?"

"Haha... I mean, look at her cheeks! They’re bright red! And her eyes... she’s literally tearing up! That has to mean something."

"Shhh! Guys!" the third one hissed, mortified. "You’re so dirty! That’s none of our business!"

Bella clutched the peach dress tighter, her face burning as she pretended not to hear them.

She gripped the dress tighter, eyes wide in mortification.

How could she explain that? That she cried because she was flustered, overwhelmed, And yes because she had just been spanked like a naughty child by her own husband in a dressing room!

It was too shameful. Too outrageous. Her face had been red since that moment and it refused to cool down.

She pouted deeply, hugging the peach dress closer to her chest, her bottom still sore and her pride even sorer.

Hmph! That Leo! That awful, evil man! How dare he!

He spanked her like she was his baby! Like she didn’t have dignity! Like he had every right to discipline her whenever she defied him!

...Which he apparently thought he did. Because he didn’t even look the least bit guilty!

Bella grumbled under her breath, her pout turning more intense.

And the worst part? The most infuriating part?

She liked it.

Not all of it! Just a little! A teeny-tiny bit! The way his voice had turned low... the way his hands had felt on her waist... the way his chest was warm when she was pulled close—

"No! No! Bad!" she scolded herself in her head, stomping one foot lightly as if that would chase away the thoughts.

She hated him. Hated how he made her feel weird things.

Ugh! That Leo! Very, very bad guy!

Her cheeks puffed angrily as she glared at the back of his tall, calm figure while he talked on the phone like nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, she was still recovering from emotional damage.