RETURN OF THE GOD OF WAR

Strip, Princess

Morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the jade room, filling it with a soft golden glow. The room’s systems had kept the air perfectly warm and comfortable overnight, but Helena Morrison hadn’t slept well. She tossed and turned, her body stiff from tension. When she finally opened her eyes, they felt heavy, and she yawned, stretching against the soft mattress. The silk sheets slid over her skin, reminding her where she was.

For a moment, she almost forgot the nightmare of last night; her grandfather’s harsh command, and the man who had shared her bed. But then it all came back. She turned her head, expecting to see John lying beside her, his scarred back toward her like it had been when she’d drifted off. Instead, the space was empty. The sheets were wrinkled but already cool.

Helena sat up, her nightgown slipping off one shoulder as she brushed messy hair from her face. “Where is he?” she whispered, torn between feeling relieved and uneasy. The room looked bigger without him, yet his absence left her unsettled. Had he really left—slipped away in the night like the ghost he always claimed to be?

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet pressing against the warm marble floor, etched with golden patterns. The room’s systems gave off a low hum, keeping everything perfect—no dust, no cold, just quiet luxury. Helena rose slowly, pulling her nightgown into place as her eyes moved across the room. His backpack was still on the golden armchair. The couch looked untouched. The bathroom door stood slightly open. But there was no sign of him.

She stepped onto the soft carpet, moving carefully, her eyes drawn to the tall windows that opened onto the estate’s gardens. Outside, the morning sun lit up the grass in brilliant green, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts were far away, caught on the things John had revealed last night; his true identity as John Hardwick, the heir thought lost, the death of his grandfather, the threats that forced her to stay silent. It all felt unreal, like a feverish dream she couldn’t wake from.

A steady thudding sound reached her ears—soft and rhythmic, like muffled beats against the floor. Helena turned, her eyes settling on the far corner of the room near the pillars.

There he was. John.

He wore only black shorts, his body shining with sweat as he moved up and down in flawless press-ups on the carpet. His muscles tightened with every push, arms flexing like bands of steel, the tattoos on his arms shifting with each motion. Beads of sweat rolled from his forehead, sliding down his broad back, catching the light and marking every ridge of muscle.

Helena’s breath hitched, her eyes widening as she stared, unable to pull away. He was massive, his chest rising and falling, his abs tightening into sharp lines, every press-up done with raw strength and control. Scars crossed his torso, pale against his tanned skin, but instead of weakness, they made him look even stronger, like proof of battles survived.

It was mesmerizing, the way his body moved relentlessly and powerful, like a weapon built for war. Nothing like the polished men in her social circle’s gyms. No chemical or steroid could create something this fierce, this real.

She leaned lightly against a pillar, arms folding across her chest, but her eyes never left him. She lost track of time, caught in the rhythm of his movements—minutes slipping by as she stared, spellbound by the slick muscles, the steady breaths, the sheer force he carried in every motion. It was almost… beautiful, though frightening at the same time.

Then he stopped, pushing up one last time before rising to his feet in a fluid motion. He turned, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and his eyes locked onto hers. Helena jolted, her heart skipping a beat as she realized he’d caught her staring. His chest and abs were on full display now, standing out firmly, rippling with each breath; eight-pack abs, veins tracing paths over his biceps. It was overwhelming, more imposing than any gym coach pumped with steroids; this was natural.

John cleared his throat, a deep, rumbling sound that snapped her back to reality. “Enjoying the view?” he said, his voice laced with amusement, a smirk tugging at his bearded lips.

Helena’s cheeks heated instantly, a deep crimson spreading across her face as embarrassment flooded her. She straightened, uncrossing her arms and crossing them again, fumbling for composure. “I—I wasn’t staring,” she stammered, her voice higher than intended. “I was just… wondering what kind of freak works out at dawn in someone else’s room.”

John laughed, a low, teasing chuckle that made her flush deepen. He stepped closer, grabbing a towel from his backpack and wiping down his chest, the motion only highlighting his physique more. “Sure you weren’t. Your eyes were glued to me like I was a piece of art. What was it you said last night? My scars are ‘disgusting’? Didn’t look disgusted to me.”

Her embarrassment twisted into defensiveness, her cheeks burning as she averted her eyes. “Shut up! I was just surprised you’re not lazing around like the intruder you are. And don’t flatter yourself... you look like you’ve been mauled by a bear. Not exactly appealing.”

He arched a brow, still smirking as he tossed the towel aside and stepped even closer, the scent of his sweat wafting toward her. “Mauled by a bear? Cute. But your staring says otherwise. Admit it, princess... you were checking me out. First time seeing a real man up close?”

Helena’s face flamed, her hands clenching at her sides as she met his gaze, trying to mask her mortification with anger. “Real man? Please. You’re just a sweaty brute. And stop calling me princess... it’s annoying!”

John grinned, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Annoying? Or accurate? So, what are your plans for today, princess? Besides ogling me, of course.”

She frowned slightly, her embarrassment giving way to irritation as she smoothed her nightgown, trying to regain some dignity. “Just because we’re forced to share this room doesn’t mean you have any right to know my daily affairs. My life is none of your business.”

He arched a brow at her, crossing his arms over his chest, his muscles flexing in a way that made her glance away again. “None of my business? We’re engaged soon, so we are practically a couple already. Couples make plans together, don’t they? Or is that too ‘common’ for you?”

Helena frowned deeper, scoffing as she got out of bed, her bare feet hitting the warm floor. “Couple? In your dreams. I’ve had enough of you and your delusions.” She turned, intending to storm out, her nightgown swishing around her legs.

“Where are you going barefoot?” John asked, his voice casual but with an edge, as if amused by her rebellion.

She paused at the door, her hand on the panel. “My room, obviously. Away from you.”

Before she could input the code, John’s hand shot out, grabbing hers and pulling her back toward him. The motion was swift but controlled, spinning her around to face him. Helena gasped, stumbling slightly as she collided with his chest, her free hand pressing against his sweat-dampened skin.

“Let go!” she demanded, looking up at him, realizing how tiny she felt in front of his towering frame. He loomed over her, his scarred chest rising and falling with steady breaths, his eyes locking onto hers with deadly seriousness.

“You can’t leave this room unless I say so,” he said, his voice low and firm, no trace of the teasing smirk now. His grip on her hand was ironclad, not painful but inescapable, his gaze holding her captive as much as his hold.

Helena struggled, twisting her wrist in a futile attempt to free herself, her bare feet slipping slightly on the carpet. “Let go of me!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the room. “You stink like hell... you need a fucking bath!”

John’s serious expression cracked, a smirk returning as he pulled her closer, his other hand resting lightly on her waist. “A bath? Sounds like a good idea. But it’d be even better if we bathed together.”

Her eyes widened in shock, her struggles freezing as the words sank in. “What? Are you mad?” she stammered, her face flushing anew.

Before she could protest further, John swept her off her feet in one fluid motion, cradling her in his arms like a child. Helena screamed, her nightgown riding up as she thrashed against him, her fists pounding his chest. “Put me down! Help! Someone help!” she yelled, her legs kicking wildly, but his hold was unbreakable, his laughter rumbling through his chest as he headed toward the bathroom.

“Relax, princess,” he said, chuckling as he kicked the bathroom door open with his foot. “You’re cute when you’re feisty—like a kitten with claws.”

The bathroom was a marvel of marble and gold, steam already rising from the automated shower, but Helena didn’t notice. She screamed again, twisting in his arms as he shut the door with the back of his leg, the click echoing like a lock on her fate. “Let me go, you brute! This isn’t funny!”

John set her down gently but kept a hand on her arm, his grin widening as he looked at her; hair disheveled, nightgown askew, her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and something she refused to acknowledge. “You look adorable right now,” he teased. “All riled up and helpless.”

“Adorable?” she spat, shoving at his chest. “I’ll show you helpless!” But her pushes did nothing against his solid frame.

He laughed again, releasing her arm but blocking the door. “Alright, calm down. I’ll give you two options. First: bath with me, and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day. No questions, no following you around. Second: say no, and we spend the whole day together; every minute, side by side.”

Helena’s eyes widened further, her mouth opening and closing as she processed the absurdity. “You… you can’t be serious. Bath with you? I’d rather die!”

John grinned, leaning against the door, his sweat-slicked muscles gleaming under the bathroom lights. “Then option two it is. Your choice, princess. What’s it gonna be?”

“Drop kme right now, you filthy bastard!” she screamed again, struggling to set herself free from him.

"Calm down, princess," he said, his voice a deep, teasing growl as he set her down on the cool marble counter beside the sink. His hands lingered on her waist for a moment longer than necessary, his grip firm but not bruising, before he stepped back, blocking the door with his broad frame. Helena's flip-flops had fallen off during the struggle, her bare feet dangling above the floor, and she felt ridiculously small, like a child in his presence. His shorts clung to his hips, his abs and chest on full display, glistening with sweat from his workout, each muscle defined and taut. She hated how her eyes flicked over him, a traitorous flush creeping up her neck.

"You think this is funny?" she spat, sliding off the counter and landing on her feet, her nightgown disheveled, one strap slipping off her shoulder. She tugged it back up, her cheeks burning with a mix of rage and embarrassment. "Barging in here, carrying me like some caveman? I'll have you arrested for this! Help! Someone—"

John's grin widened, his tattoos shifting as he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe. "Scream all you want. The guards know I'm in here on your grandfather's orders. And this room's soundproofed—part of the 'sacred' luxury, right? No one's coming to save you, Helena. Now, about those options…"

She backed up against the counter, her hands gripping the marble edge, her eyes darting around for something—anything—to use as a weapon. The gold faucets gleamed mockingly, the steam from the shower clouding the mirrors. "Options? You're insane if you think I'll choose either! Bath with you? Have sex? You're a pervert, a monster! Let me out right now!"

He chuckled again, a low, rumbling sound that sent unwelcome shivers down her spine. "Pervert? Monster? Come on, princess, I'm just following the script your grandfather wrote. But fine, let's clarify. Option one: we bath together—no funny business unless you beg for it—and I'll leave you alone for the day. Go do your heiress things, shop, plot with your mommy, whatever. Option two: say no, and we're glued together all day. Every meeting, every meal, every little moment. Your call."

Helena's eyes widened, her breath coming in short bursts as she stared at him. His body filled the doorway, his muscles still pumped from the press-ups, veins standing out on his arms like cords. The steam swirled around him, making him look even more imposing, like a statue come to life. "Beg for it? You disgusting pig! I'd rather die than touch you. And glued together? Like some twisted date? You're delusional if you think I'll agree to that!"

John shrugged, his smirk unwavering as he pushed off the door and stepped closer, the steam parting around him. "Delusional? Or practical? Your grandfather wants us bonding. This is me giving you a choice—take the bath, get your space, or stick with me and see how long you last before you crack."

She laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed off the tiles. "You think you can break me? I've dealt with sharks in boardrooms, men twice your age with egos bigger than your muscles. You're nothing but a bully hiding behind my grandfather's orders!"

His eyes darkened, the smirk fading as he closed the distance, his face inches from hers. The heat from his body mingled with the steam, making the air feel electric. "Bully? I've faced real sharks; warlords, assassins, battles where one wrong move means death. You? You've played games with money and smiles. But go ahead, choose option two. It'll be fun watching you squirm all day."

Helena's cheeks flushed deeper, her body tense as she met his gaze, refusing to back down. "Fun? For you, maybe. But I won't give you the satisfaction. Fine. I'll choose option one. But no touching, no looking, nothing! And if you try anything, I'll scream this place down and have you thrown out, grandfather or not!"

John's smirk returned, triumphant. "Option one it is. Strip down, princess.”