Chapter 3

The Vitale estate rose like a citadel carved from night itself. High walls of black stone, wrought-iron gates coiled in thorned patterns, windows glinting like the eyes of watchful beasts. Inside, the air smelled of polished wood and smoldering incense, as if the house had been built to mask blood with luxury.

Nathan crossed the threshold with Damian’s hand at the small of his back—an iron brand masquerading as a guide. The marble floors beneath his boots gleamed white-veined charcoal, reflecting chandeliers strung with gold chains. Paintings of long-dead Vitales stared down from gilded frames, their eyes sharp with judgment.

“You’ll find,” Damian murmured beside him, “that this house has everything an omega could ever want. Comfort. Safety. Power.”

Nathan’s throat tightened. “You mean a prison.”

Damian smiled faintly, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. “A prison can be gilded. And gilded cages… are not so bad once you stop fighting the bars.”

Servants bowed as they passed, their heads lowered. Lucien trailed silently a step behind, his sharp gaze measuring every flicker of rebellion in Nathan’s stance.

At last, Damian led him up a grand staircase, down a hall lined with doors, and into a chamber that might have belonged to royalty. The bed was vast, draped in navy silk with golden embroidery, pillows piled high, curtains heavy as armor. A fire glowed in the hearth, casting long shadows that danced across velvet walls.

Nathan stopped at the threshold, spine rigid. “This isn’t mine.”

“It is now,” Damian said simply. He circled into the room like a predator claiming its den. “Everything in this house is mine, Nathaniel. That includes you.”

The words struck like chains snapping shut. Nathan’s fists clenched at his sides, but he refused to drop his gaze. “You can force me into this bed. You can command my voice, my body. But you will never have my heart.”

For the first time that night, Damian’s expression shifted—not wounded, not even angry, but dark amusement flickering like a flame. He stepped closer, close enough that Nathan felt the heat of his body, the faint scent of smoke and leather that clung to him.

“You speak as though I asked for your heart.” His voice was low, dangerous. “I only require your obedience.”

The firelight glinted against the skull on his ring as Damian lifted his hand. His fingers brushed Nathan’s jaw, firm enough to warn, soft enough to taunt. Nathan’s breath hitched, his pulse betraying him even as his glare burned hotter.

“Rest well, little omega,” Damian whispered against his ear. “Tomorrow, the world will know you as mine.”

He pulled back at last, leaving Nathan trembling with rage—and something darker he dared not name. The door closed with a heavy click, and Nathan stood alone in the cage lined with silk and gold.

But even caged birds could bite.

Nathan hadn’t moved from the center of the room when the door opened again.

Damian entered again without a word, shrugging out of his jacket, laying it across a chair as though he were in his own private quarters. Which, of course, he was. He tugged at his cufflinks, rolled up his sleeves, and Nathan’s stomach sank.

“You’re staying,” Nathan said flatly.

Damian arched a brow. “You sound surprised.”

“I thought kings had their own chambers.”

“I do.” Damian unknotted his cravat, his voice calm, measured. “But tonight, I sleep with my bride.”

Nathan’s pulse stumbled. His fists clenched so tightly his nails bit his palms. “Don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer ‘omega’? Or perhaps ‘mate’?” Damian’s lips curved in a slow smile. He crossed the room, each step deliberate, and Nathan forced himself not to back away, even as the man’s shadow fell over him.

“None of those words belong to me,” Nathan spat.

“Oh, but they do.” Damian’s fingers brushed against the collar of Nathan’s shirt, adjusting it as though straightening his property. The touch was possessive, not tender, a reminder of who held the power. “The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”

Nathan jerked away, his voice trembling but sharp. “I’ll never accept it. You might chain me to this bed, Damian Vitale, but I will never be yours.”

For a moment, Damian only studied him, dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. Then he laughed—low, rich, unsettling. He didn’t look wounded, nor furious. He looked entertained.

“Do you know what I like about you, Nathaniel?” he murmured, stepping back just enough to unnerve rather than comfort. “You fight. Most omegas would be on their knees by now. But you—” he smirked—“you look at me like you’d rather bite.”

The air between them thickened, charged. Nathan’s chest heaved, his defiance written in every line of his body, but his skin betrayed him—flushed, heated, his scent sharp with adrenaline.

Damian shed his waistcoat, draped it neatly aside, and moved to the bed. He sat at the edge, undoing his cuffs, watching Nathan like a hunter who already knew the prey couldn’t escape.

“You’ll sleep here tonight,” he said, patting the other side of the bed. “Not in some guest chamber. Not down the hall. Here.”

“I’d rather sleep on the floor.”

Damian’s voice dropped, silk wrapped around steel. “You’ll sleep where I tell you.”

The command hit like a chain—an Alpha’s will pressing against Nathan’s bones. He flinched, his body tensing, but he didn’t lower his eyes. Didn’t kneel. Didn’t yield.

Damian’s smirk deepened. “Good boy,” he murmured, with the cruel softness of a man who enjoyed the fight.

Nathan stiffly crossed the room and sat on the farthest edge of the bed, his back to Damian, every muscle locked. He felt the mattress dip as Damian settled beside him, close but not touching. The silence stretched, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

Nathan stared into the shadows, jaw tight, whispering to himself: I won’t break. I won’t.

But in the dark, he felt Damian’s gaze on him—unrelenting, possessive, patient.

The king had time.