Chapter 3: Bound by Blood

The silk robe Ethan had left for me felt like a second skin, too smooth and too expensive for a body that felt as bruised as mine. I didn't sleep. I spent the night watching the digital clock on the bedside table, each minute ticking away like a heartbeat I didn't want to hear.

By 6:00 AM, the penthouse was already alive with the muffled sounds of a machine in motion.

I stepped out of the bedroom, my bare feet silent on the heated marble floors. I found Ethan in the dining area, framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a gray, waking Manhattan. He was dressed in a slate-gray suit, looking as though he hadn’t spent the night wrestling with ghosts.

"Eat," he said, without looking up from his tablet.

A spread was laid out on the table: poached eggs, avocado, smoked salmon, and a cup of black coffee that smelled like a lifeline. It was a meal that cost more than my weekly groceries, yet my stomach felt like it was tied in knots.

"I’m not a dog, Ethan. You don't have to bark orders every time I enter a room."

He looked up then, his blue eyes raking over me. The intensity in his gaze was a physical weight. "You’re an investment that needs to be maintained. You look pale. If you faint during the gala rehearsal today, it ruins the narrative."

"The narrative," I whispered, pulling out a chair. "Is that all I am? A plot point in your revenge fantasy?"

"You're the protagonist, Aria. Act like it."

Before I could snap back, the silence of the penthouse was shattered. A loud, rhythmic banging echoed from the heavy front doors—the kind of sound that doesn't come from a friendly visitor. It was the sound of someone who thought they owned what was behind the wood.

My heart didn't just beat; it plummeted. I knew that rhythm. It was the same one that had vibrated through my apartment door just twenty-four hours ago.

"Dad," I breathed, standing up so fast my chair scraped harshly against the stone.

Ethan didn't move. He didn't even blink. "Sit down, Aria."

"He’s here. They found me. Ethan, if they know I’m here, they’ll—"

"I said, sit." His voice was a low growl that halted the air in my lungs.

He touched a button on a small remote by his plate. A wall of monitors recessed into the cabinetry flickered to life, showing the high-definition feed from the hallway outside.

My father, Victor Monroe, stood there. He looked haggard, his gray hair standing in greasy tufts, his cheap suit wrinkled. Behind him stood two men I didn't recognize—broad-shouldered shadows with cold eyes and heavy coats.

"Aria!" my father’s voice came through the intercom, distorted and desperate. "I know you're in there with that shark! Open the door! They’re going to kill me, Aria! Tell him to pay!"

I moved toward the screen, my hands shaking. "Ethan, please. You said you'd take care of it."

Ethan stood up slowly, his movements fluid and dangerous. He walked over to the intercom and pressed the button. "Mr. Monroe," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "You are trespassing on private property. Your daughter is no longer your bargaining chip. She is mine."

"You bastard!" my father yelled, hitting the door again. "She’s my blood! You can’t keep her from me!"

"Blood is just a liquid, Victor. I prefer contracts," Ethan replied. He turned his gaze to me, and for a second, I saw a flicker of the boy who used to protect me from the world. Then, it vanished behind a wall of ice. "Watch."

On the screen, four of Ethan’s security detail appeared from the service elevators. They didn't use weapons. They used precision. In seconds, the two debt collectors were pinned against the wall, and my father was forced to his knees.

"Wait!" I screamed, rushing toward the door.

Ethan caught me by the waist, his arm like a bar of iron. He pulled me back against his chest, his breath hot against my ear. "Don't. If you go out there, you validate his power over you. He sold you the moment he let those men into your home. Now, let me finish the transaction."

He spoke into the intercom again. "Give Mr. Monroe a phone. I’ve just wired the final payment to his primary creditor. Victor, if I ever see your face on this floor again—or if you so much as breathe in Aria’s direction—I won't call the police. I’ll buy the debt back. And I am a much more creative debt collector than the men standing behind you. Do you understand?"

My father looked into the camera, his face a mask of greed and terror. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't say he loved me. He just nodded, scrambled to his feet, and ran for the elevator the moment the guards let him go.

The screen went black.

Ethan didn't let go of me. He kept me pinned against him, the heat of his body seeping through my robe. I was shaking, tears of shame and relief blurring my vision.

"He's gone," Ethan whispered. His hand came up, his long fingers tracing the line of my throat, tilting my head back until I had to look into those stormy blue eyes. "He sold you for five hundred thousand dollars and his own skin. That is the value of your 'blood,' Aria."

"You're a monster," I choked out, even as my body betrayed me, leaning into his strength.

"I’m the monster who keeps the other monsters away," he said, his gaze dropping to my lips. "But remember the price. You are bound to me now. By gold, by contract, and by the fact that you have nowhere else to go."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine—a touch that was half-kiss, half-threat. "Welcome to the family, Aria. Now, go get dressed. We have a world to deceive."

I stood there long after he left the room, the ghost of his touch burning on my skin. He was right. My father had sold me. But as I looked at the black screens of the surveillance monitors, a new fear took root.

Ethan hadn't just saved me from my father. He had erased my world so that he was the only thing left in it.