Chapter 2: Property of Veylin

The moment Isla stepped out of Ezekiel’s black Maserati, she felt the weight of the chains she’d just fastened around her own neck.

Cameras flashed like lightning, reporters screamed her name like vultures circling fresh prey. Maddox, ever the professional, was already pulling her along the crimson carpet. Her cheap clothes had been replaced within hours—now she wore a blood-red designer gown that hugged every curve, matching stilettos that made her stumble, and a diamond collar around her throat that screamed “property of Veylin.”

Ezekiel’s hand pressed into the small of her back, steadying her. “Smile, little wife,” he whispered against her ear, his breath hot and mocking. “You’re a fairytale come true.”

She wanted to elbow him in his perfect jaw.

The gala was being held at one of the most exclusive hotels in the city, a celebration of Veylin Corp’s latest acquisition. The marriage announcement was perfectly timed—Ezekiel knew exactly how to play the media. A reformed playboy. A charity case turned Cinderella story. Every eye in the room tracked her every move.

Inside, the air was thick with wealth and poison. Murmurs followed her: gold-digger, poor little trash, what does she have between her legs to trap Ezekiel Veylin?

Her fists curled. She wanted to scream, to run, but she straightened her spine and forced a smile.

“Relax, Isla,” Ezekiel’s voice oozed through her. “You’ll get used to being judged.”

She turned to him, eyes sharp. “Do you always enjoy humiliating your wife?”

His lips twitched, almost impressed by her defiance. “Careful, kitten. I don’t mind breaking things I own.”

Her pulse spiked. Anger, fear… and something else. Something hot and unwelcome.

The night dragged on, Ezekiel introducing her to politicians, CEOs, models who looked her up and down like she was dirt under their Louboutins. Every time her fake smile started to falter, Ezekiel would snake an arm around her waist, fingers pressing possessively against her skin, a silent reminder: Play your part.

Later, when the gala ended and they returned to his penthouse, Isla felt suffocated by glittering walls and cold, lifeless marble floors. The place was beautiful, but it wasn’t a home—it was a cage.

Ezekiel leaned against the doorframe, tie loosened, watching her with a glint of cruelty. “I warned you, Isla. My world is ugly. People are vipers. This marriage… is survival.”

She spun to face him, fury bubbling. “And what about you? What’s your excuse for being so… empty?”

The room seemed to still.

Ezekiel’s expression darkened, his jaw flexing. He stepped closer, backing her against the glass wall overlooking the city.

“I’m not empty,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous. “I’m controlled. I don’t have time for fragile hearts or pathetic emotions. You are here to serve a purpose—remember that.”

Isla’s breath quickened, his proximity suffocating. She hated him. Hated his power, his smug arrogance, his intoxicating scent, the way her body betrayed her by reacting to him.

“I’ll play your game,” she hissed. “But don’t mistake obedience for weakness.”

For a brief second, something flashed in his gaze—interest, challenge, hunger.

Ezekiel’s lips grazed her ear, his voice a wicked promise. “Good. Because by the time I’m done with you… you’ll forget who you were before me.”

She swallowed hard.

And for the first time that night, Isla realized… the real battle hadn’t even begun.