CHAPTER 2 — The Fire King’s Claim

The auction hall fell silent the moment Alexander Steele placed the winning bid. No one dared challenge him. No one dared even look him in the eye. Power wrapped around him like a dark cloak, and his presence alone scattered every remaining whisper.

Elara felt her heartbeat echo in her ears as the guards unchained her wrists gently for the transfer. Gently—not out of kindness, but out of fear of the man who now owned her.

Alexander didn’t move at first. He simply stood watching her with those icy blue eyes that burned hotter than any flame. When she was finally brought before him, he tilted his head slightly, inspecting her as if evaluating a new, fragile acquisition.

“Follow me,” he said. Not a command shouted. A low, dangerous order spoken with absolute confidence.

Elara obeyed.

The cold evening air brushed against her skin as she stepped outside. A sleek black car—long, tinted, expensive—waited at the entrance. The driver hurried out and opened the door without daring to meet Alexander’s gaze.

Alexander entered first. Elara hesitated, unsure if she was allowed to sit beside him. The driver, terrified of slowing things down, whispered harshly:

“Move.”

She obeyed and slipped into the seat beside her new master.

The door closed with a heavy thud.

Inside the car, silence pressed against her ears. Alexander sat on the opposite side, leaning back, one elbow resting casually on the door. Even relaxed, he looked dangerous.

He didn’t look at her.

Not until she lifted her eyes, accidentally meeting his.

His voice cut through the air. “Rule one.”

She jumped.

“You don’t stare,” he said, still looking out the window. “Not unless I tell you to.”

“S-Sorry, Master.”

He didn’t respond. But she saw the slightest movement in his jaw—like her fear bothered him, though he hid it well.

The car drove through the dark city, toward a higher district where grand mansions stood behind tall gates. After some minutes, they passed through black iron gates adorned with the Volkov crest—flames carved into metal.

Her stomach tightened.

This was his world.

His territory.

His fire.

The car stopped in front of a mansion that looked more like a fortress. Huge pillars. Dark walls. Fire lanterns burning on both sides of the entrance like silent guards.

The driver stepped out quickly, opening the door.

Alexander exited without a word. His coat moved with the wind, making him look even more intimidating. Elara followed, her legs unsteady.

Inside, the mansion was warm—too warm, almost like fire lived in the walls.

Two guards in black stood at the door. Both looked away instantly when Alexander walked past, lowering their heads in respect—or fear.

Elara stood still, unsure what to do.

Alexander noticed and turned sharply.

“Did I tell you to stay there?” he asked.

She swallowed. “No, Master.”

“Then move.”

She rushed after him, keeping a few steps behind. The hallway was wide and dimly lit, with portraits of fierce-looking kings and warriors. Every one of them carried the same cold eyes Alexander had.

He stopped in the center of the hall and faced her fully.

“This place is not your home,” he said. “You don’t wander. You don’t touch anything. You don’t ask unnecessary questions.”

“Yes, Master.”

He stepped closer, invading her space. She felt the heat from his body—strong, unsettling.

“And if anyone—anyone—so much as looks at you wrong, you inform me immediately. Understood?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes, Master.”

For a moment, something soft flickered in his gaze. A hint of protectiveness he tried hard to bury.

But then he turned cold again.

“Follow.”

He led her down a hallway and opened a door to a medium-sized bedroom. It was warm, simple, and clean. The bed looked soft, the walls painted in calm colors—not the fiery tones of the mansion.

She didn’t expect such a room for a slave.

He watched her quietly, hands behind his back.

“This is your room,” he said. “Stay here unless I call for you.”

She nodded.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind them. Her breath caught. He wasn’t angry, but he wasn’t gentle either.

He walked slowly around the room, checking the windows, the bathroom door, the closet, the corners—assessing the safety like someone who trusted nothing and no one.

When he finally turned toward her, his eyes were sharp.

“Do you know why I bought you?” he asked.

She shook her head timidly.

He exhaled once—softly.

“Because something about you…” he paused, looking away briefly, “…felt too quiet for that place. Too calm. Too… wrong for chains.”

She blinked.

Before she could answer, he raised a hand—not to hit her, but to silence her.

“Don’t misunderstand,” he said coldly. “I didn’t buy you to save you. I bought you because I wanted you here. My reasons don’t concern you.”

He moved closer, and she stepped back by instinct. A mistake.

His voice dropped—dangerous, low. “Never step back when I approach. It irritates me.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing unless I ask for it.”

She nodded.

He studied her quietly for a long moment. The tension between them thickened—heat from him, cold fear in her.

Then he stepped back.

“You’ll bathe. You’ll change. Clothes will be brought to you. After that, you’ll come downstairs for dinner. Late is unacceptable.”

“Yes, Master.”

He moved toward the door, opening it halfway. But before leaving, he paused. His voice came out softer, almost human:

“You’re safe here. Just don’t be stupid.”

Then he left, shutting the door behind him.

Elara stood alone in the warm room, her heart pounding, her mind spinning.

He was harsh.

He was cold.

He was terrifying.

But beneath all of that…

She could feel the flames of a man who cared too much—but would rather burn himself alive than show it.