Chapter Four

Julia's POV

The world lurched beneath me as darkness grabbed at the corners of my vision, threatening to swallow everything up. My breath came in weak, jerky gasps, as if I were drowning on dry earth. I groaned low, feeling the chilly bite of the night diminish as Lucian's weight pressed firmly against me.

"Jules," he muttered, his voice softer and almost frail, a contrast that made me flinch. "Stay with me."

I tried to respond, but my throat constricted, and words died before they could form. He did not press; instead, he took me into his arms, unyielding as iron. My damaged ankle throbbed, like a violent fire shooting through my leg, but the ache faded beneath the rush of adrenaline and bewilderment twisting inside me.

The silence inside the car was oppressive; the city's light blurred by, slices of black and white melting into darkness as if the world itself was fading away, leaving only us.

Then, as the car slowed and came to a stop, he moved with ease, taking me out, past the shadowy courtyard, and into the imposing villa, where every dark corner seemed to whisper threats.

The door closed behind us, muffling the world's noises and isolating me inside the tight silence that was Lucian Moretti's domain.

He gently placed me on a leather couch, his hands firm but delicate, and bent to examine my damaged foot. The smallest furrow of concern appeared in his stormy blue eyes, the same eyes that had held merciless command minutes earlier, before his cool mask slipped back into place.

"It was stupid to run like that," he exclaimed, his voice low and harsh. "You could have broken more than your ankle."

I clenched my jaw, trying to hide my vulnerability. I was not his possession, no matter how many times he said otherwise.

He reached for a bottle of water, unscrewed it, and placed the cool liquid on my lips. I sipped quietly, the rough edges of his concern perplexing the hell out of me.

"I'm fine," I mumbled after swallowing, wiping the moisture from my lips. "I don't need you playing nurse."

He did not respond; instead, he stood and took long, deliberate strides across the room. The air between us thickened, stiff like a drawn bowstring.

His chilly voice cut through the silence. "You appear to enjoy playing with fire, Julia. "You're still as stubborn as when we were kids."

My pulse quickened. "Kids?" I repeated, my face pinched. "You don't even know me."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, part amused, half sinister. "More than you think."

He turned his back, and I noticed a framed image on a nearby shelf. The glass captured the light, but the image within remained clear—a young boy, grinning with reckless confidence, arms slung around a girl with tangled hair and an intense gaze.

That was me.

I felt the room spin, the snapshot burning a hole in my mind.

"Where did you get that?" My voice trembled, a combination of disbelief and terror.

He did not respond, instead picking up the photograph and staring at it as if it contained the answers to some dreadful secret.

My instincts urged me to flee, scream, or fight instead of listening to this mysterious man who claimed my past as his own.

His speech took on a frigid edge again. "You broke a rule," he replied, his gaze never leaving the photograph. "Now, you pay."

Before I could object, the heavy door sprang open, and two enormous men entered. Their faces were masks, expressionless and unreadable, yet their hands grabbed me without hesitation.

"No!" I yelled and struggled, but my power was nothing compared to theirs. Panic erupted, intense and smothering.

"Quiet," Lucian demanded, his voice icy and determined. "You belong here now, Julie. You'll discover your position."

They carried me along a short, murky corridor, the walls closing in and my shouts echoing off cold stone.

They flung me into a room smelling of leather and iron, and the chill sliced into my flesh like a live thing. I looked up and swallowed the scream that had caught in my throat.

Chains dangled from the walls, glinting in the faint lighting. A big bed dominated the center, with a dark and intimidating frame. Nearby, whips of various types—leather, braided, and severely spiky—were carefully organized. Drawers were half-open, displaying stuff I didn't comprehend at first.

Silk blindfolds, plush fur-lined cuffs, and objects whispering of pain and pleasure entwined together.

My gut wrenched in repulsion and something worse: curiosity mixed with dread.

The door closed behind me with a crash. Lucian's footsteps echoed as he approached slowly and deliberately.

"You're going to break," he whispered, almost kindly, yet his gaze was cold.

"You've always been fire, Julie. "However, fire can be controlled."

I spit on the floor between us. He raised his brow, unconcerned. "You'll learn to obey, to call me master, to live under my rules, and when I'm done with you… You'll thank me."

I shook my head, my voice strong despite the cold clogging my lungs. "Never."

His smile was harsh and predatory. "We'll see." He turned and walked away, leaving me alone with my chains and my rage.

The door slammed shut behind me, creating an echo throughout the hollow chamber and trapping me within like a tomb.

I stood still, the severity of the bare floor beneath me sending a shudder across my flesh. I looked about, taking in the room's stark brutality. It was crimson; the bed was huge and intimidating, stripped of all softness, with no cover or blanket to provide comfort, only cold, rough leather stretched.

I shivered, not from the cold, but from the raw, naked vulnerability that pressed against my chest like a burden.

There was nothing to shield me. There was no warmth or refuge, only the cold, the stabbing pain in my damaged leg, and the never-ending quiet.

Then my gaze returned to the walls, where chains dangled like specters, cold and unyielding; whips coiled like serpents waiting to strike; cuffs adorned with cruel spikes and soft fur alike; and odd shapes of toys I couldn't name but knew belonged to a world far darker than any childhood nightmare.

Everything tormented me, sneaking into my thoughts and distorting something inside. I cringed at the prospect of being bound in those cuffs, the pain of leather lashes, and the awful weight of surrender.

But beneath the horror, a weird, unwelcome spark flashed, a short, dizzy interest that both bewildered and terrified me.

What kind of man was Luciano Moretti?