Chapter Six: The king's Trap

Sophia's POV

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Leonard’s voice thundered above the bass-heavy music. He stormed toward me like a wave crashing onto shore—rage twisting his features, his steps quick and calculated. I barely had time to set my glass down before he reached me. No, scratch that—he didn’t let me. He snatched the glass of wine from my hand and shoved it onto the nearest table with a sharp clink.

Then his fingers clamped around my wrist, tight and unrelenting, and he yanked me closer.

“I asked you a question!” he seethed.

His face was inches from mine now, his breath hot and sharp with fury. The low lighting of the bar flashed across his face, illuminating the cold fire in his eyes.

“I came looking for you,” I managed to say, though my throat was tight.

His expression twisted further. He glanced down, his gaze traveling to the short hem of my dress that barely covered my thighs. His eyes darkened, not with desire, but with something more dangerous—possession. “And what in the world are you wearing?” he spat.

“I want us to talk,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, but the bass of the music, the press of people around us, and the weight of his anger were all closing in on me.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed my arm again and pulled me toward the exit. I stumbled slightly, the heels I wore offering little resistance to his force.

Outside, the night air hit me like a slap—cool and sharp against my flushed skin. Leonard spun around and shoved me gently, but firmly, against the alley wall beside the bar. His body blocked mine from the street.

“You want to talk?” he asked, his tone edged with something unreadable. “Talk about what? Do you have any idea how dangerous this place is?”

“You’re more dangerous to me,” I whispered.

He blinked. “What?”

“I understand my father didn’t have a choice back then,” I continued, voice shaking. “But I can’t belong to you. I... I just can’t.”

His stare hardened. “So what’s your point, Sophia?”

It was now or never.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, “I don’t know what you plan to do with me, but I would rather have you sleep with me than force me into a marriage.”

He stared at me in stunned silence, then—he chuckled. It wasn’t a warm laugh. It was slow, cruel, and heavy.

“Sophia,” he murmured, stepping close. His voice dropped to a whisper. “If I wanted you just for your body, I would have taken you a long time ago. But what I desire now is far more than your body.”

His voice echoed in my ears, but everything else began to fade. The world was tilting. The lights around us dimmed and warped. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

My knees buckled slightly.

“Sophia? What’s wrong?” Leonard’s voice sounded far away. My heart was pounding too fast, the beat in my chest like thunder. My eyelids grew heavier with each blink.

“I...” I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t form. My vision blurred completely.

The last thing I saw was his face—alarmed and unguarded—for the first time.

Then, darkness.

**********

MORNING

The scent was the first thing I noticed. Clean linen. Faint sandalwood. Something luxurious.

I rolled to the side, groggy, expecting the familiar feel of my bed’s worn sheets and narrow space—but the surface beneath me was far too soft. Too wide. And there was no side table.

My eyes fluttered open. The ceiling above me stretched high, ornate with golden moldings and an elaborate chandelier that hung like it belonged in a palace.

“What the...?”

I sat up immediately, dragging the blanket with me. I glanced around the room, my breath catching in my throat.

The room was massive—walls the color of ivory, adorned with antique frames and wall sconces. A fireplace stood across from the bed, unlit but regal. The bed I lay in was carved from mahogany, dressed in satin sheets and layered with rich, embroidered blankets. A massive dressing table with a three-way mirror sat by the far wall, beside tall glass windows that let in morning light.

I looked down—and nearly gasped.

I was no longer in the skimpy dress I wore last night. I was in a pale blue nightgown that shimmered in the light. Expensive silk. Delicate lace on the collar and sleeves. This wasn’t mine.

Before I could process any more, the door creaked open.

Leonard Morano stepped in, wearing striped pyjamas with the shirt hanging open, revealing a sculpted chest that shouldn’t belong to a man in his forties. His skin was taut, his abs defined, his presence commanding.

“You’re awake,” he said casually, walking toward the cradle chair beside the bed like this was the most normal morning in the world.

I clutched the blanket tighter. “Where am I?”

“My kingdom,” he said, sitting with his arms resting along the chair’s armrests like a ruler in his throne.

My brows furrowed. “How did I get here?”

He smirked. “You asked me to sleep with you, remember?”

My blood ran cold.

I touched my body, my arms, my thighs, anywhere that might hint something had happened. I felt nothing—no soreness, no bruises, no unfamiliar sensation.

Leonard burst into laughter.

“You seriously think I’d take advantage of you?” he asked. “The drink you took at the bar—it was spiked. Not by me, but someone else. Lucky for you, I was there.”

“And my clothes?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly.

“I have no interest in your nakedness, Sophia,” he replied. “The maids changed your clothes.”

I sank back slightly in relief, though my heart continued its frantic rhythm.

“Anyway, I’m not here to comfort you,” he said coldly. He nodded toward the dressing table. “Look there.”

I followed his gaze. On the polished wood sat a sheet of paper and a fountain pen.

“What’s that?” I asked.

He stood, all traces of teasing gone. “Business. You have one hour to decide.”

“To decide what?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked toward the door, his steps slow, calculated.

“You’re very curious, Sophia,” he said, pausing at the frame. “Read it yourself. But know this—if you make the wrong choice, your family will pay the price.”

He pulled open the door. “Oh, and you should probably call your father. He rang all night.”

With that, he disappeared behind the massive double doors.

I scrambled to the table, my hands fumbling for my phone.

20 missed calls.

I opened the messages.

From Dad: Where are you? Call me, I’m worried.

From Me: I’m okay, Dad. I won’t be home tonight.

From Dad: Okay. Stay safe.

Wait... From me?

I didn’t remember sending that message.

A chill ran down my spine.

Who sent it? When?

My fingers trembled as I reached for the paper on the dressing table.

I turned it over.

And froze.

My breath caught in my throat. My pulse stopped. My eyes widened in disbelief as they skimmed the words on the page.

My hands trembled violently as I read the headline of the document.