003

NOELLE

The morning air bites at my cheeks as I step out of Azren's building, the glass doors sliding shut behind me. He’d been asleep when I’d sneaked out.

My legs still feel like jelly, every step reminding me of last night. My body aches in places I didn't know could ache, but it's a good ache.

My cheeks burn just thinking about it.

He stalked me.

As crazy and wrong as that should sound, my stomach flutters. A man like Azren—tall, lethal, and beautiful in a way that feels unfair—had been watching ‘me.’

He knew my name, my schedule, and probably the exact route I took home every night. And instead of running for the hills, I'm... blushing hard.

God, what is wrong with me?

I tug my coat tighter around myself and hurry towards the main street, trying to outrun the memories.

His mouth on my neck. His hands pinning my wrists. The way he looked at me like I was something precious. I press my thighs together instinctively and nearly stumble over a crack in the sidewalk.

Focus, Noelle. You need to get home, shower, and pretend last night was a fever dream so vivid you can still taste him—

Wait, I don’t have a home anymore. I freeze, the drama of last night replaying in my head.

A black van screeches to a stop right in front of me.

Everything happens too fast.

The side door flies open. Two men in black grab me before I can even scream. A thick cloth slams over my mouth and nose, the strong smell of chemical making my face sting.

I thrash, kicking wildly, my nails clawing at arms that feel like steel cables.

One of them grunts as my heel connects with his shin, but he doesn't even flinch. They haul me inside, and the door bangs shut. Tires squeal and the van lurches forward.

I'm thrown against the cold metal floor in the van. My wrists are yanked behind my back, zip ties biting into skin. I buck and twist, but there are too many hands.

Someone sits on my legs. Another pins my shoulders down. The cloth is replaced with a strip of duct tape slapped over my mouth so tightly it pulls at my lips.

Panic chokes me.

The man holding my arms finally speaks, his voice flat and bored.

"Quit squirming. You'll only make it hurt more."

I freeze for half a second, my chest heaving, then I start struggling again, harder. My head thrashes side to side, tears stinging my eyes.

They ignore me completely.

One of them checks his watch. "Boss wants her intact."

Boss.

I nearly lose control of my bladder at the realization that there’s someone powerful enough to order his men to kidnap me in broad daylight. Someone that isn’t Azren.

One of the men leans down, close enough that I can smell cheap cologne and machine oil.

"You're a lot of trouble for a little cleaner," he mutters, amused. "Guess this is what happens when you climb into the wrong bed."

My eyes go wide.

They know about last night. About Azren. About me.

Which means this isn't random.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing air through my nose in short, panicked bursts. My whole body trembles with fear. No one would care about me going missing.

I don't even know Azren’s phone number. I don't know if he'll come looking. I don't know if he'll care once the novelty of deflowering his stalker-ee wears off.

But God help me, I still want him to.

The van accelerates onto what feels like a highway. Wind roars against the metal walls. My tears soak into the duct tape.

I'm alone again.

Just like always.

Only this time, the loneliness might kill me.

The van finally slows, then it stops.

They haul me out by my bound arms. My sneakers drag across sharp stones. Someone rips off the duct tape on my mouth. I gasp, tasting blood and adhesive.

"Move."

A shove between my shoulder blades sends me stumbling forward. I nearly face-plant, but rough hands catch my elbows and propel me up stone steps into a house that looks more like a fortress than a home. There are tall iron gates and blacked-out windows, the kind of place people disappear into and never come out the same.

My heart hammers so hard I think it might crack a rib.

They drag me down a hallway lined with oil paintings of stern-faced men who all look like they'd enjoy watching someone bleed. At the end is a wide set of double doors. One of the men knocks once.

"Enter."

The voice is smooth, almost a lazy drawl, like someone ordering room service.

The doors swing open.

They shove me forward so hard I drop to my knees on the thick Persian carpet.

And there he is.

He’s shirtless, lounging in a high-backed leather chair like a king on a throne. He has one long leg crossed over the other, a crystal tumbler of golden liquid dangling from elegant fingers.

Broad shoulders, carved muscle under golden skin, and black hair swept back from a face that could've been beautiful if I couldn’t see the cruelty blazing in his pitch-black irises.

He's younger than I expected. Maybe late twenties.

He tilts his head, studying me.

"My bride," he says softly. "You're late."

My stomach plummets through the floor.

Bride.

He must be the man my adopted parents had sold me off to.

I thought I'd escaped when I ran away last night.

Apparently I didn't run far enough.

He sets the glass down, rising and towering over me.

I scramble backwards on my knees until my back hits the legs of one of his men. There’s nowhere to go.

He strides over and crouches in front of me. He smells like expensive cologne, smoke and something metallic.

Long fingers grip my chin hard enough to bruise. He forces my face up.

Disappointment rolls off him in waves.

"I waited," he murmurs, his thumb pressing into the soft skin under my jaw. "Patiently. While you scrubbed toilets and pretended you were free." His gaze drops to my throat, my collarbones, and further down my body. "And then you spread your legs for him.”

My breath catches on a sob.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

"Azren Lakewood," he says the name like it’s poison. "My oldest rival. My most persistent thorn. And you, my promised bride, chose to give him what was mine."

His grip tightens until I whimper.

"You will be punished for that, pet. Thoroughly."

He releases me so abruptly I almost fall forward. Then he stands again and looks down at me like I'm trash.

"Cleanse her," he orders the men behind me. "Strip her. Remove every trace of him. Then throw her in my room like the whore she's proven herself to be."

One of them grabs my hair, yanking my head back.

"No—please—" My voice cracks. "I didn't know—I didn't—"

"You tried to run," he corrects gently. "That was your first mistake."

He turns away, already reaching for his glass again, dismissing me like I'm no longer worth looking at.

"Take her."

Hands seize me from every side.

And I scream.