PROLOGUE

The rain in the private villa didn't wash away sins it just turned the blood into a dull, rusted smear on the pavement.

Devi stood in the shadows of an alleyway, a silhouette carved from obsidian, watching the warm glow of a third-story apartment window. Inside, Cali was laughing. She was pouring a glass of cheap wine, oblivious to the fact that the man she was with a boy with a soft smile and no future was already a dead man.

Devi's grip tightened on the digital camera in his gloved hand. He had thousands of these photos. Cali sleeping. Cali crying at her grandmother's funeral. Cali at five years old, skinning her knee while he watched from behind a rosebush, already knowing she was his.

"Mine," he whispered, the word a prayer and a curse.

He didn't care about the billions in his bank account or the trail of bodies he'd left to become the CEO of the city's underworld. He only cared about the girl who didn't remember his name, but whose soul was stitched to his by a tether of obsession he had braided himself.

A week later, the wine glass was shattered on a Persian rug, and the "soft-smiled boy" was a memory buried in a shallow grave.

Cali woke up in a bed that cost more than her life, her wrists bound in silk ties the color of dried blood. The room was cold, smelling of sandalwood and ancient, suffocating power.

The heavy oak door creaked open. Devi stepped in, looking every bit the ruthless King of a crumbling world. He didn't look at her with the fear she expected he looked at her with a terrifying, religious devotion.

"You're home, Cali baby," he murmured, his voice smooth as a blade.

Cali looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed but her jaw set in a hard, grumpy line of defiance. She didn't scream. She didn't plead. She simply glared at the monster who had haunted her periphery for two decades.

"Home?" she rasped, her voice raw. "This is a gilded cage, Devi. And I'm not a pet."

He leaned over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his touch lingering with a possessiveness that made her skin crawl.

"I am your soulmate, Cali. I am the only one who owns you. I've killed for you since I was ten. Did you really think I'd let a little thing like your consent stop me now?"

Cali let out a sharp, jagged laugh that held no humor. "Soulmate? Really? That's poetic for a man who buys his way into women's bedrooms."

She leaned forward, her face inches from his, spitting the words like venom. "But I don't have a soul, Devi. You're obsessed with a vacuum."

Devi didn't flinch. He just smiled, slow, dangerous curve of the lips. "Then I'll fill the emptiness with myself until there's nothing left of you but me."

The silk sheets felt like a spider's web expensive, suffocating, and designed to trap.

Cali didn't bother looking for a clock.

The floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse showed a sunrise bleeding over the city, a view that screamed "I own everything you see." Including her.

She sat up, her joints stiff. She was still wearing the emerald slip dress from the night she was taken, now wrinkled and smelling of faint gunpowder and Devi's heavy, woodsy cologne.

The door clicked open. Devi walked in, looking infuriatingly composed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her college tuition. He carried a silver tray with a single cup of black coffee exactly how she liked it.

"Good morning, Cali baby," he said, his voice dropping into that low, possessive register that made her teeth ache. He set the tray on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, invading her space without a second thought.

Cali didn't reach for the coffee. She reached for the heavy crystal lamp on the bedside table, her fingers twitching with the urge to smash it over his perfectly groomed head.

"Get out," she snapped, her voice raspy but sharp.

Devi didn't move. He leaned in, his hand hovering just inches from her cheek, waiting for her to flinch. She didn't. She just glared at him with a weary, grumpy disdain.

"You haven't eaten in twenty-four hours," he noted, his obsession manifesting as a suffocating kind of care.

"I had the chef prepare your favorite. Crepes with blackberry compote. From that little bakery on 4th Street you used to visit every Sunday at 9:00 AM."

Cali's blood ran cold. "You've been watching me for years, haven't you? Following me like some pathetic stray?"

"A stray?" Devi chuckled, a dark, dangerous sound. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at the raw intensity in his eyes.

"Strays beg for scraps, Cali. I built an empire so I could hand you the world on a platter. I didn't follow you. I protected you. Every man who looked at you too long? Every boss who passed you over for a promotion? I took care of them."

Cali jerked her head away from his touch.

"You're a lunatic. You don't love me, Devi. You love a version of me you made up in your head while you were hiding in the bushes."

He stood up, his tall frame blocking out the morning sun. His understanding facade cracked just enough to show the jealous monster underneath.

"I know every version of you," he whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed her ear. "And I'm the only one who gets to keep them. Now, eat. Or I'll have to feed you myself."