CAUGHT RED HANDED

“You’ll scream again tonight, Riva.

But this time—

You’ll beg for more.”

His voice lingered, thick and electric. She ducked out from under his arm, spine straight despite the tremble in her chest.

“I need to see my brother,” she said, voice sharp.

Ares tilted his head slightly, the predator pausing before the kill.

“I’ll have the driver take you.”

“No—”

“I wasn’t asking,” he said, turning and pulling his phone from his pocket. “He’ll be waiting at the gate. Don’t test my trust, Riva. I don’t offer it twice.”

She nodded stiffly. “Fine.”

But her mind had already made a different plan.

---

When the Maybach pulled up outside the hospital, she hesitated.

The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Ten minutes?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

The moment she was out, she ducked around the side, pulled her hoodie tighter over her head, and walked past the ER entrance—straight toward the main road.

She hailed a taxy. The driver didn’t question her destination.

The same dim lights. The same wine-stained silence. But this time, she marched to the reception desk without hesitation.

The woman behind the counter lifted her gaze, recognition flickering instantly.

“You’re not scheduled for—”

“I’m not here to sell myself,” Riva snapped. “I’m here to report what happened. Last night—what he did wasn’t according to the contract.”

The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“He knew my name,” she hissed. “It was supposed to be anonymous. He called me Riva. He called me before the bid. He planned it.”

The woman paused.

Then spoke carefully. “Mr. Moretti is... not subject to the usual constraints.”

“I signed up for one night,” Riva growled. “One transaction. But now he’s using that to pull me into some twisted long-term deal. He forged an extension. He threatened to pull my brother’s treatment—”

The receptionist’s expression cooled. “You agreed. And you accepted the payment.”

“For one night,” she snapped. “I didn’t sign a fucking leash.”

“You’re mistaken,” the woman said, adjusting a file. “You agreed to a night of service. The terms allow for adjustment in ‘client-initiated premium arrangements.’ It’s in the fine print.”

Her heart sank. “That’s not how consent works.”

The woman folded her hands. “You're welcome to challenge the arrangement in court. But if you break your contract with Mr. Moretti... we cannot assist you. Nor will we protect you.”

Riva’s fingers dug into the marble counter. “So you’re okay with being his puppets?”

“We’re okay with surviving, Miss Sen.”

Silence stretched between them.

Riva’s chest heaved.

She wanted to scream. Wanted to drag the entire club down with her bare hands.

But there was no opening.

No justice.

No way out.

Finally, she took a step back, swallowing the knot in her throat.

“I hope you all rot.”

She turned and stormed toward the exit.

And froze.

Ares stood just beyond the doors, leaning casually against the frame, dressed in black, arms folded, like he’d been waiting there all along.

Her entire body locked up.

His gaze dragged over her like silk and blade.

“Trying to break the deal?” he asked, voice low and amused.

She said nothing.

He smirked. “They warned you, didn’t they?”

She didn’t respond.

He stepped closer. “Next time, don’t lie to me, Riva.”

She flinched, jaw clenched.

He opened the door for her like a gentleman—a very patient executioner.

“Let’s go.”

---

The car ride back to the hospital was silent. Heavy.

He didn’t look at her.

Didn’t speak again.

Until she reached for the door handle.

He didn’t look at her when he finally spoke.

“You have two hours.”

She blinked. “What?”

“To say your goodbyes. To see your brother. To decide if you’re still going to keep lying to me.”

Her lips parted in shock, but he opened the door from his side.

“Don’t make me come back in rage, Riva. I’ve never been good at patience.”

And with that, he let her out.

Two hours.

And then she was his—fully, unconditionally.