Chapter 6

Every wall was covered in rows of metal hooks and neatly arranged implements—floggers, ropes, cuffs, crops. The stark black walls gleamed under the low overhead lights, creating a mix of threat and seduction.

No windows. No clocks. But cool air hummed from an overhead vent. Mia examined it quickly, testing for any weakness, her fingers working the edges—but no luck. Solid, reinforced. Another dead end.

Think, Mia. Think.

She barely had time to react before the door burst open.

She jumped, spinning to face it, heartbeat racing—but forced herself to relax. She smoothed her dress, straightened her posture. If Axel wanted a show of weakness, he wasn’t getting it now.

He entered, fresh clothes, the faint scent of whiskey clinging to him, rolling off his broad shoulders and sharp suit like static electricity.

“On your knees, doll,” he said, his voice lower, darker. “I’ve had a long day, and I could use a little relief.”

His hand toyed with his belt buckle as he stepped toward her, arrogance radiating from every line of his body. Mia’s stomach twisted, rage battling nausea.

But running wasn’t an option. Not yet. This wasn’t about escape. This was about survival.

Her mind moved rapidly, weighing every option like cards laid across a poker table. There were no good hands right now, but she could bluff her way through it—long enough to find an opening later.

Mia didn’t move right away. She straightened her back and lifted her chin. “Is that what this is to you? Power games? You could’ve just asked me out like a normal person.”

Axel paused, amusement flickering in his expression. “Sweetheart, normal stopped applying to me a long time ago.”

For a moment, she considered compliance—but only for the chance it might give her an edge later. Then, unexpectedly, Axel’s expression shifted. His eyes scanned her, taking in her shaking hands, the tight set of her jaw, the faint tears she refused to let fall.

He sighed softly, almost frustrated with himself.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. A fight unravelling behind his eyes as his mind fluttered over his choices.  

Before she could react, he grabbed her—not roughly—but lifted her with a controlled unbelievable strength and carried her out of the room and into a sleek black marble bathroom across the hall. He sat her carefully on a soft chair, running warm water into a deep tub.

“You don’t make things easy, y’know that?” His voice was quieter now, still hard, but conflicted.

Mia blinked at him in confusion. This was not the reaction she expected. What game was this?

“You’re mine now,” he said at last, like a reluctant admission rather than a threat. “You might as well get used to it.”

As he began unzipping the back of her dress, Mia tensed. He stopped. For the first time, his brow furrowed—not in anger, but in… restraint?

“I can do this myself,” she snapped. “Leave me one thing that’s mine.”

Her voice was brittle but sharp, like glass on the verge of cracking. Making Axel silently flinch at her reaction.

For a long moment, Axel stared at her, searching her face like he was seeing her properly for the first time. Finally, he let go of her dress, stepped back, and passed her the towel instead.

“Suit yourself.”

Mia stood shakily, wrapping the towel around herself as tightly as armour. She felt weak, but she’d be damned if she looked weak in front of him.

“Why me?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with fire. “You could have anyone. Why this whole… performance? Kidnap? Mafia king playing house?”

His gaze flickered dark. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he muttered. “For now—don’t fight me, and you won’t make things harder on yourself.”

The sharpest edge of threat was gone, but his dominance was still palpable.

Mia met his eyes steadily, then—impulsively—leaned forward just enough to graze her lips against his cheek in mock defiance. A silent I’m still here, I’m still fighting.

Axel’s hand moved instantly, twisting into her damp hair, tipping her head back, his lips brushing dangerously close to hers. “Careful, doll,” he murmured, breath hot against her ear. “Don’t tempt me unless you mean it.”

His control faltered for a breath before he released her. “You’ve got access to this floor,” he said, stepping back. “Try to run—you won’t get far. But I’ll give you space. For now.”

Without another word, he turned and left, the soft click of the lock behind him sounding louder than before.

Time passed. Mia explored every inch of her temporary prison. Locked doors, reinforced glass, no obvious weaknesses. She tested everything twice, three times—but Axel was smarter than she’d given him credit for.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. The door opened.

“Excuse me, Miss,” came a gentle, worn voice. An older woman, probably in her sixties, stepped inside with a tray of food balanced expertly in her hands. “Your dinner. Would you like to eat at the table?”

Mia blinked at her. “There’s… a table?”

“If you wish.” The woman smiled, kind but tired, wrinkles folding gently into the corners of her eyes. “He wants you to be more comfortable here.”

Mia followed her into a side room—a formal dining space, elegant in dark woods and sharp modern lines. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a view of the city outside, Las Vegas gleaming like a crown under the setting sun.

She sat, cautiously, at the long oak table.

The woman placed a beautifully arranged plate of pasta before her. “Between us… he won’t hurt you in the way you expect,” she said softly. “You’re not here for punishment. You’re here for… more complicated reasons. His father is the one you should fear. Not Axel.”

Mia’s mind spun.

A prize. Not a victim.

Not yet, anyway.

Left alone in that grand room, Mia stared out at the burning sky beyond the glass, twirling the pasta absentmindedly on her fork.

This wasn’t a rescue story. This was infiltration. Survival.

And if Axel thought he was the one playing games?

He hadn’t met her properly yet.