Chapter Twenty-Three:  The Golden Ransom (Pt 1)

The heavy, resonant thud of the private elevator is the only warning Rhea receives.

She is sitting on the edge of the charcoal-colored sofa, her fingers unconsciously covering the gold cuff as if she can hide the shame of it. When Dominic strides into the room, he is a vision of absolute, terrifying perfection. 

His charcoal suit is without a single crease. He carries the atmospheric weight of a man who has spent the day dismantling empires, and now he has come home to inspect his most exquisite acquisition.

Sarah stands at attention immediately, her posture rigid. "Mr. Ashcroft."

Dominic’s eyes don't flicker toward the guard. They are locked on Rhea, dark and unreadable, twin pits of obsidian that swallow the light in the room. He stops in the center of the sprawling penthouse, the silence stretching until the tension becomes a physical ache, a pressure in Rhea’s lungs that makes breathing feel like a sin.

"Sarah," Dominic says, his voice a low, smooth drawl that vibrates against the marble walls. "Excuse us. Stay in the foyer until I call for you."

"Yes, sir." Sarah gives a single, sharp nod. She glances at Rhea - one brief, silent look of warning, a flicker of pity for the girl in the cage - before she retreats. 

The heavy doors click shut, leaving Rhea alone with the man who has stolen the very air from her world.

Dominic walks toward her with agonizing slowness. Every footfall on the polished marble sounds like the ticking of a clock counting down to her undoing. He stops directly in front of her, his shadow falling over her like a heavy shroud.

"Stand up, Fragile."

Rhea obeys, her legs feeling like water, her muscles betraying her. She stands before him, her silk robe cinched tight as a secondary skin, her heart hammering against her ribs with the frantic rhythm of a trapped bird.

"Show me your wrist," he commands.

Rhea trembles as she lifts her arm. The gold cuff glints under the recessed lighting - a stunning, brutal circle of light against her pale, translucent skin. 

Dominic reaches out, his fingers cool and steady as he takes her hand. He doesn't hold it; he grips it, his knuckles white as he turns her wrist over to inspect the lock.

"It suits you," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the specialized keyhole with a reverence that is more frightening than rage. "A perfect fit. Designed for only one wrist, and one master."

"It feels like a shackle," Rhea whispers, her voice shaking so violently she can barely form the words.

Dominic’s eyes snap up to hers, a dark, dangerous spark igniting in the depths of his pupils. 

He pulls her arm sharply, jerking her body flush against the hard planes of his chest. 

"It is a reminder of exactly where you belong," he hisses, his breath ghosting over her lips. "When you walk, when you eat, when you sleep... I want you to feel the weight of my name etched into your skin. I want the gold to remind you that your pulse belongs to me."

“Why are you doing this, Mr. Ashcroft?" Rhea asks, her eyes searching his for a shred of the man she thought he was. "I thought the agreement... I thought I could leave after the term was over."

“Do you need more money?” Dominic asks firmly. He yanks her even closer, the air rushing out of her lungs as her soft body collides with his iron frame.

“Designers?” his mouth moves to her ear, his teeth grazing the lobe as he whispers the temptations of a devil.

“Bags?” His hands circle around her breasts, measuring the weight of her through the silk, his touch heavy and possessive.

“No, Mr. Ashcroft, I only want—” Rhea whispers, closing her eyes as a treacherous wave of pleasure clashes with her soul-deep pain.

“Quiet, Fragile. Shoes?” he asks, his hands sliding down to her thighs, bunching the silk of her robe until he finds skin.

“Clothing?” His hands do more than the talking now, creeping upward toward her center with a slow, agonizing intent.

“Jewelry?” He asks the question as his fingers slide beneath the lace of her panties, finding her drenched and trembling.

“Tell me what you want. I can get you that in thousands and millions,” Dominic whispers, his voice dropping to a dark, jagged rasp as he circles her clitoris with the pad of his thumb. “Anything. Everything. The world on a silver platter.”

“But then... you cannot have your freedom, Fragile,” he breathes, the heat of his words searing her skin. “If I have to pull the entire world down to keep you here, I will. You cannot leave, because I am not done with you. I may never be done with you.”

Dominic removes his hand and pulls back just enough to look her in the eye. The void in his gaze is terrifying.

“Rhea, don’t bring the monster out in me. Stay with me and I will give you billions. I will give you every luxury, every dream, every whim... but your freedom is the one thing that is no longer for sale.”

Rhea shivers. Her own desperation has brought her into the lair of a god who does not know how to let go. She wanted money to save her father; she wanted a way out. 

Now, she is realizes she is being paid a king's ransom to be a golden ghost.

“I will give you black Centurion card with no limit, spend on anything you want” Dominic says, taking her hand and squeezing it until the cuff presses into her bone.

“I don’t want the money, Mr. Ashcroft. I just want—”

“Shh, Fragile. You should want it. I should pay heavily for a beautiful woman’s soul, and I intend to pay a price so high you will forget what the sun looks like outside these windows.”

He begins to lead her toward the master bedroom, his touch unyielding, his grip anchored on her waist as if she might vanish if he lets go for a single second.

"Now," he growls, his obsession bleeding through every word, "let me remind you who you breathe for. Let me remind you why I will never let you go."