SEALED

Rain tapped against the glass like a warning drum. Aria lay stiff in the too-soft bed, Luca’s words from the night before echoing in her skull:

You belong to me.

She hated how they made her feel trapped, owned. Yet deep down, a shiver whispered that it was true. Her name was on his contract; her parents were free only because she had sold herself.

The door cracked open. Maria peeked in, her face gentle but her eyes carrying a pity that made Aria’s stomach clench.

“Mr. Cross says your appointment is in an hour. He wants you ready.”

Aria pushed up on her elbows. “Is it here?”

Maria hesitated. “He’ll explain. Dress comfortably.”

The door shut before Aria could ask more.

She showered quickly, scrubbing at her skin as if she could erase his touch—the brush of his thumb across her lip, the way it had felt like he already owned every inch of her. Dressed in leggings and an oversized sweater, hair pulled into a knot, she stared at her reflection.

You can do this. It’s just your body. Just for the money.

When she stepped into the living room, Luca was already waiting. Crisp white shirt, dark trousers, no tie. He looked as if he’d rolled out of bed still a king. His eyes stayed on his phone until she spoke.

“Where’s the doctor?”

“There’s no doctor.”

Her pulse stuttered. “What do you mean?”

He set the phone aside, deliberate, calm. “No test tubes. No clinics. No strangers watching.”

She stepped back. “That’s not… I thought”

“I told you, Aria. Once you’re in, there’s no way out.”

He rose, moving toward her with that quiet, predatory grace that made her want to run and stand her ground all at once.

“You agreed to give me an heir. I don’t want a lab. I don’t want risks. I want this done my way.”

Her voice scraped raw. “That’s not how it works.”

“It is,” he murmured, words curling around her like chains. “Or you can break the contract, and your parents will enjoy the view from their cell window again. Do you want that?”

Her throat closed. No way out.

She hated him. Hated herself more for wondering what it would feel like if he touched her not because he paid her, but because he wanted her.

“This wasn’t the deal,” she said, pacing to the rain-blurred window. “It was supposed to be clinical. Detached.”

He came up behind her, his chest a warm wall at her back. His reflection in the glass looked carved from shadow.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured in her ear.

Her eyes squeezed shut. “You’re disgusting.”

But her body betrayed her. Every nerve lit up when his hand settled on her hip. His lips brushed her temple, cruelly soft.

“Lie better, sweetheart.”

He caught her hand, fingers limp in his, and led her down the hall. The master bedroom was all black and silver, rain streaking the windows, a bed large enough to swallow her whole. Panic clawed at her ribs.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

His grip tightened just enough to remind her he could bend her will if he wanted to.

“Be still,” he said, his voice barely cracked but slipping past her anger. “Do you think I enjoy this? Forcing you?”

She stared at him, wanting to scream Do you? But the look in his eyes told her what his words wouldn’t. He wanted her. Not just her womb. Her.

When his mouth found hers, it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t cruel. It was ownership and something else she couldn’t name because it burned too hot. His hands slid beneath her sweater, cold palms on bare skin. She gasped, meant to push him away, but her fingers fisted in his shirt instead.

“Look at me,” he said, voice hoarse as he hovered above her on the bed.

She did. And she wished she hadn’t. His eyes looked wild, something raw and wounded behind the ice.

“Say it,” he rasped against her throat.

“Say what?”

“That you’re mine.”

She bit her lip, refusing. But when his weight pressed her down, when her body bowed against his, the word tore free in a broken sob.

“Yours.”

Later, the room smelled of rain, sweat, and secrets she couldn’t wash away. Aria lay twisted in the sheets, Luca’s arm heavy around her waist, pinning her like a brand. His breath was steady, as if none of it had cost him anything.

She stared at the ceiling, tears slipping sideways into her hair. She’d told herself she would do anything to save her family. But no one had warned her how much she would lose piece by piece her pride, her hatred, maybe her heart.

He shifted, his lips brushing the back of her neck.

“You’ll get used to it,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and triumph.

She bit her lip to keep from answering the truth: That’s what terrifies me.

Days blurred. Luca didn’t touch her again not like that. He left early, returned late, his presence heavy as a storm cloud. Aria drifted through the penthouse like a ghost, staring at herself each morning in the mirror, waiting for change.

On the fourth day, nausea hit like a punch. She staggered to the bathroom, retching until her ribs ached. When she finally looked up, her face was pale but alive in a way that made her pulse pound with dread.

No. No, no, no.

She counted days. She was late. She had never been late.

Maria found her at the sink, sweat plastering strands of hair to her face.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Aria lied, splashing water over trembling hands.

That night, Luca’s voice drifted through the office door low, clipped, in that other language she didn’t understand. She leaned close, guilty and desperate, until her name made her freeze.

“…Aria Lane is compliant. No issues. I’ll handle her.”

A pause. His shadow shifted across the frosted glass.

“But if she tries to run, there’s more at stake than the baby.”

Her breath caught. More at stake?

His voice dropped lower, dark silk sliding under her skin.

“Don’t worry. She’s mine. And no one takes what’s mine.”