Chapter 4: Mine

A sleek black Lamborghini glided to a stop in front of a towering skyscraper, its glass facade reflecting the city lights like a vision from the future. The structure stretched so high it seemed to challenge the heavens.

The driver quickly stepped out, hurrying to the passenger’s side. With a practiced motion, he opened the door, revealing a man who exuded power and sophistication. He was the very definition of exquisite—clad in a designer Armani suit that hugged his masculine physique.

His brown hair was slicked back, though a few rebellious strands fell over his forehead, making him look effortlessly alluring. Every movement he made was precise, almost regal, as his polished designer shoes clicked against the interlocked pavement.

Vernon Carter.

That was his name. A name that commanded both fear and admiration.

Without breaking stride, he entered the building, his steps measured and purposeful.

"Good morning, sir," the employees greeted, bowing their heads in respect. He acknowledged them with a mere flick of his fingers, never pausing, never slowing.

Behind him, a woman hurried after him, clutching a tablet to her chest. Her heels clicked frantically against the floor as she struggled to keep up.

Vernon reached for the door handle and stepped into his office. The woman followed, pressing a hand to her chest, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

"Why were you running?" His voice was smooth, deep, and commanding, slicing through the air like a blade.

"Why wouldn't I run?" she huffed, glaring at him. "You're too fast with those long legs of yours!" She whined—but he didn't reply. He just opened the laptop and started working.

"Kelsey—" the lady said after catching her breath. "You have a meeting with Mr. Tamlin today," she reminded, checking her tablet.

His thick brows twitched as he looked up. "Really?"

"What does he want now?" he groaned.

"From the information he provided, he wants to discuss the money. I guess he's paying."

"When and where?" he asked.

She told him the location and time. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she fanned herself frantically before slowly unbuttoning her shirt, letting her cleavage spill into view.

The room’s light shimmered against her skin. "It's so hot in here… isn't it?" she asked, her voice breathy, seductive.

"The AC is on," he said flatly.

Her eyes darted to the unit, confirming it was indeed running. Embarrassment flashed across her face.

"Cover up and get your useless self out of here if you don't want to lose your job," he threatened.

She swallowed hard, quickly buttoning her shirt before turning on her heels and walking out. As the door slammed shut behind her, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

How could someone be so cruel? How could he reject her—three times in a row?

A smirk curled up on her lips. "No matter what, Vernon… I must have you. You're mine. No one else's," she murmured, striding away.

---

[Afternoon]

As the afternoon sun cast golden hues through the office windows, Vernon wrapped up his work and pushed back his chair. Rising to his full height, he strode out of his office, his presence demanding attention without a single word.

The steady clatter of keyboards filled the air as employees remained focused on their screens, none daring to glance his way. His sharp gaze swept over the floor until it landed on an empty cubicle. His expression darkened.

With slow, deliberate steps, he approached and tapped his fingers against the desk, the sound echoing through the tense silence. The weight of his aura alone was enough to command the attention of those nearby.

"Who sits here?" His voice was low, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.

A hesitant voice broke the silence. "Um… it’s the manager, sir." A young woman swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly as she answered.

Vernon’s eyes narrowed. "Hmm."

"And where is he?" he questioned, adjusting his cufflinks.

"He didn't come..." she replied, her voice still trembling—not wanting to offend in the slightest.

"Did he give a definite reason?" he asked.

"No, he didn't, sir. Maybe he..." she couldn't finish when her words were cut off. A cold, decisive order tore from his lips: "Fire him."

Murmurs rippled through the office, but no one dared question him. Without another glance, he turned on his heel and walked out of the building.

His driver was already waiting, holding the car door open. Vernon slid into the back seat, his movements smooth and unhurried.

"Where to, sir?" the driver asked as he settled in.

Vernon gave him the location. A curt nod, and the driver started the engine, the car roaring to life before speeding off into the city streets.

They arrived at the restaurant, and Vernon stepped out, his polished shoes catching the light, gleaming with each step.

The driver quickly opened the door, and Vernon strode inside without hesitation.

“Is that Mr. Vernon Carter?” a waitress gasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, that’s him.” Another waiter nodded, shock washing over him.

“What should I do…?” The waitress fidgeted, adjusting her apron nervously.

“Attend to him, idiot!” her colleague hissed, giving her a shove forward. She stumbled, losing her balance, and fell toward Vernon.

His eyes darkened as he caught sight of her flailing figure. With a look of pure disdain, he sidestepped effortlessly, letting her fall to the ground.

"Disgusting," he murmured coldly, brushing off the spot she had almost touched.

She scrambled to her feet, her face pale, yet something like admiration flickered in her eyes. “What would you like this afternoon, sir?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Vernon ignored her, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room.

The dusty ceilings.

The mediocre, outdated dining tables.

The place was revolting.

Before he could voice his thoughts, the shop owner spotted him and rushed over, pushing the waitress aside as if she were nothing more than an inconvenience.

“I deeply apologize for the disturbance, sir. Right this way.” Her tone was a mix of nervousness and desperation as she gestured toward a secluded area.

She pulled back the red curtains, revealing Tamlin seated with an air of practiced elegance, his legs crossed.

“Oh. Welcome,” Tamlin greeted, rising smoothly to his feet. With a smug smile, he extended a hand.

Vernon’s gaze flickered down to it, then back to Tamlin’s face. After a long pause, he finally took his hand in a firm shake—brief, impersonal. Then, without missing a beat, he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his palm clean, and tossed it aside as if ridding himself of contamination.

Annoyance flickered in Tamlin’s gaze, but he masked it quickly. Vernon sat down, his expression unreadable.

"So why did you call for this meeting?" Vernon asked.

Tamlin smiled. "It's about the money I owe you."

Vernon leaned back, his fingers tapping against the armrest. "And?"

"I wanted to ask if I could pay with collateral instead of money."

A shadow of impatience crossed Vernon’s face. "What do you want to pay me with?" He shifted slightly, already prepared to leave.

Tamlin’s next words were slow, deliberate. "My wife. You can have her."

Silence. Then—a deep, guttural chuckle tore from Vernon’s lips.

"Why would I want your wife?" he scoffed, rising to his feet.

Tamlin remained unfazed, pulling out his phone. "I knew you would say that." He turned the screen toward Vernon.

Vernon’s gaze landed on the image.

For a moment—his heart stilled.

Those eyes—icy blue.

That golden hair.

Those freckles.

An old, buried ache clawed at his chest.

No... It can't be.

He blinked the feeling away, his jaw tightening.

A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at his lips.

"I'll take the woman," he said coldly, turning on his heel and striding toward the exit.

Tamlin grinned as if he had just won a game. He dialed a number, his voice laced with excitement.

"Get her ready. She’s leaving tonight."

He ended the call and walked out, satisfaction oozing from every step.

---

[Abandoned Warehouse]

The evening deepened, the sun slipping beyond the horizon as darkness draped the sky. The moon rose, its silver glow piercing through the barred windows of a dimly lit cell.

Inside, the pale light bathed a motionless figure.

Tessa.

Her face was stained with dried blood, her disheveled hair a clear testament to her struggles. Her once-pink lips had turned a ghostly pale.

The heavy creak of the cell door broke the silence.

Tamlin strolled in, his voice laced with false cheer. "Good news, Tessa!" His smirk widened as he stepped closer. "You're going home. Be a good girl, won’t you?"

Behind him, a broad-shouldered man waited silently.

Tamlin turned to him with a dismissive wave. "Pick her up. Put her in the limo."

The man obeyed without question, slinging Tessa over his shoulder with effortless strength. She didn’t resist—she couldn’t.

Outside, the limo idled, its polished exterior gleaming under the streetlights. The man gently placed Tessa onto the passenger seat, her fragile frame barely stirring.

A driver stepped out, holding a folder in his hands. He passed it to Tamlin.

"What’s this?" Tamlin asked, skimming the contents.

"A contract," the driver replied coolly. "The boss wants one hundred percent assurance that the woman is now his. Any attempt to take her back will result in your arrest—or worse, your death."

Tamlin didn’t hesitate. He signed the contract without a second thought, his smirk never fading.

The man exchanged a brief handshake with him before stepping into the car, shutting the door with a decisive thud.

The limo disappeared into the night.

Inside the vehicle, Tessa stirred. A weak groan escaped her lips as the car's smooth movement jolted her back to consciousness.

Her vision blurred, her limbs numb. Where was she?

Then, through the haze, she caught a glimpse of the man sitting across from her.

Vernon Carter.

His cold, unreadable gaze locked onto her, studying her as if she were a mere object.

Something flickered in his eyes—a shadow of a memory.

Familiar... too familiar.

Tessa’s heart lurched. Why was he looking at her like that?

Panic surged through her. She reached for the door handle, twisting desperately. Locked.

Her breath hitched. "Let me go! Where are you taking me?" Her voice trembled.

Vernon leaned back, his face carved from stone. His voice, when it came, was low and final:

"Home. You're mine now."