First Night of Ownership

Amelia didn’t breathe.

She stared at Lawson as if the words he’d just spoken might rearrange themselves into something less terrifying if she waited long enough.

Or I make Maxwell disappear.

Her fingers tightened around the folder until the edges cut into her skin. The photographs trembled slightly in her grasp, glossy proof of something that hadn’t even happened—yet.

“You wouldn’t,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lawson tilted his head, studying her like a problem he’d already solved. “I already have.”

The room felt smaller. The walls closer. The air thinner.

“You’re bluffing,” she said, forcing the words past the knot in her throat. “This is intimidation.”

Lawson’s mouth curved into that same cold, knowing half-smile. “Call it whatever helps you sleep.”

“I won’t be threatened into obedience,” Amelia snapped. “You can’t control everything.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “I control outcomes.”

She backed away instinctively until her calves hit the edge of the bed. “What do you want?”

He stopped a step away, close enough that she could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, close enough to feel the weight of his attention pressing down on her.

“I want you to understand the rules,” Lawson said calmly. “There are only two.”

Her heart hammered.

“Rule one,” he continued. “You do not embarrass me.”

She laughed bitterly. “By existing?”

“By forgetting who you belong to.”

Anger flared hot and sharp. “I don’t belong to you.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t raise his voice.

“Rule two,” he said instead. “You do not give another man hope.”

Her chest tightened painfully. “Maxwell hasn’t—”

“He doesn’t need to,” Lawson cut in. “Men like him think kindness earns loyalty. They mistake compassion for invitation.”

“And men like you mistake ownership for love,” she shot back.

His eyes darkened, but his voice remained level. “Love is irrelevant.”

He reached past her and closed the bedroom door, the click echoing loudly in the sudden silence.

Amelia’s pulse spiked. “What are you doing?”

“Ending the illusion,” Lawson replied.

Her breath hitched. “You said I’d have time.”

“I said tonight wasn’t about pleasure,” he corrected. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t about reality.”

She shook her head, panic creeping into her limbs. “You can’t force this.”

Lawson’s gaze dropped to the ring on her finger. “I don’t have to.”

He reached for her wrist again—not roughly, but with enough certainty to make resistance feel pointless—and guided her toward the bed.

“Stop,” she said, her voice shaking.

He stopped.

The sudden pause surprised her.

“You misunderstand,” Lawson said quietly. “I don’t need your consent to own you. But I won’t take what I don’t need.”

Her stomach churned. “Then what is this?”

“Control,” he replied. “If I wanted your body, Amelia, I would have taken it the first night.”

The truth of that settled heavily.

He released her wrist and stepped back, straightening his cuffs again as if this conversation were no more personal than a boardroom negotiation.

“You’re moving into this room tonight,” he said. “Not because I want you here—but because you need to remember where you stand.”

She swallowed hard. “I won’t share a bed with you.”

Lawson nodded. “You don’t have to.”

He gestured toward the couch near the window. “You can sleep there.”

Her heart pounded, confused relief mingling with dread. “That’s it?”

“For now.”

He turned toward the door. “But don’t mistake restraint for weakness.”

Then he left.

Amelia stood frozen for several long seconds before her legs finally gave out. She sank onto the edge of the bed, shaking.

Her phone buzzed.

Maxwell.

She hesitated, then answered.

“Are you okay?” his voice came through low and urgent.

“No,” she whispered. “He threatened you.”

There was a pause. “I know.”

Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been followed,” Maxwell said quietly. “Not subtle. Lawson’s men.”

Terror flooded her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault,” he said. “But it’s getting dangerous.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “He’s tightening the leash.”

“Then we need to be smart,” Maxwell replied. “No more obvious contact. Not here.”

Tears burned behind her eyes. “So this is it? I just endure him?”

“Not forever,” Maxwell said firmly. “But until we have leverage.”

“Leverage?” she echoed.

“Lawson Reynolds doesn’t move without protecting something,” he said. “We just need to find out what.”

Before she could ask more, the line went dead.

Amelia stared at the phone, dread settling deep in her chest.

That night stretched endlessly.

Lawson didn’t return to the bedroom. Amelia lay curled on the couch, staring at the ceiling, every sound making her flinch. She slept in fragments—jerked awake by imagined footsteps, by the memory of his voice, by the fear that she was losing herself inch by inch.

Morning came too soon.

Lawson was already dressed when she woke, crisp suit, flawless control restored. He didn’t look at her.

“You’ll attend another event tonight,” he said, sipping his coffee. “A private gala.”

“I’m not ready,” Amelia replied.

“You will be,” he said. “Anita will handle the rest.”

He glanced at her then, his gaze sharp. “Remember the rules.”

She didn’t respond.

At the gala, everything felt sharper, louder, crueler.

Amelia stood beside Lawson as the city’s elite smiled and whispered. She felt eyes on her constantly—judging, appraising, admiring. Lawson’s hand rested at her waist, a silent claim.

Across the room, she saw Maxwell.

Her heart lurched.

He stood near the bar, his expression neutral, controlled. Their eyes met for a brief second—long enough for her to see the warning there.

Be careful.

Lawson noticed.

He always noticed.

“Eyes forward,” he murmured.

She complied.

But as the night wore on, the tension thickened. Lawson was called away briefly by an investor, leaving Amelia alone.

Maxwell seized the moment.

He approached slowly, careful not to draw attention. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly.

“I don’t have a choice,” she replied.

“Lawson is watching,” he warned.

“I know,” she said. “He always is.”

Maxwell leaned closer, his voice barely audible. “I found something.”

Her breath caught. “What?”

“Lawson has offshore accounts he doesn’t report,” he said. “Shell companies. If exposed—”

“Don’t,” Amelia whispered. “He’ll kill you.”

“He won’t,” Maxwell replied calmly. “Not if the evidence is protected.”

Before she could respond, a hand closed around her arm.

Lawson.

His grip was firm, possessive. His smile was perfectly polite.

“Amelia,” he said smoothly. “You’re needed.”

Maxwell straightened. “We were just—”

“I know,” Lawson interrupted. “And we’re done.”

He pulled Amelia away without another word.

Once they were alone, his smile vanished.

“I warned you,” he said quietly.

She met his gaze, her heart racing. “We were talking.”

“You were conspiring,” he corrected.

“That’s paranoia.”

He leaned closer, his voice deadly calm. “That’s betrayal.”

Her breath shook. “You can’t punish me for breathing near him.”

“I can,” he said. “And I will.”

They returned home in silence.

Inside the penthouse, Lawson turned to her slowly, his expression unreadable.

“You like testing boundaries,” he said. “So do I.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Do you know where Maxwell is right now?” he asked.

Fear surged. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching you consequences,” Lawson replied.

He pressed a button.

Amelia’s phone buzzed at the same time.

A message.

Maxwell Reynolds has been detained for questioning.

Her heart stopped.

She looked up at Lawson, terror flooding her veins.

“Let him go,” she whispered.

Lawson met her gaze, unblinking.

“Convince me.”