His Daughter

Ava's POV

The muffled hum of the engine was the only sound in the suffocating silence of the car. My arms were still tingling from where the man had pressed the gun into my head. He was in the driver's seat, his back a rigid, imposing line. I’d been whisked away from my home, from Elena’s chilling threats, to… wherever this was.

The fear that had gripped me back in the living room hadn't subsided; it had only morphed into a cold, unsettling dread.

The car slowed, then pulled to a silent stop. I looked up, my breath catching. Before me stood a mansion, a sprawling edifice of dark stone and shadowed windows. It looked less like a home and more like a fortress.

The driver got out, and I watched as he walked around to my side, opening the door. He was tall, intimidating, with a rough-hewn face that looked as though it had seen too many battles. A jagged scar snaked across his cheek, oddly alluring rather than disfiguring. He held the door open, his gaze unreadable. Reluctantly, I stepped out onto the gravel drive.

“This way.” His voice was a low rumble.

I followed him, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The grand entrance hall of the mansion was vast and echoing, filled with the scent of old money and something else… something cold and sterile.

Where was he taking me? I wanted to ask, but my throat felt constricted, fear a suffocating knot.

He led me down a long corridor, past closed doors until he stopped at a large, ornate one. He pushed it open, revealing a room bathed in the soft glow of twilight. My gaze was immediately drawn to the figure seated on a plush sofa, silhouetted against a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked a sprawling, manicured garden. His legs were parted, an almost casual yet undeniably dominant posture.

As I walked closer, the air around him seemed to hum with an intense energy. He was undeniably handsome, impossibly so. Dark hair, sharp jawline and eyes… even from a distance, I could tell they were a striking shade of gray. A small scar, barely visible, traced the arch of his brow, adding to his mystique. Dressed entirely in black, he exuded an aura of danger, of power. And then, a jolt of recognition. He looked familiar. Terribly familiar.

He raised a hand, slowly and elegantly, bringing a wine glass to his lips. He took a sip, his gaze never leaving mine. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the soft clink of the glass. Finally, I found my voice, a trembling whisper.

“Who… who are you?”

He tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. Then, he set the glass down with a deliberate click against a side table and rose, his movements fluid and graceful. He walked towards me and I instinctively took a step back, then another until my back pressed against the cold wall. The man who had driven me here stood silently by the door, his face a stone mask. He gave no indication that he was aware of anything happening and the sheer detachment only heightened my fear. I could be killed here and no one would know, no one would come to my rescue.

He stopped directly in front of me, his presence overwhelming. He lifted a hand and I flinched but he merely placed it gently on my cheek. His touch was firm, almost possessive and the masculine scent of leather and spice, so distinct and so powerful, wafted over me. It was the same scent from the bar, the nightmarish night. I immediately brushed the thought away, telling myself it was a coincidence, a trick of my terrified mind.

Then he spoke, his voice deep, resonant and chillingly familiar. “You caused quite a stir last night, little bird.”

My suspicions, my fears, coalesced into a terrifying certainty. It was him. Lorenzo. The man from the bar.

“I caused a stir?” I retorted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My voice, surprisingly held a tremor of indignation, not just fear. “You’re the one who caused a stir! With your… your traumatic saving that I didn’t even need!”

A smirk, slow and deliberate, curved his lips only adding to his dark allure. “Oh, I assure you,” he said, his voice cool, almost bored, “I merely saved my bar’s reputation. Not you.”

His words, echoing his declaration from last night – “You can do whatever you want but not in my bar” – hit me with a sickening clarity. He hadn’t saved me out of altruism. He’d saved his property.

He watched my face, a flicker of understanding in his gray eyes. “You’re finally getting the picture,” he murmured. “I didn’t save you then because you weren’t fully mine. But now that you’re here, little bird, you’re owned.”

Shock, cold and absolute, rippled through me. My jaw dropped. “Owned? I am not an object! You can’t just—”

His dark chuckle cut me off. It was a chilling sound, devoid of warmth. “Oh, but I do, little bird. You became mine the moment your dear brother, Carlos, sold you to clear his debts. Along with almost all the shares in your father’s company.”

The air left my lungs in a ragged gasp. What was he talking about? That couldn't be true, yet the look in his eyes said otherwise.

He had sold me like an object, like chattel. Rage, raw and unadulterated, surged through me, eclipsing the fear for a fleeting moment. I tried to push past him, to escape and to run anywhere but his hand shot out, grabbing me by the neck, not quite choking but enough to hold me in an iron grip. He pinned me to the wall, his face inches from mine, his eyes burning with an intense possessive fire.

“You now belong to Lorenzo Blackwood,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You are mine. To possess. To claim. To own.”

He pulled back, releasing his grip. I exhaled sharply, gasping for air, my throat aching.

“Martin,” he called, his voice now calm as if the previous moment had never happened.

Martin, the other man standing at the door, stepped forward, a file already in his hand. Lorenzo took it and handed it to me. “Go through the rules binding us,” he commanded, his gaze piercing. “When you’re done, sign it. And then, dress up. We have somewhere to be.”

With one last intense glance, he turned and left the room, Martin following silently in his wake.

My hands trembled as I took the file. My fingers fumbled with the clasp and I opened it, my eyes scanning the neatly typed clauses.

Clause 1: The Occupant shall not be seen in public with any other man, nor shall she engage in any intimate situation with another man. Violation will result in punishment.

Clause 2: The Occupant shall not leave the premises without express permission from the Owner. Violation will result in punishment.

Clause 3: The Owner shall provide for all the Occupant’s needs, including but not limited to, accommodation, sustenance, and protection.

Clause 4: Any physical intimacy, including sexual acts, shall only be initiated by the Owner. The Occupant shall not expect any form of affection.

Clause 5: There shall be no expectation of love.

My stomach churned. A doll. I was nothing more than a doll, a possession, to be used and controlled. More a slave than a person. The final clause, however, made a bitter scoff escape my lips. No expectation of love. Of course not and I promised myself to never fall for a man like him. Never.

****

Casino Royale

The pulsating rhythm of the casino, a cacophony of jingling slot machines, hushed murmurs and the clink of glasses, washed over me as Lorenzo led me into the grand hall. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, stale cigarette smoke and the underlying tension of high stakes.

Wealthy individuals, adorned in glittering jewels and bespoke suits, mingled with their faces betraying a mixture of practiced nonchalance and predatory calculation. I looked around, the glint of gambling chips, the flowing alcohol and the subtle distrust in every glance. This wasn't a place for casual enjoyment; this was a den of lions, a scene ripped straight from a mafia movie.

Lorenzo moved through the crowd with an undeniable magnetism, I, merely an accessory, an eye-candy on his arm. He greeted powerful men with a nod, his words low and confident while I stood silently beside him, feeling utterly out of place.

“Lorenzo, darling!” A syrupy voice cut through the hum.

I turned to see a woman, elegant and striking, with sharp features and a look that could curdle milk. Beside her stood a man, broad-shouldered and with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Mario, Kate,” Lorenzo acknowledged them, his voice devoid of warmth.

Mario’s gaze flickered to me, then back to Lorenzo with a strange knowing in his eyes. Kate, however, barely glanced at Mario. Her eyes were fixed on Lorenzo, a longing and possessive glint in their depths, quickly replaced by a deadly glare directed straight at me. The tension between the three of them was palpable.

But from the outlook, it was clear Kate and Lorenzo had a history. I ignored their unspoken animosity, feeling a sudden need for a reprieve.

“Excuse me,” I murmured, pulling lightly on Lorenzo’s arm. “I’m going to get a drink.”

He gave a curt nod, his attention already drifting back to Mario. I made my way to the bar, seeking refuge from the suffocating atmosphere. I ordered a drink, sighing tiredly as I surveyed the opulent yet unsettling scene.

“You here not of your own accord too?” A soft voice asked beside me.

I turned, startled to see a woman with striking brunette hair and kind, sympathetic eyes. She was beautiful, radiating a quiet strength. “Raquel,” she introduced herself, offering a small smile.

“Ava,” I replied, surprised by her candor.

We talked briefly, a shared sense of unease drawing us together. Raquel offered a wry joke, “At least we get free drinks, right?” We both laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound that for a fleeting moment, made me forget the suffocating reality of my situation.

“Who did you come with?” Raquel asked, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Lorenzo,” I replied, the name feeling strange on my tongue.

Raquel’s smile vanished, her eyes widening in genuine shock. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Lorenzo Blackwood? That’s impossible. He’s… are you sure you're not talking someone else? He keeps his private life completely hidden. The last person anyone even knew he dated was Kate.” Her gaze flickered to Kate across the room, who was still shooting daggers in my direction.

Just then, Lorenzo appeared beside me, his presence was a dark cloud blotting out the brief moment of lightness. “Time to go,” he said, his voice flat.

I nodded, excusing myself from Raquel and followed him out of the casino, the laughter and lights fading behind us. It wasn't up to asn hour since we came but I didn't point that out, at this point, I'd anything to get out of here.

The mansion was silent, dark. I stepped inside, the familiar oppressive weight settling back on my shoulders. Then, I noticed a flash of movement. A small figure, no older than six, came hurtling towards us.

“Daddy!” she cried, her voice a pure, unadulterated sound of joy.

My breath hitched. Lorenzo’s stern features softened, a rare, tender smile gracing his lips. He bent down, sweeping the little girl into his arms, holding her close and her small arms wrapped tightly around his neck. I watched, utterly stunned as he hugged her, a sight so incongruous with the ruthless man I had come to know.

But my mind was still reeling from the initial shock.

Lorenzo had a daughter?!