Chapter 1

The room smelled of sweat, spilled alcohol, and fear.

Lena remained standing, straight, her heart in her throat. Her father, on the other hand, was on his knees. He was pleading. Again. Like a child caught doing something wrong.

“Please, Ilyès… She has nothing to do with this. Take the car. Take the house, but not her…” Facing him, the man in the black suit remained impassive. His dark gaze slid briefly over the weeping old man before settling slowly on the trembling female figure at the back of the room.

Lena felt her stomach clench.

He was staring at her.

A stifling silence fell over the room.

“You…” she finally managed, her throat dry.

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew this man. She had never forgotten his gaze. And that face…

“You remember me,” he murmured with an icy smile. Lena took a step back, shocked. Of course she remembered him. Two years earlier. One evening, a provocation, a forced kiss that she had punished with a slap, without thinking. The kind of slap that leaves a mark on the ego of a powerful man.

Ilyès Blackwood.

He was no ordinary man. Cold. Calm. Insultingly wealthy. And above all, vindictive.

“Are you kidding?” she breathed. “You’re not really going to…”

“It’s too late,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “I’ve wiped out your father’s debts. You’re mine now, Lena.”

“No. No, that’s illegal. I’m of age, I…” But she didn’t have time to finish. Two men approached from behind her. She felt their hands on her arms, the force, the impossibility of escape.

She struggled, panicked.

“Dad!” she screamed. “Tell him you can’t do this! Tell him you’re taking me back!”

But her father, still on his knees, didn’t even look up. He remained frozen, ashamed, broken.

Lena felt something die inside her.

An icy hand landed on her jaw. Ilyes. He forced her to raise her chin, to look him in the eyes.

“I thought you’d come crawling back one day,” he said calmly. “But no. Fate had to give me this little gift. Revenge delivered in a pretty package.” Lena trembled. He wasn’t a man. He was a trap.

“You hate me,” she whispered. “It’s a start,” he replied. “But believe me, you’re going to learn what hatred is, real hatred. The kind that hurts… and binds you.” A shiver ran down her spine.

He hadn’t come looking for a wife. Or a lover. He had come to collect a debt. And she… she was the price.

She no longer screamed. No longer begged. She remained silent, head held high, eyes burning.

If he thought he had broken her, he was mistaken.

Silence reigned in the manor like a forbidden prayer.

Lena didn't know how long she'd been there. An hour? Two? Time stretched in this immense room, too cold, too empty. Too luxurious, too. Everything was perfect, impeccable, soulless.

A bit like him.

She sat on the edge of the bed, straight as a statue. Her gaze fixed on the door. The one through which he would inevitably enter.

He hadn't said anything. Hadn't specified anything. But she knew.

She was in his room.

Her throat tightened. She stood up, took a few steps. A black silk dress hung on a hanger in the open wardrobe. Her size. Her style. Chosen for her. By him.

Lena touched it with her fingertips. She shivered.

A nightgown. Thin. Almost transparent. An order, without a word.

She glanced around. No cameras in sight. But she knew he could see her. Or at least, that he would want to.

So she undressed. Slowly. Not to obey him. But to deny him the satisfaction of fear.

She slipped into the dress. It clung to her skin. Like a silken trap. When the door finally opened, she didn't flinch. She had prepared herself. But nothing truly prepared you for Ilyès Blackwood.

He entered without a word, dressed in black trousers and a dark shirt open at the collar. His still-damp hair betrayed a recent shower. He smelled of leather and precious wood.

His eyes lingered on her. For a long time. Too long.

"Nice outfit," he murmured.

"You chose it," she replied sharply.

A silence. He offered a faint smile.

"You talk as if you still had a choice." She met his gaze. She refused to look away.

"What do you want, Ilyès?" He moved slowly toward her. She felt the tension rising in her stomach.

"What I bought," he replied simply.

"I'm not merchandise."

"You became that the day your father signed that contract." She clenched her fists. But she didn't back away.

He was now just inches away from her. Too close. She could feel his heat, his breath.

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

"No." A lie. He saw it.

He reached out, slowly, and took a lock of her hair.

"I remember that slap." Léna swallowed.

"You deserved it." He smiled. But his gaze remained empty. “Maybe. And tonight, you’ll pay for her.” He grasped her chin. His fingers were firm. Almost tender. Lena felt shivers run down her spine. He leaned toward her. Their breaths mingled.

But he didn’t kiss her.

He stopped just millimeters from her lips. Just enough for her to feel the burning sensation of his absence.

“I could take you now,” he said softly. “Possess you. Reduce you to what your father sold.”

She didn’t move. She refused to give him that pleasure. He slowly released her face.

“But that would be too easy.” He took a step back.

“I’d rather you come of your own accord. Broken, perhaps. But willing.” Her eyes widened slightly.

“You think I’ll do it?”

“I’m convinced you will.” He walked away toward the sofa, his eyes never leaving hers.

“You’ll sleep here tonight. In my bed. I won’t touch you. Not tonight.”

“Why?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“Because I want you to wonder when it will happen.” A shiver ran through her. Not fear. Not really. Something more dangerous. More insidious.

He stood up.

“Good night, Lena.”

He left, leaving the door ajar behind him.

She remained alone, standing in this dress that concealed nothing, in a bed that wasn’t hers, in a life that had been turned upside down.

She lay down without changing. The sheet smelled of him.

She closed her eyes.

But sleep refused to come.