Chapter 2

There was something unreal about that night. Something suspended. A party too dazzling, too lavish, too decadent to be genuine.

It was a charity gala at a luxury hotel, an evening where the wealthy flaunted their generosity like jewels. Léna didn't belong there. And yet, there she was, a last-minute waitress, her hair hastily styled, dressed in a black uniform that clashed with the shimmering gowns and high heels.

She was 20 years old. Léna Delcourt, blonde with blue eyes, was an unassuming girl, a quiet beauty with pale cheeks and precise movements, possessing that rare blend of gentleness and fire that drew people in without her seeking it.

That evening, she served glasses of champagne with discipline, her eyes lowered, trying to avoid overly bold hands. And that's when she saw him for the first time.

He didn't need to speak. He hadn't even moved yet. But everything about his presence screamed control, power, danger.

Ilyès Blackwood. 27 years old. Black suit. Impeccable shirt. Dark hair, swept back, eyes the color of an abyss. He was the very definition of intimidating. His beauty was sharp, icy. Not the kind that warms. The kind that wounds.

He was looking at her. Staring. For too long.

Léna looked away, embarrassed. But he approached. Slowly. Like a hunter sure of his prey.

"You're not smiling," he murmured. "That's strange, at a party."

She looked up at him, straight ahead.

"I'm paid to serve, not to seduce."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Too bad." He walked away.

But that wasn't the end. It was the beginning.

Later that evening, as she was putting away flutes, she heard him behind her.

"You're pretty, Lena."

She froze.

"You read my badge," she said curtly.

He smiled. His smile didn't illuminate anything. It consumed.

"I quickly remember what I want to possess."

She turned around. Abruptly.

"I'm not for sale."

"No. Not yet."

He stared at her as if he could read her mind. She shivered involuntarily.

"You should smile," he repeated.

And without warning, he kissed her.

It wasn't gentle. Or tender. It was brutal. A demonstration of power. Of domination.

She didn't have time to react. Or to think.

But she pushed him away. And she raised her hand. And the slap cracked through the air like a divine decree.

Silence fell instantly in the room. Several eyes turned toward them. Ilyès stepped back slightly, his cheek red. Not a word.

She stared at him.

"Don't you ever come near me again."

And she left.

That night, Léna thought she had turned a page. She thought she would never see that look again. That face.

She didn't know that by hitting him... she had etched his name onto her list of priorities.

Two years later.

In the silent bedroom of the Blackwood mansion, Léna relived the scene over and over. Lying on the bed of the man she had once humiliated, she realized that nothing was over. Nothing was erased. She sat up, pulling the sheet close to her, her heart pounding.

Who was Ilyès Blackwood, really?

She only knew fragments. Echoes. Whispers.

The son of a real estate tycoon, he had grown up in the shadow of a tyrannical father. At a very young age, he had been sent to Swiss boarding schools. A brilliant student, cold, solitary. It was said that he had taken over the family business at 22, after a mysterious accident involving his father. Since then, he had built an even larger empire: hotels, residences, private clubs, casinos. And stakes in companies he never named.

Nothing escaped his notice. Nothing affected him. And yet, he had looked at her. A simple waitress. And he hadn't forgotten her.

As for her… Léna Delcourt, now 22, had lost everything. Her mother had died of cancer. Her father was a gambler and unstable. She had always been serious, upright, proud. She didn't know how to lie, didn't know how to please.

But she knew how to fight. And that's what this man hadn't anticipated. He thought he had bought her. But he didn't know that in two years, the naive young girl had grown up.

That she carried a secret inside her.

And that this time, she wasn't going to run away. She was going to stay. And observe. And understand what he was hiding behind his silences.

Because Ilyès Blackwood wasn't just cruel. He was broken. And dangerous. And perhaps… hopelessly alone.

The sun barely filtered through the drawn curtains when Lena opened her eyes.

Her first instinct was to scan the room. Empty.

But her body still remembered the tension of the previous day.

Ilyes's burning gaze. His words. The fear she had repressed.

She sat up slowly. The nightgown slipped against her skin. She could have thought it was a bad dream. But the walls were still there. The silence. The cold. And the complete absence of choice.

She was truly trapped.

A few minutes later, a discreet maid brought her a breakfast tray, which she left without a word. Lena didn't touch anything.

When the door opened again, it was him.

Ilyes Blackwood.

Always impeccable. Charcoal suit, dark shirt. The kind of man who seemed to control even his heartbeat. But his gaze that morning was different. Heavier. Darker.

"Have you rested?" he asked simply.

She didn't answer.

He went in without waiting for a reply. Closed the door. And locked it.

A click. Lena sat bolt upright.

"Why are you locking it?" she asked defensively.

He approached.

"Because I'm tired of playing," he replied coldly.

He stopped in front of her. Slowly, he raised his hand and stroked her cheek. An almost tender gesture. Almost.

"You know what I bought, Lena."

She stepped back.

"You bought silence. Not my body."

He smiled. Icy.

"You don't know the half of it."

He grabbed her wrist. She tried to break free, but his grip was iron.

"Let me go."

"No," he breathed.

He gently pressed her against the wall. There was no violence, not yet. But the intention was there.

"You hate me? Me too. But I've wanted you, Lena. Ever since that night."

She tried to push him away. He was still holding her wrist, too tightly.

"You want me to love you? You want me to get attached? I'm not that man," he spat. "But I'm the one who paid."

His hands brushed against her arms. She struggled, more violently.

"Ilyes, stop! You don't want to do this."

"I want you to know what it feels like. To be taken. To have no choice. Like that slap." I remember it every day.

His fingers reached the hem of her dress. He stared at her without blinking. Ready to go too far.

And that's when it happened. A sob. Weak. Smothered. Then another. And another.

Lena's body froze. She was crying. Silently. But the tears rolled down her cheeks, uncontrollable, pure.