Chapter 4: He wanted to break me

“Need a hand escaping?”

The voice slid into the room like a blade dipped in silk.

I froze, half-hanging out the damn window, my hand clinging to the edge of a metal beam, my heart thundering like a war drum.

No.

No. That voice wasn’t real.

Still, I turned my head slowly, dread coiling through my chest like barbed wire.

He was there! Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Watching me.

I didn’t know this man.

Was he the one who bought me?

He didn’t look like a monster. No, that would’ve been easier. Monsters wear fangs, scars. This one wore sin like a suit.

He was tall, unnervingly calm, dressed in black button-down shirt fitted to a body carved by violence, sleeves rolled to the elbow like he didn’t mind getting blood on his cuffs. Shadows clung to him, even in the light. His jaw was sharp, lips neutral, but it was the eyes that locked me in place. They were dark, intelligent and cold like eyes that had watched people die and didn’t blink.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, like he was amused. Like this was all a game.

I snapped, “Get away from me—!”

Tryna savor my last minute of escape but my foot slipped and a scream tore out of me as I pitched backward but I didn’t hit the ground. Instead arms caught me midair.

It felt strong and solid. Smelling of something rich and deadly. What I could only describe as smoke and danger.

For a moment, I was frozen in his hold. One of his arms was wrapped tightly around my waist, the other pressed against my thigh steadying me like I weighed nothing.

I couldn’t breathe. Not because he held me too tight but because for the first time, I felt what it meant to be owned. I had never felt so small in my entire life, not even on my worse days in the Elvan’s Mansion. This was different. It was possession!

To make it worse, he didn’t release me. Instead, he stared down at me.

Not like a man who’d caught a girl or should I say a damsel in distress but like a man who’d finally laid hands on something he’d been hunting.

My heart pounded against my ribs as if begging to be let out.

Then, as smoothly as he’d caught me, he let go.

I stumbled, caught myself against a marble pillar, and yanked the sheer fabric of the ridiculous dress over my thighs, like that would make a difference. The golden cuffs around my wrists clinked as I moved. I felt like a damn ornament.

He said nothing, then turned his back on me and walked casually toward the bar.

The audacity. Like saving me from a cracked skull was the highlight of his evening.

He uncorked a bottle of wine, dark red and glinting under the crystal lighting. He poured two glasses. Didn’t ask if I wanted one. Just set it down like I had a choice.

“You should thank me,” he said without looking up.

I blinked. What?

“For what?” I bit out, my voice sharper than I expected.

He turned, lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip.

Then finally looked at me…really looked. And I hated the way his eyes traveled down my body like he was memorizing it.

“For spending a hundred million dollars,” he said, “to save you from a worse fate.”

His voice was velvet with a cruel edge. Like someone who enjoyed delivering bad news with perfect pronunciation.

Though… it depends on how well you behave,” he added and I swallowed hard.

I hated how calm he was. I hated that I couldn’t stop shaking. My body was trembling, but my mind wouldn’t shut up. The humiliation of the stage, the lights, the tears I refused to think about. Now this. Him.

“Why did you buy me?” I asked, more softly this time.

He smiled slowly like he had been expecting this question. And maybe he had.

“Because I saw what I wanted.”He said with a step forward. I stayed still but my stomach dropped.

“And when I want something…” His voice was a low rumble now, right against my spine.

“…I don’t ask for it.”

Another step and my breath caught.

He stopped in front of me, the wine glass still in one hand. My eyes instinctively staring up to meet his.

“I take it.”

That last line wasn’t spoken. It was promised.

My throat tightened like I suddenly felt the weight of my father’s betrayal. The air was too thick. I could barely think with him standing that close.

He offered the second glass. But I didn’t move to take it.

“You will warm my bed,” he said quietly, intimately. “When I want it. How I want it. As long as I want it.”

I flinched, he noticed.

And he liked it.

“And if I’m satisfied…”

He extended the glass a little closer, the red liquid shimmering between us.

“…maybe I’ll let you keep your heart.”

I stared at the glass. Then at him. And realized something that terrified me more than being sold.

This man didn’t want me.

He wanted to break me.