CHAPTER TWO

                                                                  In The Lion's Den

The Salvador estate loomed like a sleeping beast under the twilight sky.

Natasha stared at it from the backseat of the black SUV, her fists clenched tightly in her lap. Massive wrought iron gates opened with a soft mechanical hum, swallowing the car whole. She felt like she was being pulled into the belly of something ancient, something that didn't let its prey leave once trapped inside.

As they drove up the winding stone driveway, the mansion revealed itself in full.

Tall columns framed the entrance like soldiers standing at eternal attention. The windows glowed a soft gold, but there was no warmth in them, only cold, immaculate perfection.

“This way, Mrs. Salvador,” the driver said, stepping out to open her door.

Mrs. Salvador.

The words sliced through her like a blade.

She lifted her chin, masking the chaos swirling inside her, and stepped out.

Lucas waited for her at the top of the steps.

He was the picture of effortless power. Black suit, no tie, top buttons of his shirt undone like he owned the night itself. His gaze locked onto hers, unreadable.

A shiver slid down her spine.

Without a word, he extended his hand.

For a split second, Natasha hesitated.

Then, because this was her life now, she placed her trembling fingers in his.

His grip was firm, commanding.

He didn’t smile.

Neither did she.

Inside, the mansion was even more breathtaking and even colder.

High ceilings stretched into infinity. Crystal chandeliers cast soft light across gleaming marble floors. Expensive art lined the walls; abstract, chaotic pieces she couldn’t begin to decipher.

A woman stood at the edge of the grand foyer, bowing her head respectfully.

“Nana,” Lucas said with a rare softness in his tone. “This is Natasha.”

The woman’s eyes, warm, wise, and kind softened as she took Natasha in.

Not judging. Not prying. Just seeing.

“Welcome home, child,” Nana said, her voice low and soothing.

Home.

The word felt foreign on Natasha’s tongue.

Lucas turned to her. “You’ll find everything you need upstairs. Nana will help you settle in.”

“And you?” she asked before she could stop herself.

He arched an eyebrow, amused. “I have business to attend to. We’ll have dinner at seven. Don’t be late.”

And with that, he strode off down a corridor, disappearing like smoke into the shadows.

Natasha stood there, heart hammering against her ribs, wondering when exactly she had signed away her soul.

Maybe it hadn’t been at the table at her father's.

Maybe it had been the moment she looked into Lucas Salvador’s eyes and didn’t turn away.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Later that evening

Natasha sat at the long, impossibly polished dining table, fidgeting with the hem of her dress.

The massive chandelier above her threw soft light onto the perfectly set table, silverware aligned with military precision, wine glasses sparkling like captured stars.

Across from her, Lucas watched her like a predator studying unfamiliar prey.

"You look tense," he said finally, sipping his wine.

"Is that a problem?" she shot back before she could think better of it.

One corner of his mouth quirked up, something close to amusement.

“No," he said. "I like a challenge.”

The words sent an involuntary heat crawling up her neck.

She hated herself for the way her pulse quickened.

For the way she wanted to know what he meant.

Dinner passed in a blur of stilted conversation. Natasha answered his questions mechanically; her favorite books, hobbies, travel experiences.

Lucas offered little about himself, and when he did, the details were so carefully curated she might as well have been reading a press release.

When she finally escaped to her room, Natasha collapsed onto the massive four poster bed, burying her face into the soft pillows.

She was drowning. In secrets. In lies.

In the growing suspicion that Lucas Salvador hadn’t just trapped her to hurt her father

He wanted something from her.

Something she didn’t understand yet.

And if she wasn’t careful, it might just cost her more than her freedom.

It might cost her heart.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

As Natasha slept

The dream started the same way it always did

A baby’s cry echoing down a hospital corridor.

Her father's voice, shouting, desperate.

And somewhere in the shadows a figure watching her with cold, unblinking eyes.

Natasha jolted awake, gasping.

Sweat slicked her skin.

The house was deathly silent except for the soft ticking of an antique clock in the hallway.

She swung her legs out of bed, her body still trembling from the nightmare.

A glass of water. She just needed water.

Slipping barefoot across the room, she opened the door quietly and padded down the hallway.

But as she turned the corner, she stopped dead.

At the far end of the corridor, near Lucas’s study, a door stood ajar.

A soft light glowed inside.

And she could swear, she heard her name.

Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, to run.

Instead, Natasha moved forward, silent as a shadow.

Peeking inside, she saw Lucas, his back to her, standing in front of a massive desk cluttered with documents.

But it wasn’t the papers that froze her blood.

It was the photograph he held.

A photograph of her, younger and possibly sixteen years old. Laughing under the sun at her old high school’s charity fair. She immediatley remembered that day

Lucas stared at the image like a starving man gazing at his last meal.

Natasha backed away before he could turn.

Her heart hammered so loud she thought it might give her away.

In that moment, she realized something terrifying

Lucas Salvador hadn’t just married her.

He had been waiting for her.

Planning for her.

Long before she ever knew he existed.