Silk and Storms; Velvet Traps and Leather Leashes ‎

‎The sun had barely peeked over the blackened skyline when the mansion stirred to life.

‎Downstairs, Kane stood beside the idling black car, his jaw locked, hair sleek, arms folded, every line of his body coiled like a loaded weapon. The morning wind tugged at his jacket, but he barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on the entrance of the house.

‎

‎She was late.

‎His tongue clicked against his teeth, each second fueling the roiling storm in his chest.

‎The phone in his hand buzzed. Lucien.

‎“What?” Kane barked, already impatient.

‎

‎Lucien’s voice was sharp, calm — but edged with tension. “Shipment from Alcantara. Someone tried to intercept it.

‎Kane’s entire body stilled. Storm building within.

‎“Who?”

‎

‎“We’re not sure yet. Could be Armir's people. Could be that they're testing boundaries. Either way — we’ve contained it. No losses. But it was close.”

‎

‎The rage snapped tight inside him like a tripwire.

‎

‎“Keep it off the radar,” Kane growled. “No one breathes a word. I want names before nightfall. And if Armir had anything to do with this—”

‎

‎“We’ll bury and burn them to the fucking ground,” Lucien finished for him.

‎Kane hung up, not saying goodbye. His jaw ached from how hard he clenched it. A vein throbbed in his temple.

‎

‎Still no Castelle.

‎Upstairs, she stood in front of the mirror, bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. The dress Kareen brought hugged her curves in places she wasn’t used to being touched. It was soft. Expensive. Dark red silk, off-shoulder, stopping mid-thigh — and rising even higher when she moved.

‎

‎Her hands kept pulling it down, cheeks burning.

‎

‎“I can’t wear this,” Castelle muttered.

‎

‎Kareen, seated on the edge of the bed with an amused smile, shook her head. “You look radiant. He’ll like it.”

‎

‎“I don’t want him to like it,” Castelle snapped — but her voice lacked bite.

‎

‎Kareen stood slowly, smoothing the folds of her linen robe. She walked over and gently reached for Castelle’s hand. “It’s not the dress, child. It’s the way you look at yourself. You’ve never seen yourself as worthy.”

‎

‎Castelle’s eyes shimmered. “No one’s ever looked at me the way you do not even my immediate family, at least the living ones.”

‎

‎Kareen’s smile softened. She brushed a stray curl from Castelle’s cheek, her touch motherly, gentle — something Castelle hadn’t known since before her mother stopped pretending to love her and since her older brother Rem had died.

‎

‎“You will,” Kareen whispered. “And maybe... maybe he will too. You just might be the one to soften him. Heal him. God knows, something needs to.”

‎

‎Before Castelle could answer, a furious roar erupted from outside.

‎

‎“CASTELLE!” Kane’s voice thundered through the halls. “GET YOUR FUCKING ASS DOWN HERE BEFORE I GET IT FOR YOU.”

‎

‎She jolted, heart racing.

‎

‎“Oh no,” she breathed, panicked hands smoothing the hem of the dress one last time.

‎

‎She scrambled to the door.

‎

‎“Don’t run,” Kareen called after her with a smile, walking calmly behind.

‎

‎Castelle flew down the stairs, nearly tripping over herself. Her hair bounced, her breath came ragged, but she made it to the foyer just in time to catch the full brunt of Kane’s glare.

‎

‎He stood at the base of the steps, dark and furious.

‎

‎The moment he saw her — the dress, the flushed cheeks, the trembling — something feral flickered in his eyes. He looked like he was about to devour her.

‎

‎Before he could speak again, Kareen’s voice cut in from behind.

‎

‎“Don’t scare the young woman.”

‎

‎Kane grunted, turning away with a low curse. “Everyone’s scared of me except you.”

‎

‎“That’s because I changed your diapers, boy,” Kareen said sweetly. “Now go be nice to your girl.”

‎

‎“She’s not—” Kane started, but didn’t finish. His eyes dragged across Castelle’s body again, slowly this time, and whatever protest he had died on his tongue.

‎

‎He turned without a word and headed to the car.

‎

‎Castelle, flustered and confused, ran after him, her fingers gripping the dress that refused to stay put.

‎

‎As the car door slammed shut behind her, she felt the walls of her old life crumbling — and the cage of Kane’s world locking around her.

‎

‎---

‎

‎

‎The drive was quiet.

‎

‎Too quiet.

‎

‎Castelle sat stiffly in the plush leather seat, the silence between them sharp enough to draw blood. Kane didn’t look at her once, but his presence filled the car like a storm cloud — tense, electric, unforgiving.

‎

‎She kept her eyes on the city blurring past the windows. But she felt his energy—dark and simmering, leaking from every taut line in his body.

‎

‎“Where are we going?” she finally asked, her voice soft, unsure.

‎

‎Kane didn’t answer right away. Just tapped two fingers against the steering wheel. Controlled. Measured.

‎

‎“Somewhere you’ll learn what it means to be mine.”

‎

‎Her breath caught.

‎

‎“Clothes,” he added lazily. “Shoes. Silk. Leather. And everything in between.”

‎

‎His eyes flicked toward her, slow and assessing.

‎

‎“You’ll wear what I choose. You’ll stand when I say. Turn when I say. Speak when I allow.”

‎

‎“I’m not your—”

‎

‎“Yet,” he cut in coldly.

‎

‎She blinked, stunned.

‎

‎“You’re not mine yet.” He leaned in, just enough that she felt his voice like a blade. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t shape you to fit.”

‎

‎Her stomach twisted.

‎

‎They pulled up to an exclusive boutique hidden behind mirrored glass — no sign, no name, just power veiled in elegance. A man in all black opened her door. She stepped out on shaky legs.

‎

‎Inside was a different world.

‎

‎Soft lighting. Racks of delicate lace and sin. Velvet chairs. Muffled jazz.

‎

‎And eyes — staff eyes — that knew better than to meet Kane’s directly, but still followed them with reverence.

‎

‎A tall woman with a chiseled face and blood-red lips approached. “Mr. Salvatore. Everything’s been prepared.”

‎

‎“Show her the selections,” Kane said, waving vaguely at Castelle like she was another item to be fitted.

‎

‎Castelle frowned but still followed the woman toward the changing area, her skin prickling. The first piece handed to her was sheer — black lace with satin bows and garters. Her throat dried.

‎

‎“I can’t wear this.”

‎

‎“You can. You will,” the woman said smoothly. “Unless you’d like Mr. Salvatore to come and help.”

‎

‎Castelle's eyes widened. She snatched the piece and stepped into the changing room, heart thudding. Each outfit after was worse — tighter, more revealing. Each push of fabric over skin felt like another piece of her control being peeled away.

‎

‎Meanwhile, Kane watched.

‎

‎Not discreetly.

‎

‎Every time she came out, he lounged like a predator at ease — his eyes unapologetically consuming. No smile. No compliment. Just possession.

‎

‎And then, the final outfit: a red harness-laced corset with leather straps across her thighs. She refused to come out.

‎

‎Kane stood, walked toward the curtain, and growled, “Come. Out.”

‎Her hand shook as she drew it back.

‎The silence that followed her reveal was heavier than any shout.

‎

‎Kane stepped forward, eyes glinting.

‎“Turn.”

‎She turned shyly.

‎He stopped behind her, fingers brushing the spine of her back. slow. taunting.

‎

‎“Perfect,” he murmured.

‎“You’re crazy,” she whispered.

‎“I warned you,” he said, deadly calm. “You chose to stay.”

‎

‎“No, I—”

‎

‎“You’re here,” Kane said, tilting her chin. “You’re wearing my taste. You’ll ride home beside me. Every inch of you...is already mine.”

‎Her lower lip trembled.

‎And for the first time... she wasn’t sure if it was fear or heat pooling in her core.

‎

‎

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