Gun’s Private Office.Gun sat reviewing a shipment deal when Arrow walked in, raising a brow.“Kid’s been running his mouth again,” Arrow muttered.Gun didn’t look up. “About?”“Some man at the park. Said Mia’s been smiling a lot with him.”Also your been distant from baby T…The glass in Gun’s hand cracked slightly.Arrow smirked. “Jealousy suits you.”“I don’t get jealous.”“Right. That’s why you’re grinding your teeth.”Gun stood abruptly. “Tell Ava to get the dining hall ready. Full spread. I want Mia and Titan there. Tonight. We’re having a game night.”Arrow blinked. “You… play games now?”“Tell them,” Gun repeated."And remind her shes not allowed to ever step out with permission, directly from me."Arrow nodded slowly, backing away with a grin. "You do know she barely seeks your permission in the first place." Mia walked into the game
Gun stood at the far end of the East Wing a part of the mansion cloaked in luxury, power, and silence. Unlike the brutal room Mia had once stumbled into, this space was clean, deadly in its elegance. Black marble floors. Velvet shadows. One wide window let in the night, and he stood in front of it like a dark god watching his kingdom.When Mia walked in, her eyes met his not with fear, but that same searing defiance that hadn’t yet been beaten out of her. She wasn’t dressed in lace or silk this time. Just a black slip dress Ava had pressed into her hands with trembling fingers. Her arms bore fading marks from last time, but her chin was lifted like a queen refusing to bow.Gun turned slowly, a half-lit cigarette in one hand, his other in his pocket. “You’re late.”“I didn’t ask to come,” she shot back, crossing her arms.He tilted his head, amused. “Still got fire in you.”“Still trying to extinguish it?”“No,” he said, stepping closer, voice low and calm. “I’m trying to understand w
In a place far colder than the rest of the estate. Stone walls. Iron doors. Dim, red-tinted lights. Her breath grew shallow. She was about to turn back… when she heard it. A voice. Guttural. Pleading. Followed by the sound of metal scraping. Then… a scream. She froze. More voices. Low murmurs. Then laughter. Male laughter. And one voice deep, smooth, commanding. Gun. She tiptoed closer, heart hammering like a war drum. She reached a thick wooden doorway slightly cracked open. She dared a look through the slit. And instantly regretted it. A man naked, bloodied, trembling was chained upright to a metal cross in the center of a dimly lit underground room. Blood streamed down his chest. His face was swollen. He was barely conscious. Around him stood five men. One held a glowing rod.
The drive back was quiet. Not the peaceful kind. The charged kind thick with unspoken things, with pain stitched beneath skin, with anger and confusion that no seatbelt could hold in place. Mia sat by the window, her bruised body pressed against the cool glass, as if it could somehow soothe the fire under her skin. Her hands trembled slightly, the wine from earlier still bitter in her mouth. Gun didn’t say a word. He didn’t ask if she was okay. Didn’t glance her way. Didn’t acknowledge the fact that her knuckles were white from gripping the seat. Mia didn’t expect him to. But somehow… she still hated him more for it. When they arrived back at the estate, she got out of the car slowly, legs shaking in those unbearable heels. The long slit of her dress fluttered around her thigh as the night wind kissed her aching skin. He didn’t wait for her. He walked ahead, like she was nothing more than a shadow trailing behind him. The guards at the door opened it without a word. Insid
The silence of her room was suffocating. Mia sat motionless on the edge of the bed, her skin raw, her body aching from the brutal punishment she’d endured hours ago. Her palms still throbbed from the whip, red lines laced across them like reminders she couldn’t shake off. Every time she moved, pain radiated down her spine, across her ribs, down her legs. The maid, her maid kneeled beside her, trembling hands dabbing a warm cloth across her bruised back. She sniffled quietly, eyes glistening. “I told you not to push him,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I warned you, Miss Mia.” Mia didn’t respond. She stared blankly at the wall. “Why did you do it?” Ava asked, her voice breaking. “Why did you try to push him? He’s not someone who bends. Not for anyone.” “Because I hate him,” Mia whispered. “I hate this place. I hate the rules. I hate how he acts like I’m nothing but a toy for Titan and a burden to him.” The maid flinched as she gently wiped down another bruise on Mia’s ribs
Mia never thought it would come to this. The hallway was darker than the others she’d explored in the mansion colder, quieter. Her bare feet padded against the marble tiles as two men led her forward, her hands bound behind her with soft leather straps. Not tight enough to bruise, but firm enough to make her feel powerless. They didn’t speak. Just opened the tall iron door. The scent hit her first leather, cedarwood, something colder beneath it, like silence. The room was large. Too large. A single chair sat in the center, velvet black and polished chrome. Behind it, shadows danced across the walls, shadows of things she couldn’t quite make out. Chains. Hooks. Ropes. A cabinet lined with tools that made her stomach turn and pulse race. Gun sat in that chair like a king on a throne, legs crossed, suit crisp, gaze brutal. He didn’t say anything at first. He let her look. Let her feel the room crawl over her skin like ice. Let her guess. Then finally: “You want to be sent away?