Chapter 4: In my cage now

— Nikolai De Santis —

The door clicked shut, severing the air in the room like a blade.

I sat still in the dark, the faint lingering scent of her—sweet, floral, mixed with the iron tang of dried blood hanging heavily in the quiet space.

My fingers clamped down on the crystal glass until the glass creaked under the pressure, the amber liquid inside sloshing violently.

One hundred million dollars.

It was a drop in the ocean for a De Santis, but every single cent had been worth the sight of her sitting on that cold marble stage.

My jaw clenched so hard a sharp pain radiated down my neck. The memory of her on that block dressed in translucent blue chiffon like some prize for rich, disgusting bastards to drool over sent a wave of sickening, violent fury roaring through my veins.

The moment I had received the leak from my contacts in the underground auction that she was being offered as debt payment, my world had stopped.

I hadn't just driven to that amphitheater. I had torn through the city like a goddamn lunatic, ready to burn the whole building to the ground with everyone inside if anyone so much as placed a hand on her.

For fifteen years, she had been mine to watch, to prey upon and to ruin. And no one is going to change that.

A sharp knock broke the quiet.

"Enter."

Lucas stepped inside, his movements quiet and precise. He set a thin manila folder on the dark wood of my desk.

"She’s locked in the east wing," Lucas reported smoothly. "Two men outside the door. No access."

"Richard?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"At the estate. Retired to his study for the night." Lucas gave a slight nod. "He believes the debt is cleared and his empire is secure. He has no idea who bought her."

I took a slow sip of the amber liquid, letting the burn settle. Richard Hawthorne thought he was a untouchable king. He had no idea the throne he sat on was already laced with gasoline.

"And this?" I flicked a glance toward the folder.

"Fresh intelligence from three days ago," Lucas said, reaching forward to open it. He slid a single high-resolution photograph across the desk. "Julian Vance."

My gaze dropped to the glossy paper.

The golden-boy heir of Vance Empire, her high school sweetheart, the man who had slid a ring onto her finger six months ago was caught under the streetlights outside a private estate.

His hands were wrapped around the waist of a blonde woman who clearly wasn't Scarlett, his mouth pressed greedily against her neck.

Fresh dirt. A brand-new betrayal.

My jaw tightened once, a silent, lethal tension coiling through my chest. The pathetic coward was out tasting new flesh while Scarlett sat in my house, completely oblivious, still believing she had a loyal fiancé waiting for her on the outside.

"Do we pull the plug on Vance company?" Lucas asked, his voice steady.

"No."

Lucas didn't ask why. He simply waited.

I stared down at the photograph for three full seconds before flicking the edge of the paper with my index finger, sending it back toward him. I didn't need to explain the pleasure I would take in watching her realization break her.

"Keep eyes on Vance," I commanded, my tone flat, heavy, and final. "If he notices she's missing tomorrow and starts asking questions, handle him. Until then, let him play."

"Understood, boss." Lucas picked up the folder, bowed his head once, and backed out of the room, closing the heavy double doors behind him.

The study fell dead quiet once more.

I leaned back, swirling the liquid in my glass as I looked out the floor-to-ceiling glass at the dark skyline.

She believed I bought her out of simple, petty revenge. She believed wearing a maid's apron was meant to humiliate the Hawthorne name.

Let her think that.

She was under my roof now. Stripped of the old life she pride herself in having. But now she was bound entirely to my shadow.

"You're in my cage now, Scarlett," I murmured into the empty dark, setting the crystal glass down with a heavy, final click.

"And the game have only just begun."