ArynHe told me to eat.So I fucking ate.Not because I wanted to, not because I was suddenly okay with everything that had happened. I was far from okay. I was broken and bleeding in places no one could see. But when Lorenzo said he saw Lily, when he threatened her—I came back to life.I hated him.I hated him so much I could barely breathe when he was near me. But I needed Lily to stay safe, and if obeying him like a damn puppet would keep her breathing, then that’s what I’d fucking do.So the next morning, when the maid came in and told me, “The boss said you should get dressed and come down for breakfast,” I didn’t argue.I put on the cream-colored dress they left for me. I brushed my hair. I didn’t wear makeup—I didn’t need to pretend to be anything more than what I was: a girl playing hostage in a castle of wolves.I walked down the stairs, my bare feet padding against the cold marble until I reached the dining hall.And that’s when I realized he wasn’t eating alone.The long ma
LorenzoShe didn’t fight. It was as if a switch had been turned off, after the scene in the car. She stopped talking. Not when we reached my estate. Not even when I pushed her into my room and locked the fucking door behind us.Aryn—this same woman who once held a knife to my throat and told me she’d cut my balls off in my sleep—just walked inside like a fucking ghost.I stared at the door after locking it, the keys heavy in my fist.She didn’t scream, didn’t curse me out, didn’t claw at my face.She just sat on the edge of the bed, her shoulders slumped forward, her eyes vacant. Like the life had been fucking scooped out of her.I should’ve felt satisfied. She was mine again. She couldn’t run anymore. I had her right where I fucking wanted her.But it felt... wrong. Her silence wasn’t victory. It was absence.When food was brought to her that evening, she didn’t touch it. Not the pasta. Not the fucking strawberries I knew she liked. She didn’t even look at the tray. She just sat the
ArynI wished I could disappear. Right then, right there—into the marble, into the shadows, into thin fucking air. But of course, that wasn’t an option. Not with Dimitri’s hand still on my arm, not with Lorenzo’s cold, burning stare locked on me like I was a fucking prize.And unfortunately for me, there was nowhere left to run.I could feel the weight of the room shift as Lorenzo stepped closer. His energy was like a sledgehammer, pressing against everything and everyone. People backed away. Guards tensed. Guns were still drawn, but no one fired. Not yet.Dimitri stood in front of me, his posture like steel, shoulders squared, jaw clenched. I could feel his fury pulsing through him, his killer instinct barely held in check.Then Lorenzo turned his head slowly, finally acknowledging Dimitri.“I’m here to take my wife,” he said, voice smooth, deadly, final.I fucking flinched. Wife? That shit was only in contract. Why is he being so uptight about it? Why the fuck did I even sign the da
ArynFifteen minutes. That’s all I had before they dragged me down to his twisted circus. I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror, a stranger staring back. The black dress, the dark makeup – it was a costume. “Fuck this,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. I ran a hand over the smooth fabric of the dress, feeling the coldness of it. It clung to my curves, accentuating every line. Dimitri wanted me to look like a queen. He wanted me to look like I belonged here, in his sick, opulent world. But I didn’t. I belonged anywhere but here.My mind raced, trying to find a way out. A window? No, this room didn’t have any. A hidden door? Unlikely. The maids were gone, probably reporting my every breath to Dimitri. I was trapped. And the thought of Arya… that was the real cage. He had her. Or at least, he knew where she was. And he wasn’t afraid to use her against me.“She was the one in Barcelona, wasn’t she?” Arya. My innocent sister, caught in this hellish web because of me. The guil
ArynI paced the room like a caged animal. My wrists throbbed where the zip ties had dug into my skin, but I barely felt the pain anymore. My mind was spinning, every thought louder than the last.I have to get out of here.The room they put me in looked nothing like a cell — more like a guest room in a creepy mansion. But make no mistake, it was a prison. There were no windows. Just four walls painted soft gray and a heavy door that locked from the outside. A camera blinked red above the door. Watching me. I walked to the corner where one of the maids stood, pretending not to notice me.“Hey,” I said sharply. “You. What’s your name?”She didn’t answer. Just kept her head bowed, folding linens like her life depended on it.I stepped closer. “I know you can hear me. Do you like working for him? You think he’s a good man?”Still no answer. Her hands trembled slightly.“You don’t have to do this,” I said, softer now. “You can help me. Just open the door. I won’t say a word to anyone. I
My body locked up the second I heard him. I didn’t need a name. Didn’t need a fucking face. That voice? That voice was carved into my bones. It was the blade in my gut, the ghost in every shadow. Smooth. Calm. Controlled like a fucking symphony of doom. I was trembling but it was definitely not from fear. No. This was rage. Pure, blistering rage — so hot it made my vision go white behind the hood. “Get this fucking sack off her,” the voice said, laced with that infuriating calmness, like this was a goddamn tea party and not a kidnapping. The fabric over my head was ripped off. Light stabbed my eyes. I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust, every muscle in my neck tightening like a bowstring. I was kneeling on the floor of a dimly lit room. Stone walls. Cold air. No windows. Just a single flickering bulb dangling from the ceiling like a noose. And him. He stood about ten feet away, hands in his pockets like the smug bastard he was, a fucking ghost from the past in a suit worth mo