Chapter 2: The Monarch of St. Jude's

The library was a cavernous monument to wealth.

Two stories of dark walnut bookshelves towered toward the ceiling, lined with thousands of leather-bound volumes beneath the low glow of recessed amber lighting. Overhead, a massive crystal chandelier hung like a shining crown. Yet despite the suffocating luxury, the room felt dead silent and terrifying—a gilded cage designed to swallow a person whole.

At the far end of the sprawling room, a man stood with his back turned.

He faced a floor-to-ceiling glass wall looking out over the tempestuous, storm-lashed ocean. Towering and broad-shouldered, his dark charcoal suit was tailored impeccably to his large frame. In his right hand, he loosely held a short crystal tumbler filled with dark amber liquid.

He didn't flinch when the heavy doors clicked shut behind me. His body remained still—the terrifying stillness of a man who owned everything in his line of sight and feared nothing.

I didn't wait for him to turn around.

The fear suffocating my chest flared into hot fury. I took three swift steps forward, my bare feet sinking into the thick carpet.

"Hey… listen to me!" I demanded, my voice striking the tall wooden ceiling. "I was brought here against my will! I was drugged! Whoever gave you those application documents committed a crime! If you think you can lock me up in this house, you're insane! I never agreed to be a surrogate for anyone!"

The man took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, completely unbothered by my shouting. Very slowly, he turned to face me.

The breath locked in my throat. The remaining words died on my tongue.

Roman Sterling was dangerously handsome. His jawline was carved from dark, unyielding stone, and his thick dark hair was brushed back smoothly from a sharp forehead. But it was his eyes that turned my blood to ice.

They were a striking, pale ice-blue—entirely void of warmth or human kindness. His gaze dragged slowly down from my disheveled hair, over the delicate cream silk slip dress, down to my bare feet.

He didn't look at me like a human being begging for help. He looked at me like a piece of high-value property delivered to his door, checking for flaws before taking possession.

"Sunny Jane," he spoke finally.

His voice was a low, resonant baritone that rolled through the room like distant thunder. A cold shiver ran straight down my spine.

"Age twenty-six," Roman said smoothly, taking a slow step forward. "Blood type O-negative. First-class honors degree in interior design and perfectly healthy."

Hearing my name, age, and medical records read off like a bill of lading made my skin crawl with disgust.

"Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?!" I spat, backing away until my spine met the hard edge of a tall bookshelf. I clenched my hands into tight, white-knuckled fists. "I am the victim of a crime! I have a life in the city! A career! A boyfriend who loves me—he’s probably searching for me right now!"

"Aiden Hope," Roman interrupted softly.

A dark, -thin smirk ghosted across his lips before vanishing entirely.

"Junior financial analyst at Zenith Holdings," he continued, his tone flat,and completely devoid of warmth. "Fifty thousand dollars a year, living in a cramped, rented apartment in the city. Ordinary and tragically helpless."

He began to walk toward me.

His long, confident strides ate up the distance between us. The rich scents of dark tobacco, aged cedar, and crisp ocean air rolled off him, filling my senses until I could barely draw breath.

He stopped directly in front of me, casting a long, inescapable shadow that blocked out the ambient light of the room. He was so tall I had to tilt my head back just to meet his gaze.

His large hand reached out. Strong fingers clamped around my chin, tilting my face upward. His grip was not painful, but it felt like a band of solid iron. I jerked my head violently, trying to break free, but his fingers held me in place without effort.

"You signed the documents and accepted the compensation," Roman murmured, his ice-blue eyes locking onto mine. "I require a healthy heir and out of three hundred thoroughly vetted candidates, I chose you."

Chose me. Like bag of potatoes at a market .

"I don't care about your fake contracts!" Tears of pure rage burned behind my eyes, but I forced myself not to let them fall. "I have a life! I never signed anything! You can't just buy a human being and keep them trapped on an island!"

"You are not leaving this island, Sunny," Roman whispered.

He leaned down slightly, his broad shoulders framing me completely. His cool breath brushed my cheek, causing my entire body to freeze in terror.

"Not today," Roman said, pronouncing each word with absolute, unyielding authority. "Not tomorrow. Not next month. Not until I decide otherwise."

"You psycho!" I choked out.

I slammed both palms flat against his chest, shoving against him with every ounce of strength in my frame. It was like pushing against a solid concrete wall; he didn't budge an inch.

Roman reached up with his free hand and caught both of my wrists in a single palm. He trapped my hands easily against his chest, squeezing them together to neutralize me completely. His warm thumb rested lightly over the inside of my wrist, feeling the fast, frantic pulse hammering beneath my skin.

"Scream all you want, Sunny," Roman murmured, his face so close I could see the flecks of silver in his cold eyes. "Cry. Fight me every single day if it makes you feel alive. It changes nothing. Your body belongs to me now. You will carry my child. And until you do, you will stay exactly where I put you."

He released my wrists so abruptly that I lost my balance. My heels slipped against the rug, my back slamming hard against the wooden bookshelf behind me.

Roman turned his back on me entirely. He walked calmly over to his dark desk, picking up his crystal tumbler as if our entire interaction had concluded and I were nothing more than a minor detail in his day.

"Mrs. Gable will show you to your quarters in the west wing," Roman commanded without turning around. "Dinner is served at eight. Wear what has been laid out for you."

I stood frozen by the bookshelf, my whole frame trembling uncontrollably. The sensation of his fingers burned against my wrists like fire. I stared at his broad back, feeling small, cornered, and entirely trapped in his domain.