The gun pressed harder, cold and unyielding. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out the silence. I didn't dare blink. Didn't dare breathe. Arthur's face was a mask—no rage, no fear, just that chilling calm that made my skin prickle.
Then, so quiet I almost missed it, he said, "Out."
A single word. The man hesitated, barrel still kissing my temple.
Arthur didn't raise his voice. "I won't repeat myself."
The pressure vanished. Footsteps retreated, chairs scraped, the girls murmured as they were ushered away. The door clicked shut. And then it was just us.
He moved before I could react—one moment standing across the room, the next pinning me against the wall, his body a furnace against mine. His hand slid down, rough palm settling over my belly. I flinched, expecting cruelty. But his touch was… different. Not gentle, not quite, but deliberate. Like he was mapping something beneath my skin.
I swallowed. "Arthur—"
"Quiet." His voice was low, a rumble that vibrated through me. His thumb brushed the curve of my stomach, slow, almost curious. Then his eyes locked onto mine, black as a starless sky. "You'll keep it."
I stopped breathing.
"The baby. You'll keep it." His fingers flexed, just slightly, like he was testing the words. "And you'll be my wife. Not in name. Not as a joke. Mine."
The air between us crackled. I could smell the smoke clinging to his clothes, the faint spice of his cologne. His breath warmed my lips.
"But Michael." His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to make my ribs ache. "You don't see him. You don't speak his name. You forget he exists."
I should've fought. Should've spat in his face. But his hand on my belly—God, it did something to me. Something stupid and weak and terrifying. My throat burned. "And my mother?"
His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something darker. "The surgery's already paid for."
A sob clawed its way up my chest. I choked it back. "Why?"
For a long moment, he didn't answer. Just stared at me like he was peeling back layers, seeing the raw, shaking thing beneath. Then, so quiet it was barely a sound: "Because I said so."
That should've been enough. It wasn't.
I lifted my chin. "Swear it."
A beat. His nostrils flared. Then he leaned in, lips grazing the shell of my ear. "I don't swear, Lily. I do."
And just like that, it was done. A bargain struck in the space between heartbeats. His hand left my belly, but the heat of it lingered, branding me.
He stepped back, adjusting his cuffs like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just upended my world with a touch. "Pack your things. You're moving into the penthouse tonight."
I didn't ask what that meant. Didn't dare.
The door opened. The blond man—Reid—hovered, eyes darting between us. Arthur didn't look at him. "Take her home."
Reid nodded. I forced my legs to move, my body numb, my mind racing.
As I passed Arthur, his fingers caught my wrist. Not harsh. Just enough to stop me. His voice dropped, just for me. "One more thing."
I waited.
His thumb traced the frantic pulse at my wrist. "If you ever raise a hand to me again, I'll break it."
Then he let go, and I walked away, his promise—and his threat—echoing in my bones.
The penthouse was cold. All sleek marble and sharp edges, like Arthur himself. I stood in the center of the bedroom, arms wrapped around myself, staring at the bed. Too big. Too empty. Too much.
Reid cleared his throat from the doorway. "The boss said you're to stay put. No calls. No visitors."
I didn't answer.
He hesitated. "For what it's worth… I've never seen him change his mind for anyone."
I laughed, hollow. "Lucky me."
The door closed. Silence swallowed me whole.
Outside, the city glittered, indifferent. Somewhere, my mother was sleeping, unaware her life had been bought and paid for. Somewhere, Michael was probably laughing with my sister.
And here I was. Trapped.