Ashley's POV:
The moment the engine roared to life, Ashley's grief and terror fused into a single, desperate, primal will to survive.
The memory of her father's mangled hand was a fresh, searing brand; she was not going quietly into the inevitable.
She hammered the electronic window lock, and the heavy glass slid down. The freezing night wind instantly tore through the cab, carrying the sharp, metallic smell of exhaust and a phantom hope of freedom.
She scrambled for the seatbelt latch, ready to trade certain capture for the possibility of broken bones on the cold asphalt.
"Open up, you coward!" she shrieked, her throat raw and torn. "Let me go! I will jump! I will choose the street over you! You hear me? The road over you!"
Roman reacted instantly, his control—that carefully maintained veneer of calm—fracturing into a blinding, lethal fury.
He drove one-handed, the car swerving wildly as he snatched her up, his cable-strong grip crushing her arm.
He slammed the brakes—a violent, gut-lurching stop that sent the car into an uncontrolled skid—and in the chaos of screeching tires, he flipped her onto his lap.
She landed with a devastating impact, the sharp edge of the center console digging into her spine. His powerful thighs tightened, locking her body into a sickening, intimate cage.
Her front was pressed against his chest, her face inches from his, and her legs were wide, splayed awkwardly on either side of his torso.
She was utterly exposed, trapped by his overwhelming weight. "Get off me, you maniac! Let go!" she screamed.
"You disgust me!" she spat, forcing her head back to meet his glare. "You're a sick, pathetic man who needs a cage to feel powerful because you're nothing without one!"
"Pathetic?" Roman's voice was a low, guttural sneer, the sound vibrating through her own chest where she was pinned.
"A pathetic man would let you win this struggle, Ashley. I told you: I always win."
Ashley's eyes burned with final, complete conviction, ignoring the tremors of fear that ran through her limbs. "I hate you! I hate you more than anything!"
Roman's face went instantly rigid, the predatory sneer vanishing as if wiped clean by a shockwave.
His eyes, already dark, seemed to collapse inward, the pupils dilating until they were pools of black, bottomless rage and possessive hurt.
He simply reached down to the console and pulled out the gun, its matte-black finish catching the intermittent glow of the streetlights.
He brought the gun up, resting the cold butt of the weapon against her knee. The movement was sharp, sudden, and absolutely final.
His voice was now low, ragged, strained—the raw sound of absolute control dissolving. "You can call me weak. Call me a villain. But if you ever—ever—use that word against me again... if you speak 'hate' to me, Ashley, I will make you beg for the things you loathe. It won't be good for either of us. Do you understand?" Ashley managed only a faint nod: "Yes."
He lifted the weapon slowly, deliberately. He used the cold, terrifying muzzle of the gun, not to point, but to trace the line of her cheekbone.
The icy metal—sharp, dense, absolute—was a profound, suffocating shock against her skin, instantly silencing her. The last flicker of defiance dissolved, replaced by pure, liquid terror.
"You misunderstand the situation, Ashley," he whispered, his breath warm and suffocating against her ear.
"This isn't a discussion; it's an acquisition. You drove me to this. You are my obsession, and you will learn what it means to belong to someone who has nothing left to lose."
Ashley inhaled sharply, the movement a painful, jagged line across her chest.
Her eyes, wide and glossy with tears she refused to shed, scanned his face, recognizing the terrifying, genuine madness there.
He moved the gun away from her face, dragging the muzzle down her shoulder.
He used the cold, hard metal to outline the curve of her breast beneath the thin, torn fabric of her shirt, his touch agonizingly slow and meticulous. She shuddered violently, her entire body contracting against his immense bulk.
"Stop it! Please, just stop it!" she choked out, a sound that was less a plea and more a primal, physical rejection.
"The struggle is over. That fire you possess is beautiful, Ashley, but it is my fuel now. I will strip it away until all that's left is my reflection," Roman murmured, his voice thick with quiet resolve.
He lowered the gun slightly, giving her a breath of space, but only to enforce the next demand.
"Your punishment is a show of compliance," Roman stated, his voice a low, commanding promise that resonated deep in her chest. "You will kiss me. And you will not stop until I am satisfied.If you fail to show me genuine submission—if I detect one moment of hesitation—I will find a consequence that is far more permanent than anything I did to your father. Show me what your mouth is truly for."
He held her eyes, the silent, absolute threat of the gun a suffocating physical presence between them.
The battle inside Ashley was a silent scream.
She could not breathe, could not form a single word of refusal. "I can't... I won't," she whispered, the words shaking with a final, futile attempt at resistance, even though her body was already leaning toward him.
Roman's eyes narrowed into slits of pure, cold intent.
He shifted the gun with a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his wrist, and the heavy muzzle dropped, pointing directly at her abdomen, settling against the thin fabric covering her stomach.
This was no longer a threat; it was a promise of finality.
The final, crushing realization hit her: her defiance was useless; only submission could protect what was left of her life.
The cold, raw fear for her family finally shattered her will.
Slowly, agonizingly, she leaned forward.
Her lips met his—a tentative, reluctant compliance born entirely of terror. It was a cold, desolate gesture, entirely non-consensual.
She tasted the metallic edge of fear on her own tongue.
Ashley could not bear the gun's proximity, nor the suffocating pressure of his body.
Desperate to maintain the fragile peace, she did not pull away.
Instead, she shifted. Her lips, still cold and shaking, moved down his jawline. A sound caught in her throat—a dry sob of pure humiliation—as she pressed her mouth to the vulnerable, slightly rough skin of his neck.
She was pleading for her life with a horrifying, mute obedience.
Roman's immense body tensed, a sudden, involuntary reaction. His chest began to heave against her own, and his breathing became sharp, ragged, and fast, like a machine seizing up under immense, unexpected pressure.
His free hand, resting on her thigh, suddenly clenched into a rigid, trembling fist and slowly slid away from her body, dropping heavily to the console beside him.
He stared down at the top of her head, his eyes dark with a terrifying mix of victory and inner turmoil, watching her desperation unfold.
He rested the gun down on the console, the immediate crisis passing only because she had submitted.
"The struggle is over," he stated, his voice hardening, dismissing the intimate horror of the past few minutes. "You belong to me, Ashley. Believe it or not. We finish the drive and you behave otherwise, this time the punishment won't be just a kiss."
He reached across her and, with a final, possessive shove, pushed her back into her seat.
Her body felt boneless, utterly emptied of fight.
The sudden loss of his oppressive weight felt less like freedom and more like falling.
He slammed the window shut, sealing her in with him and his victory. As the car accelerated again, carrying her into the inevitable night, Ashley focused not on the terror, but on the raw, ragged cadence of his breathing—a detail she knew she would never forget, the single, vulnerable flaw in the monster that now owned her.
The lesson had begun, but she had learned his weakness, too.
___________________________________________________________________________
Author's Note :
That was... a lot.
We just survived the most toxic carpool in literary history.
Ashley is in the shadows now, but keep an eye on that small flicker of rage 🔥.
Roman thinks he won the battle of wills, but he forgot to check the receipt. Sometimes, the reward for the drive is just the start of the war 😈.
— Vaanni🖤