THE WARNING
Alina woke to the sound of quiet footsteps on marble floors. Her body tensed instinctively. Even after the morning's soft moment, even after Damian had left her trembling but strangely calm, fear was still stitched into her nerves.
She pulled the blankets around her like armor, curling against herself. The penthouse was quiet now, the city below slowly waking, the sunlight soft on the glass windows. And yet… she couldn't shake the sense that something—or someone—was watching.
"Miss Alina?" The soft voice of Lila, the head maid, floated into the room.
Alina sat up quickly. "Yes?"
"We… Mr. Voss asked me to check on you." Lila paused, hesitating. "He's… downstairs, waiting."
Alina's stomach dropped. Damian wasn't one to knock or send messengers. He rarely gave warning. If he was downstairs, that could only mean trouble.
"I… I'm not dressed," she whispered, panic creeping in.
Lila's eyes softened. "It doesn't matter. Just… come down."
Alina hesitated for only a moment before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She moved mechanically, dressing in the simple clothes the penthouse staff had provided—a plain blouse and black slacks. Her fingers trembled as she fastened the buttons. Every movement felt slow, deliberate, as if time had stretched unnaturally, each second pregnant with dread.
By the time she descended the private elevator, she was gripping the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white. Damian stood in the living room, arms crossed over his chest, sharp suit pressed perfectly, the faint sunlight glinting off the cufflinks on his sleeves. His eyes, dark and unreadable, were fixed on her.
"Alina," he said, voice low, even. Calm. But there was a dangerous edge to it. A line that, once crossed, would not be forgiven.
She forced herself to look up, meeting his gaze. "Good morning," she said softly, though her voice sounded like a whisper, fragile against the cold tension in the air.
"Sit," he said abruptly, gesturing to the couch.
Alina's heart pounded. She wanted to obey. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. But she sat, hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes downcast.
Damian walked slowly toward her, measured, deliberate. He stopped a few feet away, not too close, but close enough that the warmth of his presence pressed against her like a silent warning.
"You know why you're here," he said.
Alina nodded, swallowing hard. Her throat was dry. "Yes."
"You are mine," he said, and there was no softness in the words this time. No hint of tenderness. No attempt to comfort. Just cold, undeniable ownership.
She flinched. The words always had that effect—like a whip cracking over her back. "I know," she whispered.
"You think you understand what that means," he continued, voice low and steady. "But you don't. Not yet. And if you ever forget, I will remind you."
Alina's fingers tightened in her lap. "Remind me?"
"Yes." He stepped closer, his gaze locked on hers. "You will obey the rules of this house. You will not leave without my permission. You will not speak to anyone without my knowledge. And you will not forget… you belong to me."
Her chest tightened. Panic coiled in her stomach. "I—"
"You will not interrupt," he said sharply. His eyes darkened, sharp as knives. "Do you understand?"
"I… yes," she whispered, voice trembling.
"Good." He circled her slowly, like a predator assessing its territory. "You think this is about comfort. This is not about comfort. This is about control. Your safety, your life, your everything—understood?"
Alina's hands shook. She nodded. "Yes."
"Let me be clear," he said, stopping in front of her, so close she could feel the faint warmth of his body without being touched. "I do not tolerate defiance. I do not tolerate lies. And I will not hesitate to punish any attempt to escape, to deceive, to manipulate. This is not a game."
Her throat tightened. "I… I won't try to—"
"Don't speak," he interrupted, sharp. "You will follow the rules. Every rule. Every word I give. No exceptions. No excuses. Your safety depends on it. And I will not warn you twice."
Alina's stomach twisted. He wasn't shouting, wasn't screaming—but the weight of his words pressed down harder than any yell could. He didn't need to raise his voice; control alone carried authority enough to make her knees weak.
"You understand?" he demanded, voice low and dangerous.
"Yes," she whispered again, barely audible.
Damian's gaze lingered on her face, reading, probing, like he could see every lie, every hidden thought. He leaned closer, and she instinctively pulled back, but his movement was careful—intentional. Not to touch, not to harm, only to dominate the space, to assert control.
"Good," he said finally, stepping back. "Now, you will live by these rules. No exceptions. And if you ever forget… I will remind you."
Alina swallowed hard, the words sinking deep into her bones. Her body felt frozen, tense with fear and a strange awareness of her new reality.
For the first time, she understood—fully, completely—that this was not temporary. Not negotiable. Not a matter of choice. She was his. And everything in this penthouse, every rule, every guard, every golden lock and silent hallway, existed to enforce that truth.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight. But she didn't. She only nodded, swallowing against the lump in her throat.
Damian's gaze softened slightly, just a flicker, and she almost mistook it for tenderness. Almost.
"Now," he said, his voice returning to the sharp, commanding tone she had come to fear, "you will eat. Breakfast is waiting. And later… we will discuss the consequences of breaking the rules."
Alina's stomach dropped. Consequences. She didn't know what he meant, but she didn't want to. She had already learned the hard way what his discipline could look like.
Lila stepped forward gently, as if to shield her from the tension. "Miss Alina, breakfast is ready," she said softly.
"Go ahead," Damian said, voice clipped. "Eat. I'll be watching."
Alina rose mechanically, following the maids to the dining area. The table was set immaculately—silverware polished, plates steaming with food, and a single glass of juice just for her.
Sofia placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. "You'll be okay," she whispered.
Alina gave a small, shaky nod. "Thank you," she murmured.
The maids lingered nearby as she ate, giving her small comforts in a world that otherwise offered none. Lila's presence felt like a lifeline, a connection to something human in the midst of Damian's relentless control. Alina found herself talking quietly as she ate, sharing mundane details of her day, the small fears that had plagued her sleep, the confusion she still felt.
"You can tell us anything," Sofia said softly, smiling. "We're here for you."
Alina smiled faintly, despite the pit in her stomach. She wasn't completely alone. Not with them. Not entirely.
When breakfast ended, Damian returned. His presence immediately filled the room, his gaze sharp, measuring, assessing. Alina froze instinctively, the soft morning tension evaporating under his scrutiny.
"You have one chance to understand this," he said, voice low and deliberate. "One chance to obey the rules. Do not test me. Not here. Not in the hallways. Not anywhere. If you do… you will regret it."
Alina swallowed hard. "I understand," she whispered.
"Good," he said, his tone softening slightly again. "Because I do not like repeating myself."
He turned sharply, moving toward the elevator. Pausing at the doorway, he looked back at her. "And Alina…"
"Yes?" she asked, voice barely audible.
"You belong to me. Do not test me again."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, like chains tightening around her chest.
The elevator doors closed, and she was left standing there, trembling but alive, the taste of fear lingering on her tongue.
Alina sank to the couch, her hands pressed to her face. The penthouse that had once seemed like a cage of marble and gold now felt like a living entity—one that demanded obedience, compliance, and submission.
And for the first time, she understood something else: this wasn't just about safety. This wasn't just about control. Damian Voss had staked his claim on her in a way that went beyond rules, beyond contracts. He had claimed her entirely.
Her chest tightened with a mixture of fear, defiance, and… something else she didn't dare name.
She pressed her palms to her eyes, taking deep, trembling breaths. She wasn't ready to accept it. She didn't want to. She hated it. And yet… the truth was undeniable. Damian Voss wasn't just her captor.
He was the lock. And she… was trapped.