Scarlett stood in the bathroom for what felt like hours, staring at her fractured reflection.
Her plan was exposed. Sylus knew. He'd read her like an open book, laid out every detail of her escape attempt like he was reciting a grocery list. Tomorrow at 2:30 PM, the bathroom, the side exit near the old library.
He knew everything.
Which meant the smart thing—the safe thing—would be to abandon the plan entirely. To accept that escape was impossible. To stop fighting.
But Scarlett had never been particularly smart when it came to self-preservation.
She changed quickly, pulling on her most nondescript clothes—plain jeans, a gray hoodie, nothing that would make her stand out. She tied her hair up in a messy bun, tucked in under a baseball cap she'd borrowed from one of the maids. In the mirror, she looked like any other college student.
Anonymous. Forgettable.
Perfect.
Her hands shook as she checked her phone. 2:27 PM. Almost time.
She knew it was stupid. Knew it was probably futile. Knew that even if she made it out of the building, Sylus would find her. He always found her.
But she had to try.
Because the alternative—accepting this cage, accepting him, accepting a life of violence and forced kisses and being owned—was worse than any punishment he could devise.
Scarlett took a deep breath, opened the bathroom door, and stepped into the hallway.The break between classes was always chaos—students flooding out of lecture halls, heading to their next class or grabbing coffee or just desperate to stretch their legs. Scarlett had counted on this. Had planned for it.
She spotted a group of girls heading toward the bathroom, laughing and chatting. She fell into step behind them, keeping her head down, moving with the flow of bodies. Through the doorway, past the sinks, toward the stalls in the back—
And then she didn't turn into a stall.
She kept walking, straight through to the rear exit that led to the old library wing.
The door that most students had forgotten existed. The door that led to a service corridor that opened onto the side street.
Her escape route.
Behind her, she heard Lin's voice: "Mrs. Qin? Mrs. Qin, where—"
But she was already through the door, already running.
The service corridor was dim and dusty, filled with old equipment and forgotten supplies. Her footsteps echoed off the concrete walls as she sprinted, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. Behind her, she heard shouting, the sound of heavy boots, but she didn't look back.
Couldn't look back.
The exit was just ahead—a heavy metal door with a push bar, leading to freedom, to the street, to anywhere but here—
She slammed into it with her full weight.
The door burst open, and suddenly she was outside. Sunlight hit her face like a benediction. Fresh air filled her lungs.
The sounds of the city—traffic, voices, normal life—surrounded her.didn't know where she was going. Didn't have a plan beyond away. Away from the mansion. Away from the bodyguards. Away from Sylus and his guns and his forced kisses and his cage made of gold and blood.
Her feet pounded against the pavement.
Her lungs burned. Tears streamed down her face—from exertion, from fear, from the desperate, wild hope that maybe, just maybe, she could actually make it.
People scattered out of her way, alarmed by the crying girl sprinting down the street like her life depended on it. She wove between pedestrians, nearly collided with a bicycle, kept running—
Until strong arms caught her from behind.
The impact drove the air from her lungs. She was lifted off her feet, pulled back against a chest she recognized by feel alone. Broad. Solid. Unmovable.
"No!" The word came out as a sob. "No, no, no—"
Sylus.
He'd been watching. Of course he'd been watching. He'd known she would try despite the warning, had been waiting for this exact moment.
His arm around her waist wasn't gentle. But it wasn't harsh enough to hurt either—just firm enough to keep her completely immobilized, lifting her so her feet kicked uselessly at empty air.
"Let me go!" Scarlett thrashed in his grip, desperate and animal. "Let me GO!"
She twisted, managed to get her mouth near his arm, and bit down. Hard. Tasted blood and expensive fabric. Felt her teeth sink into muscle.
Sylus didn't even flinch. Scarlett kicked backward, her heel connecting with his shin. Clawed at his arms with her nails, leaving red marks. Around them, the street had cleared—pedestrians fleeing from the scene, from the dangerous man and his struggling captive, like birds scattering from a predator.
"Stop fighting, kitten," Sylus said quietly, his voice steady despite her attacks.
"You're only making this worse."
"I HATE YOU!" She bit him again, drawing more blood. "I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU—"
He let her bite him. Let her claw and kick and scream. Just held her against his chest and walked calmly toward the black SUV that had pulled up to the curb, as if he was carrying a tantruming child instead of his wife attempting to escape.
Lin held the door open, his face carefully blank. Sylus deposited Scarlett in the back seat, sliding in beside her before she could try to bolt out the other side. The door locked with a final-sounding click.
"Drive," Sylus said to the driver.
The SUV pulled away from the curb, leaving behind a street full of shocked witnesses and Scarlett's brief, desperate taste of freedom.
She lunged for the door anyway, trying the handle even though she knew it was locked.
Sylus caught her easily, pulling her back, restraining her with one arm while she fought like a wild thing.
"I almost made it," she sobbed, still struggling. "I was so close—
"were never going to make it, sweetie." His voice was soft. Almost sad.
"I've been following you since you left the bathroom. I wanted to see if you'd really try." His arm tightened around her. "I hoped you wouldn't."
The drive back to the mansion passed in a blur of tears and rage and Scarlett's slowly dying fight.
By the time they pulled through the gates, she was exhausted, wrung out, slumped against the seat with Sylus's arm still around her.
She'd failed.
Of course she'd failed.
She'd never really had a chance.
.
.
.
.
.
The punishment was swift and absolute.
No more college. No more walks in the garden. No more anything outside her room.
Scarlett was locked in, meals delivered through a small gap in the door—a special modification she hadn't noticed before, designed specifically for this. For keeping her contained. The gap would open just wide enough to slide a tray through, then close and lock again immediately.
She couldn't see who delivered the food. Couldn't talk to them. Couldn't beg or plead or try to convince anyone to help her.
She was completely, utterly alone.
The bodyguards stood outside her door at all times. She could hear them talking quietly, shifting their weight, the click of their weapons. But they never entered. Never spoke to her. Just kept her locked away like a dangerous animal.
The windows were already too high to escape from. The balcony led nowhere.
The door was solid wood with locks she couldn't pick and guards she couldn't overpower.
There was no way out.
No way to run.
No way to do anything except sit in her gilded prison and stare at the walls that were slowly closing in.
By the third night, Scarlett felt like she was suffocating. The room that had once seemed too large now felt claustrophobic. The silence pressed against her ears. The isolation gnawed at her sanity.
She was going crazy.
Maybe that was the point.
The lock clicked at exactly 9 PM.Sylus entered carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses, looking like he was attending a party instead of visiting his prisoner. He was dressed more casually tonight—black slacks and a deep burgundy shirt that made his silver hair seem almost luminous. He looked relaxed. Content. Like locking his wife in a room for three days was perfectly normal behavior.
He locked the door behind him, pocketing the key with casual ease.
Scarlett glared at him from the window seat, arms crossed. She'd stopped eating the meals properly. Had barely slept. Probably looked like hell. Good. She hoped he saw exactly what he was doing to her.
Sylus set the champagne on the table and settled onto the couch, pouring himself a glass. He took a sip, savoring it, then looked at her with those red eyes that saw too much.
"still angry?" he asked conversationally.
She didn't dignify that with a response.
He smiled, like her silence was amusing.
Then he patted his lap. The gesture now familiar. Expected.
"Come here, kitten."
Scarlett didn't move.
"Scarlett." His voice went firmer. Warning. "Don't make me repeat myself."
She still didn't move. Just stared at him, letting all her hatred show on her face.
Sylus sighed, setting down his glass.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice."
The easy way meant compliance. Meant walking over there herself and sitting on his lap like a trained pet. The hard way probably meant him coming to get her, and she was tired of being carried around like baggage.
She stood slowly and crossed to him. She sat on his lap stiffly, back rigid, refusing to relax or lean into him. Pretending she wasn't fighting back. Pretending this was fine. Normal. Acceptable.
Sylus's arm came around her waist, holding her in place. He picked up his champagne glass again, taking another sip.
"Do you know what I love about you, Scarlett?" he said casually, like they were having a normal conversation. "You never stop fighting. Even when you know you're going to lose, even when you know I can read every plan in that beautiful head of yours—"
He tapped her temple gently.
"you still try."
"Is there a point to this?" she asked coldly.
" The point is that I find it endearing." He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest against her back. "You're already planning your next escape attempt. I can see it in your eyes. You're thinking about the next time the gate opens—when I have a business meeting, perhaps. You're calculating angles, distances, how fast you'd need to run."
Scarlett's breath caught. How did he—
"I told you, sweetie. You're an open book to me." He set down his glass and turned her slightly so he could see her face.
"But please, keep trying. I enjoy the chase."
Then he kissed her.
This time Scarlett was ready. The moment his lips touched hers, she bit down. Hard. Drew blood immediately, tasting copper and satisfaction.
Sylus's eyes went dark.
In one smooth movement, he scooped her up and laid her on the bed. Before she could scramble away, he was on top of her, using his weight to pin her down.
His hand caught both of her wrists, holding them above her head with casual strength while his other hand cupped her face.
"You want to hurt me?" His voice was rough, dangerous. "Go ahead, kitten. Bite. Scratch. Fight all you want. It won't change anything."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, more desperate. His tongue swept past her lips, tasting, claiming, and Scarlett felt tears leak from the corners of her eyes because it was useless. All of it was useless. She was pinned beneath him, helpless, unable to do anything except endure.
His lips moved lower, trailing down her jaw to her neck. "Say my name, kitten," he murmured against her skin.
"No!" The word came out choked.
His lips found a sensitive spot just below her ear, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His teeth grazed the skin. "Say it."
"I won't—"
He bit down, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to make her gasp. His tongue soothed the spot immediately, then moved lower, finding another sensitive area near her collarbone. Another mark. Another claim.
"Say. My. Name."
Scarlett was crying openly now, hating herself, hating him, hating how her body responded even as her mind screamed in protest. The word spilled out like poison, bitter and unwilling.
"Sy...lus..."
smiled against her neck. She felt it—the curve of his lips, the satisfaction, the triumph.
Then he kissed her again, softer this time. Almost gentle. Almost tender.
"Good girl," he whispered.
Then he released her wrists, stood up, straightened his clothes like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just forced himself on her again. Like the marks blooming on her neck were perfectly normal.
"Sleep well, kitten," he said, and walked out.
The door locked behind him with a soft click.
Scarlett lay on the bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling, her fingers tracing the marks on her neck. Proof of his possession. Proof that she belonged to him whether she wanted to or not.
What did he want?
If he wanted to claim her completely, to take everything, he could. She couldn't stop him. No one could stop him. So why these half-measures? Why the forced kisses and the marks and the restraint?
Why not just take what he clearly wanted?.
The question haunted her as she finally dragged herself to the bathroom mirror. The marks stood out starkly against her pale skin—dark red blooms that would turn purple by morning.
Hickeys. Love bites. Claims.
She traced them with shaking fingers and tried not to think about how her body had responded. How for just a moment, when his lips had been soft against hers, when his hand had been gentle on her face, something inside her had wanted to give in.
To stop fighting.
To let the dragon win.
She's hated that traitorous part of herself more than she hated him.
Almost.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.