I didn't sleep.
How could I?
His words echoed in my mind like a promise carved in stone.
In my house… you don't sleep alone.
But he hadn't touched me.
Not yet.
He'd stood there, watching me struggle to breathe under his gaze… and then he'd left.
Like he was proving something.
Like he didn't need to force me.
That terrified me more than anything.
Because it meant he was patient.
And powerful men who were patient… were dangerous.
The mansion was silent past midnight.
Too silent.
I stood in front of the mirror, still wearing the silk robe the staff had left for me. My heart pounded as I made the decision.
I wasn't staying here.
Contract or not.
Fear or not.
I would not become his possession.
Slowly, carefully, I opened my bedroom door.
The hallway lights were dimmed. No footsteps. No guards in sight.
Too easy.
But I didn't care.
I walked quietly, memorizing the turns I'd noticed earlier. Left at the staircase. Down the marble steps. Across the main hall.
The front doors were right there.
Freedom was only a few meters away.
I reached for the handle.
Locked.
Of course.
My jaw tightened.
Fine.
There had to be another exit.
I moved toward the side corridor I had seen earlier near the dining room. My pulse raced as I spotted a smaller door near the back.
Please.
Please be open.
I grabbed the handle.
Unlocked.
My breath caught.
I stepped outside into the cold night air.
I didn't stop to think.
I ran.
Barefoot across the stone path. The iron gates were visible in the distance. If I could reach the guard post, maybe I could—
Headlights flashed suddenly.
Blinding.
A black car rolled slowly from the side of the driveway, blocking my path.
No.
No no no.
The car door opened.
He stepped out.
Calm.
Composed.
Like he had been expecting this.
"Going somewhere?" he asked smoothly.
My lungs burned. My chest heaved.
"You locked me in."
"Yes."
"That's illegal."
He tilted his head slightly.
"So is breaking a contract."
I stepped back.
"I won't stay here."
"You already are."
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
"You can't force me."
He walked closer.
Slow steps.
Measured.
"Force you?" he repeated softly. "If I wanted to force you, you wouldn't be standing."
My heart skipped.
"I'm not afraid of you," I lied.
He stopped in front of me.
Close enough that I could see the faint scar near his jaw.
Close enough to feel his heat in the cold night.
"You ran," he said quietly. "That means you are."
His hand reached out.
Not roughly.
Not gently either.
He took my wrist.
My pulse jumped wildly under his touch.
"You think the world outside those gates is kinder?" he asked. "You think your father's enemies won't come looking for you?"
I froze.
"What are you talking about?"
His eyes darkened.
"You're not here only because of debt."
My stomach dropped.
"What does that mean?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he pulled me slightly closer.
"You belong where I can protect you."
"I don't need your protection."
"You do."
The certainty in his tone made something twist painfully in my chest.
"I would rather die than live as your prisoner," I snapped.
Something changed in his expression.
For the first time…
Anger.
Real anger.
His grip tightened just slightly.
"Do not say that again."
"Why?" I challenged. "Does it ruin your perfect little plan?"
His jaw clenched.
"You don't understand the kind of men who would hurt you just to hurt me."
Silence fell heavy between us.
"You have enemies," I whispered.
He didn't deny it.
He simply stared at me.
And in that moment…
I realized something.
He wasn't afraid of losing control.
He was afraid of losing me.
That realization shook me more than the locked doors ever could.
"Let me go," I said quietly.
His fingers loosened.
But he didn't step away.
"You will never leave this property without me," he said calmly. "Not because you're a prisoner."
He leaned closer.
"But because I don't lose what's mine."
My breath hitched.
"I'm not yours."
His lips hovered near my ear.
"Keep telling yourself that."
He stepped back and gestured toward the house.
"Inside."
I hesitated.
Then walked past him.
Defeated.
But not broken.
Back in my room, I slammed the door shut.
I hated him.
I hated the way he spoke like he owned the world.
I hated the way my heart reacted when he got close.
A soft knock echoed behind me.
I stiffened.
The door opened.
Without waiting.
He stepped inside again.
"How many times do I have to remind you," he said calmly, locking the door behind him, "that you cannot outrun me?"
My heart pounded.
"Why do you care?" I demanded. "Why not just let me leave?"
He looked at me.
Not cold.
Not amused.
Something deeper.
"Because," he said quietly, "if you leave this house… they will kill you."
The words felt like ice water down my spine.
"Who?" I whispered.
He walked closer.
Close enough that I could see the storm in his eyes.
"The men your father owes… aren't interested in money anymore."
My world tilted.
"What do they want?"
His hand lifted.
His fingers brushed my cheek slowly.
"You."
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