She left behind her name, her freedom, and every piece of safety she'd ever known. Now, all she had was the man waiting for her at the end of a deal she never agreed to.
The morning air was sharp, cutting through the silence as Elena stood at the curb, one suitcase by her feet, arms crossed tight against the chill — and everything else.
She hadn't slept. Her eyes burned. Her limbs felt disconnected from her body. But her mind? Still alert. Still screaming.
The black car idled before her like a waiting hearse.
Lucian Moretti leaned against it, suit crisp, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the overcast sky — or maybe just from her. His hand rested in his pocket, the other holding his phone, attention fixed on whatever business a man like him conducted before stealing someone's life.
Elena didn't move.
Neither did he.
It was a test. She knew it. He wasn't going to open the door for her. Wasn't going to offer a smile or a lie. He was waiting to see if she'd run.
She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
With a breath that burned all the way down, Elena stepped forward, gripped the handle, and climbed into the car without a word.
Lucian followed.
The door shut with a soft thud. A sound too final for something so quiet.
The driver didn't speak. The car moved.
Minutes passed.
Neither of them said a word.
Elena kept her gaze on the window, not because the passing streets were interesting — they weren't — but because looking at Lucian felt like giving ground.
Still, she could feel him. The presence of him. The way silence wrapped around him like smoke. It was suffocating.
"So," she said, her voice low, dry. "Where exactly are you taking your new bride?"
Lucian didn't glance up from his phone. "Home."
"Do I get a name for this 'home,' or is that classified information now that I've been abducted?"
That earned her a glance. A brief one. Cool and unreadable.
"It's not abduction if you agreed."
"I didn't agree," she shot back. "I was cornered."
"Semantics."
She turned then, eyes narrowing. "You think this is a game?"
"No," Lucian said simply, slipping his phone into his coat. "I think this is survival. And you're smarter than you look, so you know that too."
She hated how calm he was. Hated how every word felt like a dare.
"And what exactly am I surviving, Lucian?"
He looked at her then — really looked. Something flickered in his gaze. Not pity. Something darker.
"Men like me."
For a moment, the words lingered between them like smoke from a match.
They arrived at a wrought-iron gate flanked by security cameras and stone walls tall enough to keep secrets buried. The car passed through, winding up a long driveway that led to a mansion built from shadow and wealth.
Elena stared up at it as the car stopped.
The Moretti estate was not warm. It wasn't grand in a romantic, sweeping way. It was cold. Beautiful. Like a palace carved from ice.
Lucian stepped out first.
This time, he did open the door for her.
Not out of courtesy.
Out of ownership.
She took his hand — not because she wanted to, but because stepping into the lion's den demanded a little theater.
Inside, the house was all marble and dark wood, oil paintings she didn't recognize, and silence broken only by the distant ticking of a grandfather clock.
A woman in her forties appeared from a side hall, dressed in black slacks and a neat blouse.
"This is Rosa," Lucian said. "She'll take you to your room."
"Not our room?" Elena asked, arching a brow.
Lucian gave nothing away. "You're not a wife yet. Just a name I own on paper."
And somehow, that hurt more than it should've.
Rosa led her through wide halls and up a curved staircase into a room at the far end of the second floor.
It was beautiful — too beautiful. Cream walls, French doors that opened to a balcony, a four-poster bed covered in soft gray sheets.
A cage with velvet bars.
Rosa smiled gently. "If you need anything, I'm just down the hall."
"Like a map out of here?"
The woman's smile didn't fade. "Even if I had one, you wouldn't get far."
And then she was gone.
Elena stood alone in the room, the weight of everything pressing down. Her chest felt too tight. Her hands shook as she set the suitcase on the bed, but she didn't cry.
Not yet.
She pulled open the wardrobe.
It was already full. Designer clothes. Lingerie. Shoes that cost more than her family's rent.
He'd planned this.
He'd prepared.
She slammed the door shut.
Then the bedroom door opened again.
Lucian stepped inside, casual in the way only men who feared nothing could be.
"You settled?"
She turned slowly. "Did you enjoy picking out my underwear?"
He ignored the jab. Walked to the window and stared out at the garden below. "The engagement party is in three days."
"I see you're wasting no time parading your property."
That earned a look.
"I'd be careful with the sarcasm," he said, voice low. "You don't know what lines you can cross yet."
"I wasn't aware I had permission to cross any."
Lucian walked toward her, and she held her ground even as her pulse spiked.
"You want to fight me?" he asked, stopping close enough that she could smell his cologne — expensive, dark, addictive.
"Would it make a difference if I did?"
He leaned in, close enough that her breath caught.
"No," he said softly. "But it might make things more interesting."
Her heart pounded.
He didn't touch her. Didn't have to.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Then he stepped back, and just like that — the spell broke.
"You'll be expected to attend the party. Smile. Pretend. The usual."
"Who'll be there?" she asked.
Lucian's expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. "Everyone who matters. Which means everyone I don't trust."
Elena frowned. "Then why throw a party at all?"
"Because in my world, perception is power. And right now, they need to see that I've claimed what's mine."
His words landed like chains snapping shut.
Elena crossed her arms. "And what happens if your possession bites back?"
Lucian tilted his head, studying her.
"Then I'll teach it not to."
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
And then he turned and left, leaving her with nothing but the echo of his footsteps and the ache of her pride.
That night, Elena stood on the balcony, city lights blinking in the distance, her thoughts unraveling in a thousand directions.
What had she walked into?
What kind of man needed to own someone to feel safe?
And why, despite everything, did a part of her heart beat faster when he looked at her like that — like she was already his?
She gripped the railing tighter, willing the wind to carry away the questions she didn't want answers to.
Somewhere inside the house, the clock struck midnight.
And Elena knew — she wasn't just a guest in Lucian Moretti's world.
She was the storm he'd invited in.
Three nights from now, she would stand beside Lucian in front of a hundred dangerous men — wearing a diamond ring she never asked for and a smile sharp enough to cut.
But tonight, someone was watching her from the garden below… and it wasn't Lucian.