I grinned as I watched her through the camera feed, entertained by her failed escape attempts. Her tiny frame strained against the door. She tried to open it again, but she flinched. That jolt must have stung. Good. Maybe now she'd stop.
But she didn't. Oh well. She'll wear herself out eventually. And when she does, I'll be waiting. Because every ounce of resistance only made the chase sweeter. She didn't realize yet: the more she pushed, the tighter I'd hold.
My Ariana
Mine. She was finally mine. And I wasn't letting go. Not ever.
She could fight, scream, hate me all she wanted—it didn't change the fact that she was here, under my roof, under my control. Exactly where she belonged. Her pain, her anger—it was part of the process. Part of making her forget the world she knew. This was just the beginning. Soon enough, her anger and pain would shift. To confusion. Then acceptance. Then something even deeper.
Let her scratch at the walls, scream into the silence. She'd learn. Love didn't come in soft forms. Not from me. I waited too long, stayed in the shadows too long. Now? Now, I'd take everything she denied me. Piece by piece.
If she thought she had a choice, she was sorely mistaken. She lost the right to choose the second she stepped into my world.
"Andrew?" I looked up from the screen, my gaze locking on James who stood before me. The name hung heavy in the air. I didn't have to say more—he knew exactly what I was asking. What the hell was that excuse of a father up to now? The same man who handed her over without a second thought.
"He's having dinner with his family" James' words struck a chord and I caught myself chuckling.
Having dinner with his family like nothing happened. Must be nice, knowing your daughter's paying for your sins while you sip wine and pretend you're not a monster. The man should've been grovelling at her feet, not clinking glasses over steak and red wine. If guilt had a face, it clearly wasn't his. He looked perfectly content. Almost like giving her up was just another business move. He signed her life away with the same ease he signed checks.
I shifted my attention back to the screen—back to Ariana. She was pacing again, like a caged animal. But I was the one holding the key. And I was in no rush. She thought there was a way out. That's cute. Naive, but cute. Every slam against that door—was just music to my ears. Let her scream. The walls won't answer. But I will—when I'm ready. I didn't lock her up to hurt her. I locked her up to make her mine—in every sense. She'd learn that. Slowly. Painfully. But she'd learn. And soon, she'd thank me.
I kept my eyes on the screen when I asked James, "How's the charity gala coming along?"
"We need a week," James replied, but I cut him off with a piercing stare.
One week to host a simple gala?
The gala was a fundraiser for the orphanage I had founded and named after my mother. Naming it after her was the best thing I have ever done and one that I hoped would continue to make a positive impact on the lives of those who needed it most.
As someone who had experienced the harsh realities of growing up without parents and being shuffled into different foster care homes, I knew firsthand the struggles of finding stability and a sense of belonging. It was difficult and lonely for me, and I wouldn't wish it on any child.
Haunted by the reality of so many children without families, I felt an overwhelming urge to make a difference. That's why I founded multiple orphanages, providing a safe home for orphaned kids.
Despite my busy schedule, I tried to visit each orphanage at least once a month, ensuring that the children received the care and support they deserved. It was my way of paying it forward and making a difference in their lives.
James caught my gaze and quickly rephrased, "We can make it happen in four days."
"Good" I nodded in approval.
James had been my assistant for three years. Our working relationship was built on mutual respect, but also a clear understanding of the boundaries that could never be crossed. He learned that lesson the hard way on the day we met when I caught him trying to steal from me. The only thing that stopped me from taking his life was the knowledge that he had a family relying on him.
Now, I trusted him implicitly, but I also knew I'd have to take severe action if he ever betrayed that trust. It would pain me more than him because James was the only person I'd allowed myself to care for since Marc died.
"Should I take the dress to Miss Ariana?"
I checked my watch before responding "No, you can head home and play dad now, I'll take care of that, thank you" My eyes flickered back to the camera where Ariana was now dozing off, curled up on the floor.
He nodded curtly and exited, leaving me in silence. I rose, slipped my hands into my pockets, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Staring into space, I gazed at the skyscrapers and stars, letting out a weary sigh.
Through the window, my eyes fell on the satin nightgown I'd arranged for her, neatly laid out on the armrest of my leather couch. Its baby pink hue and intricate lace details were a true feast for the eyes.
I waited until I was certain she was deeply asleep before slipping out of my office, the soft click of the door echoing through the corridor.
The dimmed lights of the penthouse hallway cast a warm glow on the polished marble floor as I walked purposefully towards her door. The slip dress with lace trim draped elegantly over my arm, the material feeling almost too soft against my skin.
I passed by the windows that wrapped around the penthouse, the city skyline twinkling like stars beyond the glass. The scent of fresh flowers wafted from the arrangements placed along the hallway.
I paused in front of her door, my thumb hovering over the biometric scanner. With a soft beep, the screen displayed the words "Access Approved" in crisp, digital letters.
I entered the room and my gaze fell instantly on her. She lay on the floor, her slender form curled up in a vulnerable pose as if she'd collapsed from exhaustion.
She looked so small like that. Fragile. Breakable. And I hated how that made my chest tighten. I told myself she was strong enough to handle this. But maybe I was wrong. She looked like a painting someone abandoned—half-finished, forgotten. She's not supposed to look like that. She's supposed to be yelling at me… challenging me… not curled up like she'd given up.
Seeing her like this… stirred something ugly and something tender inside me. I didn't want her lying there like she had nothing left. She had me.
She had no idea what she was doing, lying on the floor like that. Like she didn't know how tempting it was to scoop her into my arms and never let her go. But I could control myself. Because she wasn't ready.
She wasn't ready for me to touch her—not yet. But she would be. I just had to play my cards right. I wouldn't force her. No, that would be too easy. I wanted her to come to me willingly. Desperate. Needing me more than her next breath.
She didn't understand it now, but this tension between us? It was going to break her. And when it did, I'd be there, waiting. For her softness. Her surrender. I could be patient. But the moment she gave in? She'd never get a taste of freedom again.
I wanted her to fall. Not just into my bed—but into obsession. Into me. I'd make her addicted to my presence, my touch, my voice.
That was how bad I would make her want me.
The way her chest rose and fell, peaceful and unaware—I wanted to press my lips there and swear my life to her. I didn't kneel for anyone. But for her? I'd fall to my knees every damn time.
She didn't even know what she meant to me. How her existence had rewired every part of my soul. One breath from her, and my whole world aligned. One tear and I was ready to burn the world down. She wasn't just mine. She was me. My heart in human form.
My eyes landed on a delicate pendant nestled at the base of her neck. I leaned in. It was the same pendant she was always touching when she was lost in thought. I'd seen her do it on the cameras—fingers tracing the edges like it anchored her somehow. It looked old… worn… maybe sentimental.
I could've stopped there. Should've. But I didn't. I leaned in closer, watching her. Even asleep, she looked like she was carrying the weight of a world no one else could see. I hated how vulnerable she looked. I hated even more that I had something to do with that.
Her eyes suddenly flew open, and she scrambled backwards. Fear etched her face as her voice pierced the air "Don't you dare touch me!"
Her words cut deeper than any blade. That look in her eyes—like I was something vile. It stung more than I expected. I just wanted to be near her. But she recoiled like I'm a monster. I never meant to hurt her. I wanted her to see me, to understand me. But all she saw was a monster, not someone who cared.
"Get away from me!" She spat as if I was something contaminating or a disgusting insect
Dramatic much?
"As you wish," I said, nodding and standing up. I casually slipped my hands back into my pockets.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, getting up too, her eyes narrowing into slits.
I arched a brow, amusement curling at the edge of my lips. "Just dropping by my own house," I let the sarcasm hang in the air. "Came to check on my wife. Make sure you were still breathing."
She corrected me, her British accent a delightful contrast to her prickly attitude. "I'm not your wife."
My lips curved into a slow, sly grin. "Yet,", the word hung in the air like a promise.
"It's a contract you forced me to sign," she accused, her hands balled into tight fists.
My smile faded. "Forced? No, force would be holding a gun to your head, threatening your life. And I'm pretty sure I didn't do that." I took another step closer, my eyes locking on hers. "I didn't force you to sign those papers. You made that choice yourself, willingly."
"You're a manipulative bastard," she hissed, her eyes flashing with seething hatred.
"If I were you I'd watch my tone."
We were suddenly inches apart, close enough for me to see the delicate fringe of her lashes, the constellation of freckles across her skin, and the subtle quiver of her lip. Her scent enveloped me, a sweet and intoxicating blend of vanilla and fresh shampoo that left me almost breathless.
I could feel the heat radiating off her skin, and suddenly, breathing felt like a chore. She was so close, too close. And yet, I didn't want to move. I wanted to memorize every detail of her. The curve of her jaw, the flicker of defiance in her eyes—I'd never wanted to touch something so badly.
She didn't even realize what she did to me—how just standing this close unravelled parts of me I didn't know still existed. I could stay like this forever. Just watching her, breathing her in, pretending—just for a second—that none of this was forced.
If I touched her now, it wouldn't be out of control. It would be to feel something real—something I've wanted for too long
There was a war in me—one side begging to claim her, the other warning me to walk away before I ruined her more than I already had. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to affect me like this. I was the one supposed to affect her so she would want me.
"And if I don't?" she rasped, her voice shaking, as I leaned in, my warm breath caressing her skin. Her eyes flashed with fear as she murmured, "Will you kill me?"
I paused, my lips hovering against her ear, the silence stretching like a taut wire. Then, breathed, "I won't kill you if you don't give me a reason to" Her pulse pounded in my ear, a wild rhythm, as I added, "So, I suggest you behave yourself... and keep that beautiful mouth shut."
I'd never hurt her. Hell, I'd bleed dry if it meant keeping her safe. But she didn't need to know that—not yet. For now, I'd wait. Patience was part of the plan.
Her lips quivered, fingers shaking, despite her valiant attempts to conceal it. Maybe I was messed up, but a part of me, one I wasn't proud of, took a perverse pleasure in the fear that flickered across her face. It was a twisted sense of satisfaction, one that I couldn't justify. A sick thrill that made no sense.
I told myself I didn't enjoy this. That I was only doing what had to be done for her to listen to me. But the way her lip trembled—like I'd carved my name into her fear—— It was wrong. I knew that. But in a world where I'd been powerless once, her fear felt like control. The sick part of me—deep and buried—liked the power. The control. The obedience born out of fear.
I frowned.
Fuck, There's something wrong with me.
What kind of a person found satisfaction in a lady's fear? I didn't know, and I didn't want to be that person
She looked at me like I was a monster—and maybe I was. This wasn't control. This was cruelty dressed in obsession, and I was drowning in it. She was scared. Of me. And for a second, it felt like control. But that feeling? It faded fast—and left nothing but disgust in its place.
I stared at her, and something shifted. Her exhaustion was palpable, and my tone softened. "You look tired," I took a step back before I placed the satin nightgown on the bed. "Take a shower, and get some rest."
Then I left.