Chloe didn't flinch.
Not when he said her name like it meant something.
Not even when he said she was his.
But her fingers were trembling—just slightly—as she pulled her sleeve lower over her wrist.
Alexander's eyes tracked the movement.
He noticed everything.
"Why?" she asked finally, her voice low.
"Why me?"
"Because you don't scream when you're bleeding."
His answer was brutal. Honest. It made her skin crawl and her stomach tighten at the same time.
He stepped closer. One more inch and she'd be against the wall.
But he didn't touch her. Not yet.
"How much did he pay you?" he asked.
Her heart dropped.
"Who?"
"The man who owns your fear."
She swallowed. Her voice vanished.
"Diego Santiago."
He said the name like a curse.
"You don't know anything about me," she whispered.
Alexander leaned in, his breath brushing her ear.
"I know he hurt you. I know you flinch when someone breathes too close. I know you danced tonight like your life depended on it."
He paused.
"And I know he's coming back."
Chloe's eyes met his. A thousand words hovered behind her lips—but none escaped.
"Tu ne peux pas me sauver," she whispered.
You can't save me.
Alexander's gaze softened for the first time.
"Je ne suis pas venu pour te sauver."
I didn't come to save you.
"Je suis venu pour t'appartenir."
I came to claim you.
Outside – 3:15 AM
Alexander's black car waited at the curb. Sleek, armored, intimidating. His driver didn't speak a word as the doors opened and closed.
Chloe slid in, unsure when she'd decided to leave with him.
"This isn't a rescue," he said, watching her from across the seat.
"Then what is it?"
"An arrangement."
"A cage?"
"A war."
Penthouse – Downtown Manhattan
The elevator opened to silence, marble, and shadows. Chloe's breath caught. There were no windows in the main room—only floor-to-ceiling bulletproof glass, so clean it looked unreal.
"This is where you live?"
"This is where you'll sleep. Until I say otherwise."
Her head snapped to him.
"What does that mean?"
Alexander slowly unbuttoned his black coat. His jaw was clenched, his voice low:
"It means if you want to run, you better do it now."
Chloe didn't move.
He stepped closer.
"You've got scars."
"So do you," she said, without flinching.
His hand reached up—not touching her—just hovering near the base of her throat.
"Then maybe we're both here to bleed."
End of Chapter Two