Ann stepped out of the black car, her heels clicking on the polished marble driveway of Xavier's private estate — the one she'd only ever heard whispers about. The morning sun did nothing to warm the chill crawling under her skin.
Beside her, Xavier's presence was a shadow and a shield, his hand resting at the small of her back, guiding her forward as if she couldn't walk away even if she dared.
She knew she couldn't.
The grand doors swung open before they even reached them. A row of staff in crisp black lined the entrance, heads bowed. They didn't dare meet Xavier's eyes — but Ann felt their curiosity, their silent judgment burning her skin.
"Why are we here?" she asked softly, leaning closer so only he could hear.
Xavier didn't look at her. His jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable. "To remind them who you are."
He said it like a threat. Or maybe a vow.
Inside, the grand hall was too cold for the summer morning. The marble gleamed under a massive crystal chandelier, catching slivers of light like trapped stars. Xavier didn't slow his steps; his fingers pressed firm against Ann's back as they entered a sunken living room where three older men sat waiting, flanked by bodyguards in dark suits.
Ann's pulse jumped. She recognized one of them — Mr. Sullivan, Xavier's business rival. His gaze flicked to her, then back to Xavier with a glint of disdain.
"Mr. Blackwood," Sullivan said smoothly, standing to shake Xavier's hand. "You're late."
Xavier smiled, sharp as a knife. "I'm worth waiting for."
He didn't shake Sullivan's hand. Instead, he guided Ann to stand directly beside him, his hand sliding down her arm until his fingers threaded through hers. The gesture looked gentle. It felt like a handcuff.
"This is Ann," Xavier said, his voice casual but layered with a threat that made even Sullivan pause. "My fiancée. You'll address her properly."
Ann blinked. Fiancée? The word coiled around her throat like a chain. She'd never agreed — but with Xavier's fingers locked around hers, she knew there'd never really been a question.
Sullivan's eyes narrowed, but he dipped his head politely. "Miss Ann. Lovely to meet you."
Xavier's grip tightened. Ann managed a soft smile, nodding once. Her palms were damp. Every polite word in the room tasted like poison.
Xavier guided her to sit beside him on the wide leather couch. His arm draped along the backrest, his thumb brushing the back of her neck — a soft touch that was really a warning: Stay silent, stay still, stay mine.
The men began to talk — sharp words about contracts, mergers, betrayals buried under fake laughter. Ann tried to breathe evenly, but every glance, every nod told her more than the words did.
This wasn't a business meeting. This was a battlefield. And she was the flag Xavier planted in the middle of it.
Hours later, the sun dipped low behind tall windows, painting the walls gold. When the men finally stood to leave, Xavier's grip on her never loosened. She felt like a prize he'd displayed, a queen piece on a chessboard no one dared touch.
Once they were alone again, Xavier tilted her chin up with two fingers, his eyes dark but warm at the edges.
"You did well," he murmured, brushing his thumb over her lower lip.
Ann's breath hitched. "Did I have a choice?"
His smile was cold and beautiful. "No."
She almost pulled away — almost. But his hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back until his mouth found hers. He kissed her slow, deep, dangerous — and when he pulled away, her knees felt weak.
"You belong here, Ann," he said softly. "Beside me. In front of them. Behind closed doors. Everywhere."
"And if I don't want it?" she whispered.
His smile never faltered. "Then I'll make you want it."
Outside, the last light faded into night — but Ann's world had never been darker, or sweeter, than here in his arms.