The taxi ride to the Hale estate felt longer than it should have. Every passing streetlight carved shadows across my face, shadows I didn't recognize as my own. I clutched the folder containing the signed contract like a lifeline, though it felt more like a noose. I had traded my freedom for survival, my future for… him. And the thought made my stomach turn, yet something deep inside me thrummed with a dark, unnameable anticipation.
The estate loomed ahead, massive and oppressive even in the dim morning light. Its stone walls rose like the teeth of some great beast, and I shivered as the chauffeur—silent, professional, unflinching—opened the back door. I stepped out, heels clicking against the marble driveway, my pulse hammering like a warning bell.
Damian was waiting. Always waiting. On the steps leading to the main doors, his figure was impossibly still, suit immaculate, hands clasped behind him. His gaze lifted the moment I arrived, sharp and assessing, as though he could see every secret I had ever tried to bury.
"Come inside," he said, voice low, calm, dangerous.
I swallowed. "I… I hope I know the rules."
He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "The rules are simple: obey when necessary, survive when possible."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to insist this was insane. But the truth was clear—he had all the power. I had none.
Inside, the mansion was more intimidating than I had imagined. Marble floors stretched into shadowed hallways, chandeliers hung like frozen fireworks above, and the air smelled faintly of smoke, polished wood, and something sharper, metallic, alive. I felt like a trespasser in someone else's dream—or nightmare.
Damian led me to a room at the far end of the east wing. It would be my bedroom, though the walls were cold stone, the furniture minimal, the silence oppressive. A bed, a dresser, a single chair by the window. It wasn't home. It was a cell. And I hated it already.
"You will remain here until I instruct otherwise," Damian said, eyes dark, piercing. "Do not test boundaries."
"Yes," I murmured, the word tasting bitter in my mouth.
He turned to leave, then paused, the faintest shift in his expression betraying an unreadable emotion. "Do not mistake this for leniency, Mara. You are mine, and you will learn that lesson every day you breathe in this house."
I clenched my fists, nodding, telling myself that defiance was pointless, yet my heart betrayed me, thudding unevenly in my chest. I hated him. I was terrified of him. And somehow… I wanted him.
The hours dragged. He did not return immediately, leaving me to explore the edges of my room, the locked doors, the cold windows. I traced my fingers over the smooth wood, imagining the life I had lost, the life I had surrendered. And then the knock came.
Slow. Measured. Unyielding.
I didn't answer at first, frozen by instinct. He knocked again, this time harder, insistent. I realized—he didn't ask. He demanded.
"Open the door," he said, voice low, intimate, and completely unyielding.
I hesitated, then obeyed. The moment the door swung open, he was there, filling the frame. Too close. Too sharp. The scent of him hit me first—cologne, leather, power. My knees threatened to buckle, but I stood my ground.
"You are here," he said simply. "In my house. You are mine. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I whispered, though my lips quivered.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, cutting off escape. The air between us thickened. "Do you know what obedience means, Mara?"
I swallowed. "Following rules."
He shook his head slowly, advancing toward me. "It is more than that. It is knowing who holds the power, and feeling it press against your skin, your mind, your heart. You will learn."
And then he touched me. Not harshly. Not violently. But with a precision that sent shivers down my spine. His hand brushed my arm, light, calculated, claiming territory I had refused to surrender, and my body betrayed me with a tremble that I could not hide.
I hated it. Hated him. Hated myself. And yet, I could not pull away.
"You feel that," he murmured, leaning closer, his face inches from mine. "That pull. That knowing. That want. That is your body recognizing ownership. And it terrifies you."
"Yes," I admitted, my voice shaking.
He smiled, dark, satisfied, predatory. "Good. You will learn quickly, Mara. I take what is mine. I do not wait for permission. And you… you will understand that surrender is not weakness—it is survival."
Before I could respond, he pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was a storm—hot, demanding, claiming. My hands wanted to push him away, my mind screamed to resist, but my body betrayed me completely. Heat pooled where shame and desire collided, and I realized, with a terrifying clarity, that I had already begun to crave him.
He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, breath hot and uneven. "You will learn, Mara. Every moment you spend in this house will teach you. And by the time the year ends, you will know exactly who holds your heart—and your life."
I swallowed, dizzy, terrified, and ashamed. "I… I won't give in easily."
He chuckled softly, the sound a threat and a promise. "I don't expect you to. Resistance makes the conquest sweeter. But make no mistake—you are already mine."
As he turned and left the room, I sank onto the edge of the bed, hands pressed to my face, heart hammering like a war drum. I hated him. I feared him. And for reasons I could not name, my body—and some darker part of my soul—longed for him with a force I was powerless to resist.
The first night in the Hale estate ended in silence. A silence that pressed against my chest, heavy, insistent, suffocating. And yet, I could not deny the truth: my life, my heart, and my very being were now entwined with Damian Hale's.
And the worst—and most thrilling—part? I would never be free again.