The night arrived like a storm I couldn't outrun. The Hale estate, looming against the darkened sky, felt alive in a way I hadn't anticipated—its shadows deep, hallways whispering secrets, the marble floors cold beneath my bare feet. I had spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly, avoiding Damian, trying to convince myself that I could resist him, that I could maintain some semblance of control.
But control in Damian Hale's world was an illusion.
Dinner was silent. Damian sat at the head of the long table, his gaze fixed on me, sharp and unyielding. He ate slowly, deliberately, as if savoring not just the meal but my discomfort, my anticipation, my fear. I kept my eyes on my plate, though my ears caught every soft scrape of his fork, every subtle shift as he observed me.
"You look tired," he said finally, voice low, rough. "It's only natural. Adjusting to life in my house… it's taxing."
"I'm fine," I said quickly, trying to sound indifferent. Liar, my mind whispered. My pulse still raced, my skin still tingled at the memory of his touch from this morning.
"You will not be fine until you learn your place," he said, almost casually. The words, spoken so plainly, carried a weight that pressed against my chest. "And tonight… tonight will teach you more than I have so far."
I froze, every nerve screaming in protest.
After dinner, he didn't speak again, only led me through the vast corridors of the estate, past portraits of ancestors with eyes that seemed to judge, past doors that I wasn't allowed to open, until we reached the east wing. The room he chose for me was smaller than I expected, but still luxurious—silk sheets, a fire crackling low in the fireplace, velvet drapes.
And yet, it felt like a cage.
"Here," he said, voice soft but commanding, "you will sleep tonight. Alone, if you can manage. But remember—walls do not make you safe. You are never truly alone here."
I swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in my throat. "Why are you doing this?" I asked. "Why all the… rules?"
He stepped closer, filling the room with his presence. "Because I care, Mara," he said, almost in a whisper, and then, in a motion that left me breathless, he pressed me against the wall. His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady, impossibly firm. "Because control is protection. Because possession is survival. Because I want you… whether you admit it or not."
I trembled, heart pounding, mind screaming in protest, body betraying me with a warmth that spread far too quickly.
"You don't get to choose tonight," he continued, lips brushing mine in a kiss that was neither gentle nor forgiving. It was claiming, demanding, a reminder of the power he wielded. I wanted to push him away. I wanted to scream. And yet… I couldn't. Not fully. Not when every nerve in my body was already alight with his presence.
He let the kiss deepen, guiding me to the bed with a deliberate slowness, every movement a test, every touch both punishment and temptation. My fingers clawed at the sheets, at him, at myself, trying to find a foothold in a world that had tilted violently out of my control.
"You are mine tonight," he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "And mine only. Every inch of you belongs to me."
The next hours were a blur of sensation, a push and pull of fear and desire. He explored boundaries I hadn't known existed, teaching me, punishing me, claiming me in ways that left me both trembling and furious. Every touch, every whispered word, was a reminder of his obsession, his control, his relentless possession. And yet, somewhere in the storm of my resistance, desire crept in, traitorous and undeniable.
When the night finally ended, I lay in the sheets, heart hammering, body still tingling with the memory of him. He didn't stay. He didn't need to. His presence lingered, in the ache between my thighs, in the tightness of my chest, in the betrayal of my own craving.
I closed my eyes, trying to summon anger, to cling to the hatred I knew I should feel. But it was weak, fleeting, buried beneath the undeniable truth: Damian Hale had me, body and soul, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure I wanted to be free.
And that terrified me more than anything