The morning sun had barely lifted over Serelis, its pale light spilling across the glass walls of Rhett Barone's penthouse, casting fractured reflections on marble floors. To the city below, Rhett was an enigma: a tycoon whose empire sprawled across steel, energy, finance, and real estate, feared as much as he was admired. To those who knew him personally — and they were few — he was something else entirely: a beast cloaked in a man's skin, untouchable, merciless.
Yet today, in the silence of his high-rise suite, the beast felt something alien. Satisfaction.
He sat at the edge of his king-sized bed, running a hand over the sheets that still bore the faintest marks of last night. Stains of blood, sweat, and tears — reminders of the girl who had stumbled into his life like an accident, yet had instantly become an obsession. Lilith Steele.
The memory of her trembling frame, her wide eyes that mixed fury with vulnerability, and the taste of her lips replayed in his mind with the clarity of a painting. He had devoured her cries, savored her struggles, and conquered her resistance until she broke beneath him. And now, her absence in his bed gnawed at him as much as her presence once had, because of this, he hadn't left the suite.
He picked up the torn fabric of her dress from the floor. It was a simple thing, not worthy of his world, yet because it had clung to her body, it was priceless. He brought it to his lips, his eyes dark with possessive hunger. Slowly, almost reverently, he folded it and placed it into a drawer that already housed another treasure — her photograph, worn from years of keeping it in his wallet.
A knock disturbed his ritual. Steve entered, precise as always, carrying a leather folder. His assistant's face was composed, but Rhett caught the faint unease in his eyes. Steve had long learned that news, good or bad, could turn lethal in Rhett's hands.
"Sir," Steve said evenly, placing the folder on the desk. "Everything you asked about Lilith Steele."
Rhett took his time crossing the room, the glass of whiskey he had poured gleaming amber in the morning light. He opened the folder.
Each page deepened his knowledge: her job at a modest firm, the meager salary that barely kept her afloat, the unpaid bills stacking around her, and her mother's long coma in Saint Heliora's Hospital. The corner of his mouth twitched when he saw the note about unpaid treatments. Then his eyes froze at one line.
Karl Creed. Boyfriend.
The name alone soured his drink. His jaw tightened as he imagined Karl's hands daring to hold what belonged to him, lips daring to touch her skin, promises whispered in her ear that were meant only for Rhett.
"Dispose of him," Rhett said flatly, eyes never leaving the file. "I don't care if he breathes, but his career ends today. Destroy his reputation, gut his accounts, scatter his opportunities. I want him stripped until he crawls. And he must never know who pulled the strings."
Steve inclined his head. "Understood."
Rhett closed the folder, his mind sharpening like a blade. The next subject burned more dangerously than Karl Creed: her father. Mr. Steele — a coward, a greedy shell of a man. He dared to gamble with Lilith's life to salvage his failing empire, pushing her toward that loathsome Marlowe. Rhett's lips curled in disgust. To sell his own daughter like cattle was unforgivable, but Rhett was glad of it. Steele's sins opened a path.
"Steve," he said, voice low and deliberate, "begin acquisition. Every company that does business with Steele Enterprises — cut them off. Buy out his supply chains. Call in every favor, lean on every bank. He must feel the noose tightening before sunset."
"Yes, sir."
"And the Marlowe deal?"
Steve hesitated. "Negotiations are still in play, but with your order, the Marlowes may retaliate."
Rhett's laugh was dark, humorless. "Retaliate? Let them try. The Marlowes don't understand yet — they were playing with my woman. They will not touch her. And when I'm finished, their name will be another line in the graveyard of failed dynasties."
For a moment, silence stretched between master and servant. Rhett set down his whiskey, his gaze drifting back to the city skyline. His voice softened, dangerous in its calmness.
"Steele will lose everything. And when he comes crawling, begging for salvation, I'll be there. I will extend my hand as the savior. And in exchange, he will give me Lilith — not as property, not as payment, but as a bride. She will stand beside me, draped in white, chained not by force but by fate."
Steve's eyes flickered with the barest unease. Marriage. Rhett had never uttered that word with seriousness, not once in all the years he had served him.
Rhett continued, his words a vow to the morning air.
"She already belongs to me. Her blood, her cries, her fire — they branded her into me. Now she will learn it too. I'll weave chains of fire and silk around her until she calls them wings. Lilith Barone."
He whispered her name as if it were a prayer, but the smile that followed was anything but divine.
Steve bowed and left, already making calls. Rhett stayed by the glass window, watching the city tremble below. Serelis was a jungle of men in suits, all fighting to survive. But he was not like them. He was the predator that made even predators bow.
And soon, Lilith Steele would be his queen — not of her choosing, but because destiny, twisted and cruel, had delivered her into the beast's lair.
The beast had rested. Now, the war had begun.
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