"Yes. Girlfriend. Or you want to die?"
His voice was low and sharp, slicing through the air like a blade. My heart stopped at the words. Was he really offering me a choice, or was this another twisted game? Maybe he was doing it to monitor me, to see if I would actually report the case after he freed me. Or maybe he just wanted me to kill myself so that my innocent blood wouldn't be on his head.
He leaned closer, his shadow swallowing me whole. "You will just be my contract girlfriend for six months," he continued, his tone now calm but heavy with command. "You will act like my girlfriend to my mother, my father, and especially my grandmother, who keeps forcing me to go on blind dates and pushing me to marry soon."
My lips trembled. "I… I'll think about the offer," I whispered, hoping to buy time, hoping for anything.
But before I could even take a full breath, his voice hardened. "Tie her back, Caleb."
Something inside me broke at the sound of those words. The ropes. The scarf. The darkness. I couldn't go back to that place again.
"I accept!" I blurted out, my voice cracking. "I'll do it. I'll be your girlfriend!"
The room fell silent. Even Caleb stopped moving. Godwin raised an eyebrow. Clinton let out a low whistle. And Kelvin looked at me with a mixture of pity and relief.
"Good," the boss said finally, his lips curling into a small, unreadable smile. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Caleb loosened the ropes, his grip still rough as he pulled me to my feet. My legs felt weak as they dragged me out of the dim, cold room and into the waiting car.
It wasn't just a car—it was a machine meant to impress and intimidate. A long, black Rolls-Royce Phantom with tinted windows that swallowed the outside light. The interior was pure luxury: butter-soft leather seats in cream, polished walnut trim glowing under muted lights, and a faint scent of expensive cologne and leather hanging in the air. The doors closed with a deep, heavy thud that echoed like a vault sealing shut.
I sank into the seat, my wrists still burning from the ropes. Across from me sat the man who now held my fate. He watched me in silence, his fierce eyes glinting under the dim lights of the car, one arm draped casually over the seat, as if he hadn't just kidnapped me and rewritten my life.
Within that hour-long drive, I learned his name. Eric Reigns.
The name rolled through my mind like a storm. Eric Reigns—the first son of the wealthy and powerful Reigns family, a dynasty known across the country. Their public image was squeaky clean: elite businesses, charity galas, glittering parties. But I had heard the whispers too—the rumors of an underground empire run by the Reigns family, a hidden world of power and danger. And this man, this 26-year-old, was the one running it with a cold, brave hand.
The cityscape blurred past the window as the car glided through streets I didn't recognize. I clutched my hands tightly in my lap, the reality of my situation pressing down like a weight I couldn't breathe under.
Then his voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "We've arrived."
I blinked and looked up. My breath caught in my throat.
Before me stood a mansion—a colossal structure painted pure white, glowing under the soft night lights. The pillars were tall and carved, the balconies lined with intricate wrought iron, and the garden stretched out like something from a royal estate, with fountains and trimmed hedges shimmering in the darkness. The building itself seemed to hum with wealth and history, a place where secrets could live forever.
I stepped out slowly, my legs unsteady on the marble driveway.
"You will live here from now on," Eric said, his tone almost casual. For a heartbeat, I felt a flicker of happiness. Anything was better than that dark room.
But then he added, his eyes locking on mine with that same unreadable fire, "I will also be living here with you."
The words landed like a stone in my stomach.
I had just traded one prison for another.