The car was a silent, moving tomb. It smelled of rich leather and cold, recycled air. April sat frozen against the door, as far from the man in the opposite seat as the space would allow. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a wild bird trapped in a cage of bone.
Damien Alistair didn't look at her. He tapped something into his phone, the blue light etching the severe planes of his face in the darkness. The city lights slid past the tinted windows, a blur of a life she was being forcibly removed from.
"This is kidnapping," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. It was a thin shield of bravado.
He didn't glance up. "More like an invitation. Am glad you accepted gracefully."
"Gracefully? You had your… your thug march me out like a criminal!" she retorted.
"You are a criminal, Miss…. April. Forgery. Fraud." He finally lowered his phone, and his gaze was a physical weight. "The penalty for which is not a slap on the wrist."
The car glided to a smooth halt. They weren't at a police station. They were underground, in a private garage of stark concrete and gleaming steel. The elevator doors ahead were polished bronze.
"Where are we?"
"Not the police station, obviously. You aren't going to jail... yet." He stressed as he got out, his movements fluid and lithe. He didn't wait for her.
Marcus alighted from the driver's seat and opened her door. His expression was unreadable, but his presence was a clear instruction. She had no choice. Her legs felt like water as she stepped out, the click of her heels echoing in the cavernous space. The elevator doors swallowed them whole, and as they began to rise, a silent, panoramic view of Manhattan unveiled itself through the glass wall, a kingdom spread at his feet. Her stomach twisted. She felt she was in the dragon's lair.
The penthouse was what she imagined the inside of a diamond would be like, all sharp, brilliant surfaces and breathtaking, sterile views. Floor-to-ceiling glass showed the city in a dizzying, glittering sweep. The furniture was minimal, all clean lines and muted grays. There were no personal photographs, no messy stacks of books. An austere place to live.
Damien tossed his keys into a crystal bowl on a console table. The sound was unnaturally loud in the prolonged silence.
"Why am I here?" April wrapped her arms around herself, feeling small and grubby in all this pristine space.
He turned, his eyes running, sizing her from head to toe, missing nothing. "You intrigued me."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting for now." He walked toward a sleek, modern wet bar and poured a finger of amber liquid into a heavy crystal tumbler. He didn't offer her one. "You had a choice to make."
"I didn't get to make my choice."
"You may have made a poor one." He took a slow sip, watching her over the rim of the glass. "The new choice is simpler. You can stay here as my …..guest… which you desire to be right?"
She stared at him, certain she had misheard. "Stay? As your what? Prisoner?"
"Guest," he repeated, the word a sharp correction. "Or, I can have Marcus drive you to the nearest precinct, where you will be charged. Given the circumstances art at that exhibition, you're looking at a felony. Several years."
The blood drained from her face. He wasn't bluffing. The ice in his eyes was absolute. He was a man who would stop at nothing to acquire what he wanted, and right now, she was a thing.
"You're insane."
"I'm pragmatic. You sought to use my name. You committed a crime. Now you'll live with the consequences." He set the glass down. "So? My bed, or a prison cell? "
A harsh, disbelieving laugh burst from her. It bounced off the cold glass and hard surfaces. "Your bed? You think this is about that?" She took a step forward, her fear burning away into pure, undiluted fury. "You think I will ever get into a bed with you? You're delusional."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. It was the first crack in his icy composure. "The offer is for you to remain in my home. The sleeping arrangements are… negotiable…..I will make it worth your while, though, many will jump at this," He stated drily.
"Oh, how generous! Kidnap me, blackmail me, but the sleeping arrangements are negotiable." She shook her head, her curls coming loose. "No. No deal. Take me to jail. I will rather share a cell with a dozen criminals than spend one night under the roof of a stranger. I am not part of your many. No. thanks."
His expression didn't change, but the air in the room shifted, growing colder, heavier. "That's your final answer?"
"It is."
"Very well." He called out to Marcus who immediately opened the door and entered. He gave a curt nod to Marcus, "Take her back down."
Hope, sharp and painful, lanced through her. Was he really letting her go? Was it a trick?
Marcus stepped toward her, his face still a mask of professional neutrality. But as he moved to guide her out of the room to the elevator, Damien spoke again, his voice soft as a razor's edge.
"Of course, once you're processed, I will have no choice but to press charges to the fullest extent. I will also sue you for civil damages and impersonation. And you will still go to prison. End of your lofty aspirations."
He picked up his glass again, a king pronouncing a death sentence. "The door is right there, Miss Albert. If you think you can survive what comes next."
Her feet felt rooted to the polished concrete floor. He wasn't just threatening her with prison; he was threatening to erase her, to bury her under a mountain of legal battles she could never hope to fight.
She saw it all with terrifying clarity: a public defender, a swift conviction, her name dragged through the mud. Her art, her future, her mother's memory, all of it would be ashes.
Damien watched her, a predator who knew the chase was over. He saw the moment her defiance broke. He saw the shimmer of unshed tears in those remarkable violet eyes before she brutally blinked them away. He saw the proud slump of her shoulders as the fight left her.
"Why?" The word was a ragged whisper. "Why are you doing this?"
He moved then, crossing the room until he was standing right in front of her. He was so close she could smell the clean, crisp scent of his soap or shampoo, see the flecks of silver in his blue eyes. He didn't touch her, but his proximity was stirring something within her. She stepped back to put space between them.
"Because you looked at that painting tonight and you saw its truth. You saw its flaws. No one else in that room did." His voice was low, for her alone. "I collect beautiful, unique things, Miss Albert. And you, whether you admit it or not, are one of them. I like you. I want you. I don't ask. I take. And I have no intention of letting you go."
He turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, trembling from the raw possession in his words. He picked up a remote and a section of the blank wall shimmered, transforming into a large screen displaying a live news feed.
"The guest suite is down the hall to the left," he said, as if discussing the weather. "It has a lock. On your side. See you soon" . He sauntered out with Marcus following behind.
He was granting her a locked door. A small, pathetic symbol of control in a situation where she had none. He was taunting her. A very annoying taunt.
She didn't move. She remained contemplating.. Then her gaze shifted and fix on the massive screen in the room.. The news segment ended, and a society gossip show began. The host, a woman with a blindingly white smile, was holding up a grainy photo.
"And in exclusive news," the host trilled, "is wedding bell blues already in the air for Damien Alistair and his gorgeous fiancée, Rowena Sterling? Sources say the power couple had a tiff tonight at the Veritas Gallery, but insiders confirm the wedding is absolutely on!"
The photo on the screen was of Damien, and beside him, clinging to his arm, was a willowy, stunning blonde with a smile as cold and perfect as his penthouse.
Fiancée !.
The word hit April like a physical blow. He had a fiancée. This man, who had just declared he "collected" her, who had kidnapped her and blackmailed her into his home, was engaged to be married.
She stood in the center of his impossible, glass-walled world, the city lights twinkling mockingly below, and realized the true depth of the situation. She wasn't just his prisoner. She was going to be his dirty secret. And the woman on that screen, with her icy smile, looked like the kind of enemy who wouldn't think twice about crushing anyone who got in her way.