The interior of the black SUV was silent, save for the muffled hum of the engine and the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers. It smelled of expensive leather and Julian's dark, spicy cologne.
Elara sat huddled against the door, her fingers trembling as she stared out the tinted window. The docks were disappearing behind them, swallowed by the rain and the night. She looked down at the gold ring on her finger. It felt heavy. It felt like a brand.
"Stop touching it," Julian's voice cut through the dark.
He wasn't looking at her. He was scrolling through a tablet, the blue light casting sharp, demonic shadows across his face.
"It's too tight," Elara whispered, her voice sounding thin and foreign to her own ears. "I want to go home."
Julian didn't look up. "You don't have a home. I told you—it's being burned to ash as we speak. Your clothes, your laptop, your precious little 'Fixer' files. All of it is gone."
Elara spun toward him, her anger momentarily bubbling over her fear. "You can't just do that! Everything I own is in that apartment! My life is in that apartment!"
Finally, Julian turned his head. His eyes were cold, dead pools. "You're not listening, Elara. That life is over. The woman who lived in that slum was a witness to a murder. She had to die so that my wife could live."
"I am not your wife," she hissed, her nails digging into the leather seat. "I don't even know you."
Julian leaned toward her, invading her space until she was pressed flat against the door. He placed a hand on the headrest next to her ear, looming over her. "You know enough. You know I'm the man who decided not to kill you tonight. That should be enough to earn your gratitude. Or at least your silence."
"What do you want from me?" she asked, her breath hitching. "If it's not just the silence, then what? You have billions. You can buy any woman in this city."
Julian's gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. A dark, twisted smile touched his mouth. "I don't want 'any woman.' I want the Ghost Architect. I want the girl who thinks she can hide from the world." He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a possessiveness that made her skin crawl. "And I don't buy what I want, Elara. I take it."
The car began to climb a steep, winding road. Large iron gates swung open as they approached a massive estate tucked away in the hills. The mansion was a monolith of glass and black stone, looking more like a fortress than a home.
The SUV came to a halt under a grand stone portico. A man in a suit opened the door, but Julian didn't wait. He stepped out and grabbed Elara's arm, hauling her out behind him.
"Move," he commanded.
He dragged her through the massive front doors. The foyer was vast, with marble floors that echoed with every step. It was beautiful, but it felt cold. Dead.
"Take her to the East Wing," Julian told a waiting housekeeper. "Clean her up. Get rid of those rags she's wearing. If she tries to leave the room, lock the door."
"Wait!" Elara cried out as the woman stepped toward her. She turned back to Julian, her eyes wide. "You can't keep me here like a prisoner."
Julian stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder. The light from the chandelier caught the gold of his watch.
"You're not a prisoner, Elara. You're a guest who doesn't have an exit strategy," he said flatly. "Go with Martha. Or I can have my guards carry you up. Your choice."
Elara looked at the two guards standing by the door. They were huge, their faces expressionless, their hands resting on their holstered weapons. She looked back at Julian's cold, handsome face.
She turned and followed the housekeeper.
The room they took her to was larger than her entire apartment. A massive bed with silk sheets sat in the center. A wall of glass looked out over the city lights, but when Elara walked over to it, she realized the glass was reinforced. Bulletproof.
"The bath is drawn, Miss," Martha said softly. "There are clothes in the dressing room. Mr. Thorne expects you downstairs in one hour for dinner. I suggest you don't keep him waiting. He isn't a patient man."
Martha left, and the heavy thud of the door closing felt like a gavel hitting a desk. Guilty.
Elara stripped off her wet, muddy clothes, her body aching. She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. She looked small. Fragile. But then she saw the ring.
She gripped the gold band and pulled. She pulled until her knuckle turned red and raw, but it wouldn't budge. It was as if the metal had fused to her skin.
"Dammit," she whispered, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek.
She took the bath, the hot water stinging her scraped knees. When she finished, she found a dress laid out on the bed. It was deep emerald silk, simple and elegant. It was also exactly her size.
A chill that had nothing to do with the water ran down her spine. How does he know my size?
She dressed with shaking hands and made her way back downstairs. Julian was waiting in a dining room that felt too big for two people. He was sitting at the head of a long mahogany table, a glass of dark liquid in his hand. He had changed into a black sweater and slacks, looking relaxed, yet still lethal.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair at his right.
Elara sat, the silk of her dress rustling. "How do you know my size, Julian? How did you have this dress waiting?"
Julian took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. "I make it my business to know everything about my assets. And right now, you are my most expensive asset."
"I am a human being, not an asset," she snapped.
Julian set his glass down with a soft clack. He leaned forward, his shadow stretching across the table toward her.
"You were a human being until you walked into my hangar," he said, his voice dropping to that terrifying, low rumble. "Now, you are a Thorne. And in this house, there is only one rule: My word is law. If I tell you to eat, you eat. If I tell you to undress, you undress."
Elara's heart hammered against her ribs. "And if I don't?"
Julian stood up and walked around the table. He stopped behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. His touch was heavy, grounding her to the chair. He leaned down, his breath hot against the back of her neck.
"Then I'll remind you exactly why I'm called the Shadow Boss," he whispered. "And believe me, kitten... you won't like the lesson."
He pulled a small remote from his pocket and pressed a button. One of the walls of the dining room slid back, revealing a massive floor-to-ceiling window.
Elara gasped. In the distance, she could see a glow in the sky. A fire.
"Is that...?"
"Your past," Julian finished. "Watch it burn, Elara. It's the last time you'll ever see it."
Elara watched the distant flames, her eyes stinging. She turned to look at Julian, but he was already walking toward the door.
"Get some rest," he said over his shoulder. "Tomorrow, the lawyers arrive. We're making this official. And Elara? Don't try the windows. They're wired to an alarm that alerts me directly. I'd hate to have to drag you back to bed in chains."