Marina didn't sleep.
She lay on her bed all night, staring at the ceiling, every nerve stretched tight, every shadow in the room feeling too sharp, too alive.
Each time she closed her eyes, his voice crept back in—low, possessive, burning.
You are mine. Only mine.
She turned to her side.
Then her back.
Then her stomach.
Nothing helped.
Her phone remained silent, yet she couldn't stop checking it, dread sitting heavy in her chest. Whatever "surprise" he'd mentioned clung to her thoughts like poison.
By morning, her body was exhausted, her mind frayed.
The vibration came just after sunrise.
Her heart jumped.
Liam:
Get ready, principessa.
She stared at the screen.
"For what?" she typed, her fingers stiff.
A pause.
Too long.
Then—
Liam:
You'll see.
Her stomach twisted.
"I don't want your surprises," she replied.
Three dots appeared.
Liam:
I didn't ask.
Another message followed.
Liam:
Car's downstairs. Ten minutes.
When Marina stepped outside, the morning air felt too sharp against her skin.
Liam stood beside the car, leaning casually against the door—red wine shirt, the first two buttons undone, sleeves rolled just enough to expose strong forearms, black pants hugging his frame effortlessly.
She hated herself for it—
—but he looked dangerously good.
She was dressed simply in an off-white sweater and uggs, her silky hair left loose only because she'd been too restless and terrified to care about appearances. His surprise had consumed every thought.
Yet the moment her eyes landed on him—
she faltered.
Just for a second.
His dark gaze lifted to her, slow and intent, raking over her frame. Even like this—unguarded, understated—she looked gorgeous to him. More than dressed-up women ever had.
She caught herself staring and immediately walked toward him, jaw tightening.
Liam straightened and opened the car door for her, his eyes never leaving her face.
"Get in, principessa," he said quietly.
Their gazes locked for a heartbeat too long.
Then she broke it, sliding inside.
He closed the door gently—
and the drive began.
The car rolled forward, smooth and silent.
Marina sat rigidly, hands clenched in her lap. She could feel his gaze on her—heavy, unrelenting.
When she dared to glance sideways, her breath hitched. His eyes were on her. Not the road. On her.
"Liam," she whispered, unease creeping into her tone. "Watch the road."
He didn't look away.
"I know it by heart," he said calmly.
Her stomach twisted. The silence thickened, pressing against her chest until she couldn't bear it anymore.
"W–what's this now?" she asked, voice trembling despite her effort to steady it.
"Tell me… what did you do?"
He finally looked ahead for a brief second, then returned his gaze to her, dark and intent.
"You'll see once we reach, principessa," he said quietly.
Her heart pounded violently. Fear, frustration, and something else she didn't dare name twisted inside her chest.
She swallowed hard and stayed silent, knowing she wouldn't get another answer until the moment he wanted.
The basement was cold and silent, the air thick with tension.
As she stepped inside, the smell of blood hit her nose, sharp and metallic, almost making her stomach twist—and for a brief, confusing moment, a strange, primal urge flickered in her mind, as if she could taste it.
Her eyes widened, a terrified gasp leaving her lips. She stepped back, chest tightening painfully, as she took in her classmate kneeling on the floor—bruised, bloodied, trembling. She stared in horror and disbelief, unable to comprehend the scene before her.
No… he didn't deserve this… she muttered under her breath, still in disbelief, voice trembling. How… how could he do this? He didn't even mean any harm…
Her gaze flicked from him to Liam. "How could you? He—he barely touched me! He didn't mean anything!"
Liam didn't flinch. His dark eyes fixed on her, jaw clenched, radiating control and obsession. A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.
"He touched you, and that's the biggest mistake he did, principessa," he said, voice low, proud, edged with anger.
Marina's chest tightened even more. Her hands curled into fists. "Let him go!" she shouted, voice trembling with fear and fury.
Tears slid from her eyes as she mumbled softly, "Please… let him go… for my sake."
For a brief second, the basement was silent. His dark gaze remained fixed on her. Her tears… her trembling… made his chest tighten, a strange, sharp pain piercing through his control.
As if pushing the feeling away, he stepped closer, closing the distance. His fingers brushed her tears aside coldly.
"Send him to the hospital," he said sharply, glancing at his guards.
Then his eyes returned to her, locked solely on her, dark and intense, his presence suffocating, intoxicating all at once.
Her heart pounded. Anger and fear crashed inside her. She hated him for what he had done. She hated that she couldn't stop him. Yet even as she trembled, part of her couldn't look away from the man who claimed her world so completely.
Her fingers clenched the edge of her sweater. Helplessness, guilt, and terror twisted together inside her, and she realized—this obsession, this power he held, was far more dangerous than she had imagined.
What would he do next?
But she knew... whatever it was, it wouldn't be gentle.