ChapterOne — The Collection
Feifei learned early that silence could be heavier than screams.
The kind that pressed into your chest when men in black suits stood in your living room, their shoes too polished for the cracked tiles beneath them, their eyes too calm for the chaos they carried in.
Her mother's hands trembled around a rosary.
Her father wouldn't look up.
And the man in the center of it all—
the one everyone deferred to without a word—
stood still, as though the room belonged to him.
Royalty.
That was what they called him.
Not a nickname. A title.
He was taller than she expected. Broad shoulders beneath a tailored charcoal suit, no unnecessary jewelry, no visible weapons. His hair was dark, neatly cut, and his face—
God.
His face was composed in that terrifying way men had when they were used to being obeyed.
His eyes found Feifei immediately.
They didn't roam her body.
They didn't leer.
They measured.
"You owe me," Royalty said calmly, his voice low and controlled. "Three point eight million."
Her father swallowed. "I—I'll pay. I just need time."
Royalty tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the idea of time being something ordinary people could ask for.
"You had time."
Silence.
Then his gaze returned to Feifei.
Something shifted.
Not hunger.
Not lust.
Ownership.
"She'll do."
Her mother gasped. "No—please—she's our daughter—"
Royalty raised one finger. The room went still.
"She is collateral," he said evenly. "Until the debt is settled."
Feifei's heart slammed against her ribs.
"I didn't agree to this," she said, before fear could stop her.
Royalty finally looked impressed.
"No," he replied. "But you will."
_______
The car smelled like leather and something expensive she couldn't name.
Feifei sat rigid in the back seat, hands clenched in her lap, eyes glued to the city blurring past the tinted windows. Nobody touched her. Nobody spoke.
Royalty sat across from her.
Watching.
"You're quiet," he said.
"You kidnapped me," she replied.
A corner of his mouth lifted. "No. I collected what was owed."
She laughed bitterly. "Like I'm an object."
"You're not," he said. "Objects don't argue."
Her eyes snapped to his.
For the first time, his gaze lingered—slow, deliberate. Not undressing her. Assessing the fire behind her eyes.
"Good," he murmured. "You won't break easily."
"I'm not here to entertain you."
"No," Royalty said calmly. "You're here to stay alive."
_______
His mansion rose out of the hills like something unreal.
White stone. Black iron gates. Glass walls glowing softly in the night. Guards everywhere, but quiet. Efficient. Controlled.
Just like him.
Her room was larger than her family's entire apartment. King-sized bed. Balcony. Private bathroom with marble counters and gold fixtures.
"This is prison?" she scoffed.
Royalty stood by the door, unbothered. "This is safety."
"And what do you want in return?"
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
Never touching.
"I want you to behave," he said. "Learn the rules. And stay out of my business."
"And if I don't?"
His voice dropped. "Then I'll remind you whose world you're in."
Her pulse betrayed her.
Not fear.
Something else.
_______
Days passed.
Feifei learned the rhythms of the mansion. Learned the names of the staff. Learned that Royalty ran an empire that stretched across borders—shipping, security, investments that looked clean on paper and bloody underneath.
She also learned that he never entered her room.
Never watched her sleep.
Never crossed a line.
Which somehow made the tension worse.
The first crack came a week later.
She walked into the library late at night, barefoot, wearing one of his shirts by accident—long, black, soft cotton that smelled like him.
Royalty was there.
Seated. Whiskey in hand. Shirt sleeves rolled up.
His eyes darkened instantly.
"Get dressed," he said, voice tight.
Feifei folded her arms. "Why?"
Because if you don't, I'll lose control.
He didn't say that.
Instead, he stood.
The air between them snapped.
"You don't understand what you're playing with," he said quietly.
"Then teach me."
That was the moment.
The moment the debt stopped being just money.
Royalty closed the distance in two steps.
He didn't touch her mouth.
Didn't kiss her.
His hand braced beside her head against the shelf. The other hovered near her waist—hovered.
"You are not here to tempt me," he said, voice rougher than she'd ever heard it. "And I am not the kind of man who takes what isn't offered."
Feifei's breath shook.
"Then don't take," she whispered. "Ask."
His jaw tightened.
"Dangerous words."
"Still asking."
A beat.
Then his fingers finally touched her waist.
Slow. Controlled. Burning.
"Feifei," he said softly, like a warning and a promise tangled together, "if I start… I don't stop easily."
Her hands fisted in his shirt.
"Neither do I."