The water isn't a liquid; it's a wall of ice slamming into my chest with the force of a collapsing skyscraper. The Pacific is a hungry, ancient thing, and as I sink, it rushes into my nose and throat, tasting of salt, and the bitter end of the world.
Sink. Sink. Sink.
Above the surface, the world of debts, agony, and the suffocating shadow of the Bellarie name is screaming, but down here, it is silent. It is a heavy, blue peace. I wait for the peace my father promised when he told me we would always be okay. I wait for the "Dazzling Star" to finally fade.. My lungs burn, a desperate fire in my chest that my mind tries to ignore. "Just a little longer, I tell myself. Just a few more seconds of the cold, and the pain will be gone."
Then, the silence shatters.
A violent displacement of water hits me, a shockwave that rattles my ribs and sends bubbles spinning past my eyes. A shadow, darker than the midnight depths, cuts through the silver moonlight filtering from above. Before I can drift into the final numbness, a hand heavy, calloused, and unyielding slams into the flimsy fabric of my soaked clinic dress. I am dragged upward with a strength that ignores my own dead weight.
My head breaks the surface, and I gag, coughing out the ocean as the freezing night air hits my face like a whip. I am held against a chest that feels like granite, an arm wrapped around my waist with a grip so tight it feels like a claim. I try to fight, to push back into the black water, I cannot.
Through the blur of salt and stinging eyes, I see a jaw sharp enough to cut through anything.
"Without my permission, you cannot leave" Telvin roars. His voice is a low vibration that travels through his chest and into my very soul. It isn't the voice of a savior; it's the voice of an owner. The world tilts as he pulls me toward the shore. The scent of expensive leather, sea salt, and a hint of bourbon fills my lungs before the darkness said hello.
Awareness returns in agonizing, heavy layers.
First, it's the heat, a dry, artificial warmth that kisses my chilled skin. Then, the smell. It isn't the antiseptic sting of the hospital, hand sanitizers, or the smell of bleach where Mum spent her last nights. It's sandalwood, warm, spicy, and dangerously masculine.
My eyelashes feel like they've been glued together with salt. I struggle to pull a breath, but my lungs feel heavy, I can feel the water they swallowed. Every tear that drops tastes like salt. I force my eyes open, and for a moment, the gold-leaf molding on the ceiling blinds me. I lie on a bed so big that I feel it can swallow me. The duvet is heavy, pressing down on me like a gilded shroud. To my right, floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a sprawling estate bathed in the golden, cruel light of dawn.
Where am I ? A hollow ache forming in my stomach. I try to sit up, but the world spins. My hand instinctively goes to my neck, and a wave of relief washes over me as my fingers brush the cold, hard gold of the locket. It's still there. A piece my mother left with me. I clutch it so hard the metal pricks into my palm, a pain smaller than how I truly feel.
Dad. I remember the way he used to spin me around in our mansion, the marble floors cool under my feet. "Ha Ha Ha" I remember the sound of his laughter before it was replaced by 3 minutes of silence. I remember Mum, her skin once glowing like pearls, then losing dad took her spark away. She withered when sickness came knocking, no money to pay her medical bills. Now, she's dead. And this beauty, this plum silk and gold leaf, feels like a mockery. This isn't a home; it is a cage. A gilded cave built by the man who hunts me down.
The heavy oak door creaks. I don't move. I just watch as a towering shadow enters. Telvin walks in, wearing a white shirt, the fabric straining against his broad shoulders. A few buttons are left open, I see how built his chest is. He walks with a predatory grace, his footsteps silent on the thick Persian rug. He stops at the edge of the bed. For a long, suffocating minute, he just looks at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.
***
TELVIN'S POV
Telvin watches her, and all he can think is that she looks like a ghost. Seeing her lying there, swallowed by the plum silk of my guest bed, makes my chest tighten in a way that feels like a physical blow. I want to reach out. I want to see if she still feels like the light I remember, or if she has truly turned to ice.
My mind flashes back—six years ago. I was sixteen, standing in the doorway of her father's grand music room. I was supposed to be learning about "acquisitions" from my father, but I couldn't look at the ledgers. I could only look at her. She was twelve, a halo of sunshine at the piano, her small fingers dancing over keys that sounded like starlight.
My father had whispered that she was the "Dazzling Star" of the elite, a light he intended for only Bellarie's to own. I had watched her for an hour, mesmerized, knowing even then that I would never let anyone else touch that light. After a few years, my father told me her father owed him a debt, now he is no more, she is the prize. I cannot help but wonder why her father betrayed mine.
Now, that star is broken. Though she is still as beautiful as ever. She shines brighter than a diamond, even though grief seems to take her spark, she is still a dazzling star. I lean over her, my hand lifting instinctively. I want to brush a stray, matted curl from her forehead, to feel if her skin is still as soft as it looked through the window of that music room. I want to touch her, I want to hold her, I want to feel her, I want to … I am a Bellarie, we do not tremble, she is my kreptonite, why do I feel this way ? I put my fingers in between her palm.
***
JATAVIA'S POV
Jatavia flinches, dragging herself back until her spine hits the headboard. "Don't," I rasp, my voice sounding like broken glass. "Don't touch me."
Telvin's hand freezes in mid-air. He hovers there for a heartbeat, his heat radiating off his skin like a furnace. He slowly pulls his hand back, his expression smoothing into a mask of cold indifference. "You're a long way from the girl I remember, Jatavia," he says, his voice a low, dangerous silk that gives me goosebumps despite the warmth of the room.
"The girl you remember ?" I ask, my voice shaking. "You claim my dad owes your father, this is … this is insane" I look at him, my eyes hardening, and all I can taste is salt from the tears dripping from my eyes. "I want to see my mother. I want to bury her. I … I … won't stay, Telvin. I'd rather die, I have no one.."
His expression doesn't shift, but his gaze drops to my trembling lips, and for a second, I see a flash of something dark and hungry in his eyes. "It's being handled," he says coldly, standing tall. "Your mother will have a funeral befitting a Bellarie's guest. I have already secured the plot. But you will not be there to see it. You are too much of a flight risk, as you proved last night. You will stay here until the debt is reconciled."
"The debt?" I laugh, a hollow, bitter sound. "My father is gone. My mother is dead. What more could you possibly want, why am I the prize?"
He leans down, his shadow consuming the bed. "I want what was promised to my father, Jatavia. And I want the interest that has accrued over six years. After the death of your father, my father made sure I knew about the debt".
My eyes teary with hot tears; that I can feel how it burns through my cheeks. "My father died 5 years ago, so that means your silly interest accrued over 5 years ago, even your lies don't add up." I retort, my voice rose in defense for my father.
"Six years" !! He roars.
"Si … Six … Six years how ??" I ask.
"Yes, six," he rasps, leaning closer until I can see the raw storm in his eyes. "Because that was the first time I ever saw you. I knew you were mine from that very moment, before I even knew about your father's death or the debt that followed a year later."
A cold shiver races down my spine. I realize then that he knows me far better than I know him. This man isn't talking about a financial ledger or a contract signed in ink; he is ticking his clock from the moment he first marked me as his.
The door bursts open with a violent bang.
"Telvin? What is going on?" Elena sweeps in, platinum hair and a dress that speaks luxury. She stops dead when she sees me in the bed, her eyes radiating fire. "Who is this? Telvin, answer me! Is this one of those women again? Why is she in your house?"
Elena stalks toward the bed, her face contorting with disgust. "You've been gone all night for this? A wet, pathetic little thing you found in the street? Look at her, she's practically a ghost. Is this what the great Telvin Bellarie spends his time on now?"
I sit up straighter, the silk sliding down my shoulders. The pain is there, but a new, sharper emotion is taking over: survival. "I might be wet," I say, my voice quiet but cutting through Elena's dramatics. "But you look like you're screaming because you're afraid he prefers the 'thing' in the bed to you. If I'm so pathetic, why are you so threatened?"
Elena's face turns an ugly red. "How dare you! You don't even know who I am, you lit … little urgggh."
"She will be leaving," Telvin says, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm sub-zero. He doesn't even look at Elena; his eyes are still locked on mine, as if he's trying to memorize the defiance in my gaze. "Elena, please leave."
"But Tel … Uh ?? … Telvin?"
"Now," he repeats. It isn't a request.
Elena lets out a choked sound of fury, her eyes promising a war as she storms out, the door slamming behind her, with enough force to rattle the crystal on the lamp stand.
Telvin turns back to me, his gaze focusing on my lips for one second too long. The silence in the room is deafening, filled only by the sound of my own shallow breathing. I feel exposed, even under the heavy silk duvet.
"You have a sharp tongue for someone who was trying to drown twelve hours ago," he murmurs, leaning down until his scent, sandalwood and power is all I can breathe.
"I've learned to use what I have left," I whisper. "Is that part of the 'interest' you're looking for, Telvin? My spirit? Because I'll break before I give it to you."
He doesn't answer. He just looks at me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. "We'll see," he says softly. "Welcome to your darkness, Jatavia."
He turns on his heel and leaves, the heavy click of the lock sounding like a death sentence. I collapse back against the pillows, clutching my locket and staring at the gold-leaf ceiling. The sun is fully up now, but inside this room, it feels like the dead of night. I am a Bellarie asset now, and this is my prison.