Gabriella
I woke up alone.
The sheets on Aiden's side were cold. No dent in the pillow. No lingering cedar-and-smoke scent. Just the faint musk of last night still clinging to my skin and the ache between my legs that felt less like pain now and more like evidence.
I sat up slowly. Winced. Looked down at myself—red marks on my hips where his fingers had dug in, faint bite on my collarbone, wrists rubbed raw from where he'd pinned them above my head until I'd begged for mercy I didn't really want. The black silk dress lay crumpled on the floor like a shed skin.
Downstairs voices drifted up. Low. Male. Laughing in that way men do when they think no one who matters is listening.
I pulled on one of his black button-downs—too big, sleeves swallowing my hands—and padded barefoot to the top of the stairs. Stopped. Listened.
Jax's voice first. Loud. Amused.
"—told you she'd bite back. You should've seen her face when she said 'hate-fuck.' Girl's got spine."
Kade, quieter, almost clinical. "Spine's good. Makes the break prettier. But she read the chat. That changes variables."
Marcus: "She's not running yet. That's the tell. If she was really done, she'd be halfway to Trimoon by now. She's still here. Still playing."
Rico, hesitant: "You think she's… into it?"
Jax snorted. "Into it? She came so loud last night the downstairs windows rattled. Yeah, she's into it. Hates that she is. That's the drug."
Aiden's voice cut through—low, calm, the one he used when he was deciding how much blood to spill.
"She's not into it. She's surviving it. There's a difference." A pause. The clink of a coffee mug. "And survival looks a lot like submission when you squint."
Footsteps. Someone moving closer to the stairs.
I backed up quick. Slipped back into the bedroom. Closed the door soft. Heart hammering.
They knew.
Of course they knew.
I'd screamed his name. I'd clawed him. I'd told him to fuck me like he meant it.
And he had.
I walked to the bathroom. Turned on the shower. Let the water scald until my skin turned pink.
When I came out, wrapped in a towel, Aiden was sitting on the edge of the bed. Dressed. Coffee in one hand. Phone in the other.
He looked up. Eyes steady.
"Morning."
I didn't answer. Just dropped the towel. Let him see the marks. Let him see me naked and unashamed.
His gaze dragged over every bruise, every bite, every fingerprint. Slow. Possessive.
"You're still bleeding a little," he said. Nodded toward the faint red line on my inner thigh where his nail had caught me.
I shrugged. "Worth it."
He set the coffee down. Stood.
Crossed to me in three steps.
Didn't touch. Just stood close enough that I could feel his heat.
"You scared them downstairs," he said quietly. "Jax wants to up the bet. Kade wants to pull data—track your vitals, your sleep patterns, see how long until the hate flips to need. Marcus thinks you're faking the fight to buy time."
I lifted my chin. "And you?"
He studied my face. Long seconds.
"I think you're dangerous," he said. "And I think I like it."
My breath caught.
He finally touched me—fingertips brushing the bite on my collarbone. Gentle. Almost reverent.
"But dangerous things get caged," he murmured. "So here's what's happening today."
He stepped back. Went to the closet. Pulled out a small black box. Set it on the dresser.
Opened it.
Inside: a thin silver anklet. Delicate chain. Tiny lock.
He crouched. Lifted my foot. Slid it on. Clicked the lock shut.
I stared down at it.
"Tracker," he said simply. "GPS. Heart rate. Location. If you leave the property line, I'll know before your foot hits the grass. If your pulse spikes too high—or drops too low—I'll know. If you try to cut it off, it alerts me."
I didn't move.
He stood. Met my eyes.
"You want to play? Play. Hate me. Fight me. Come on my cock while you whisper how much you despise me. But you don't leave. You don't call for help. You don't run."
He leaned in. Lips brushing my ear.
"Because if you do," he whispered, "I won't just lock the doors. I'll lock you in a room until the only word you remember is my name."
I swallowed. Felt the anklet cool against my skin.
Then I reached up. Grabbed the front of his shirt. Pulled him down until our foreheads touched.
"Then keep me," I said softly. "But know this: every time you fuck me, every time you mark me, every time you make me come—I'm learning you. Your tells. Your weaknesses. Your patterns."
I smiled against his mouth.
"And when I break you, Aiden… I'm going to enjoy watching you bleed."
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes.
Not anger.
Not lust.
Uncertainty.
Just a flash.
Then it was gone.
He kissed me—slow. Deep. Claiming.
When he pulled back, his voice was rough.
"We'll see who breaks first."
He turned. Walked to the door.
Paused.
"Breakfast is ready. Wear whatever you want. But the anklet stays on."
He left.
I stood there. Naked except for the chain around my ankle.
Looked down at it.
Small. Silver. Locked.
I touched it.
Smiled.
Small.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
Game fucking on.