The silence in the villa was louder than the attack had been. In the week that followed, Eric was a ghost that haunted my periphery—attentive, protective, but chillingly distant. He ensured my favorite meals were served and that my security was absolute, yet he treated me with the clinical detachment of a precious artifact.
He didn't touch me. He didn't mention the kiss in the safe room. It was as if that moment of shared lightning had been a hallucination.
The rejection stung worse than the kidnapping ever had.
One humid evening, the air thick with the scent of coming rain, I found him in the library. He was bathed in the amber glow of a single desk lamp, a glass of bourbon sweating in his hand. I had spent an hour preparing, choosing a silk robe the color of spilled wine. It was thin enough to feel like a second skin and short enough to flash the length of my thighs with every step.
"Can't sleep?" he asked. He didn't look up, but I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten.
"The house is too quiet," I murmured, wandering toward the mahogany shelves. I made sure to walk through the light, letting the silk cling to my hips. "I need something to distract me. Do you have any poetry? Something... visceral?"
His eyes finally snapped to mine. They weren't calm; they were dark, predatory, and tracked the slow movement of my hand as I brushed a stray hair from my neck. "Third shelf. Byron. Read 'Don Juan' if you want visceral."
I reached for the book, standing on my tiptoes, deliberately letting the hem of the robe ride up. I felt his gaze like a physical touch, searing a path down my spine. I stayed there a second too long, heart hammering against my ribs.
"Thank you, Eric." I turned to leave, but his voice dropped to a low, dangerous vibration that stopped me cold.
"Seraphina."
I looked back. He had stood up, his large frame casting a shadow that swallowed mine. He crossed the room with the silent, terrifying grace of a wolf. He stopped inches away—so close I could feel the radiant heat of his body and the scent of sandalwood and expensive tobacco.
"You're playing a game you aren't prepared to finish," he rasped.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Liar." He didn't touch me, but he leaned in until his lips were a heartbeat away from the sensitive skin of my ear. "You come in here smelling like jasmine and provocation, wearing nothing but a prayer, and you expect me not to notice? I can hear your pulse from here. It's frantic."
"Maybe I want you to notice," I breathed, my courage flickering like a candle in a gale.
"Then decide what you want," he commanded, his voice roughening. "Because I meant what I said. I won't take you. I won't be the monster who broke you. I will not have you unless you beg me for it. I want the pride stripped away. I want the 'captive' excuse gone."
"I don't beg," I whispered, though my legs felt like water.
"Every woman begs eventually when the hunger gets too loud." A dark, knowing smile touched his lips. "I can wait, Seraphina. I have the patience of a man who has already waited a lifetime. But tomorrow, the games end. You either stay behind your locked door, or you come to mine and tell me exactly what you need."
He stepped back, the sudden loss of his heat making me shiver. "Goodnight."
I watched him walk out, my body trembling with a Frustration so sharp it felt like a physical ache. I looked down at my hands; they were shaking.
I went back to my room, but I didn't sleep. I paced the floor, the silk of the robe rubbing against my sensitized skin, reminding me of everything he refused to do. He wanted a declaration. He wanted me to choose the 'Mafia King' over the life I had known.
I looked at the heavy oak door connecting our wings. Beyond it lay a man who was dangerous, lethal, and yet the only person who had ever truly seen me. If I did this, there was no going back to being the innocent bride. I would be his.
As the first grey light of dawn touched the windows, the restlessness in my blood turned into a cold, hard certainty. I was tired of being a pawn. I was tired of waiting for life to happen to me.
I gripped the edge of the vanity, staring at my reflection. My eyes were bright with a terrifying new resolve.
"Fine," I whispered to the empty room. "I'll give you your declaration."
I knew what I was going to do. Tomorrow night, I wouldn't just be his captive. I would walk into his room, strip away the last of my inhibitions, and give him the one thing I had left to offer. I was going to lose my virginity to the man who stole me, and for the first time in my life, the choice would be entirely mine.