Seraphina's POV
I back away from him.
"I need time," I whisper. "To think. To process—"
"Take all the time you need," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "But you're taking it here. You're not leaving."
"You can't keep me prisoner—"
"Can't I?" His smile is soft and deadly. "You have no money except what I give you. No home except mine. Your family sold you to me, and I have the contract to prove it." He steps closer. "You've been my prisoner for five years, Seraphina. You just didn't know the cage had locks."
My hands are shaking. "This is wrong—"
"This is marriage. Real marriage. Not the performance we've been doing." He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is intimate. Claiming. "I'm done pretending to be weak. Done sleeping ten feet away from you. Starting tonight, things change."
I jerk away from his touch.
"Change how?" I demand, even though I already know. I can feel it coming like a storm.
His eyes burn into mine. "You move into my bedroom. My real bedroom." His voice drops lower. "We start living as husband and wife. Actually married."
"You mean..." My voice fails completely.
"I mean everything that implies. Yes." His thumb brushes my cheek. "I've been patient for five years. But my patience has limits."
The room is spinning. My heart is pounding so hard I can't think clearly. Five years of distance. Five years of separate rooms. Five years of a marriage that existed only for cameras and contracts.
And now he wants to make it real.
"I don't know how to be married to a killer," I whisper.
"Then I'll teach you." He steps closer and I step back until my spine hits the wall. He cages me in with his arms. Not trapping. Just... surrounding. "But make no mistake—you ARE married to me. Till death do us part. And I don't plan on dying anytime soon."
"What if I say no?" I ask, already knowing it's a pointless question.
His expression doesn't change. "You won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because you're smart enough to understand that you have no other options." He leans in until his breath is hot against my ear. "Your family can't help you. The police won't believe you. And I own every piece of your world, Seraphina. The only life you have is the one I give you."
I should feel rage. I should feel terror. Instead, I feel... trapped. Completely and utterly trapped. And underneath the terror is something darker. Something that makes me understand why he's not worried about me refusing.
He's right. I have no options.
"Where is this bedroom?" I whisper.
His smile against my ear is triumphant.
"Follow me."
He takes my hand and leads me through the penthouse. We pass the living room where he confessed everything. We pass the study where he orchestrated my family's destruction. We move deeper into the space until we reach a door I've never noticed before—heavy, black, locked with a keypad.
He enters a code and the door slides open.
The room beyond takes my breath away.
It's not a bedroom. It's a command center. The walls are covered with screens. Security footage from every angle. Photos—hundreds of photos—of me. From six years ago. Getting coffee. At galas. Sleeping in my separate bedroom.
Six years of surveillance. Documented like a museum exhibit about his obsession.
My stomach turns.
"This is insane," I whisper.
"This is love," he corrects. "My version of it anyway."
I turn to look at him. This man I married. This man who's been watching me like a specimen under glass. This man who's built his entire criminal empire partially around possession of me.
On one of the screens, I see live footage of the penthouse's main entrance. Police cars are pulling up outside.
My heart stops.
"They're coming," I say.
Damien barely glances at the screen. "Yes."
"How did you—"
"I own the police." He manipulates the image. "Your stepmother went to them, but she forgot I control them. They're not here to arrest me."
"For what?"
"Fraud. Embezzlement. She's been stealing from your father's accounts for years—accounts that I control. She thought she was selling me out. Instead, she's confessing to crimes that will land her in prison for a very long time."
The monitor shows Patricia being led out of her apartment in handcuffs. She's screaming. Crying. Desperate.
Just like I should be.
But I'm not. I'm watching my stepmother get arrested for crimes she actually did commit, and I feel nothing except relief that she won't be testifying against Damien.
What does that make me?
"The choice is yours now," Damien says quietly. He walks toward me and extends his hand. "You can fight me. You can rage. You can pretend that you're a victim trapped by circumstance. That's your choice. But know this—fighting changes nothing. Your family is broken. Your reputation is destroyed. Your stepmother is going to prison. The only stability you have left is me."
I stare at his outstretched hand.
"Or," he continues, "you can accept what you are. Accept that you belong to me. Accept that the marriage we're about to consummate is the most honest thing you've experienced in your entire life. Because at least with me, you know exactly where you stand. You're mine. Completely. Irrevocably."
"And if I choose to fight?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
His smile is sad. "Then I'll still take what's mine. The only difference is whether you come willingly or whether I have to force you. Either way, wife, by the time the sun rises, you won't be able to pretend we're not married anymore."
The door to the command center locks behind us.
I realize then that I never had a choice. Not five years ago. Not today. Not ever.
I was always going to end up here. In this room. With this man. Making this impossible decision that isn't really a decision at all.
"Okay," I whisper.
"Okay what?" His eyes glitter with something dark and possessive.
"Okay, I'll move into your bedroom. I'll be your wife. I'll do whatever you ask." I take a breath. "But I need to know one thing."
"What?"
"When you look at me, do you see a person? Or just a possession?"
He's quiet for a long moment. Then he reaches out and cups my face in his hands.
"I see both," he says softly. "I see the person I'm obsessed with. And I see the possession I'll never let go of. The fact that those are the same thing is what makes this perfect."
And then he kisses me.
And I realize something that terrifies and thrills me:
I'm not going to fight.
I'm going to surrender.
Because somewhere between signing that contract and this moment, I've become someone new. Someone who wants to be possessed by a monster. Someone who loves him because he's dangerous.
Someone who's about to cross a line she can never uncross.
And as his hand slides to my throat, I understand: the girl I was is about to die.
The queen of monsters is about to be born.