The black Maybach glided through the iron gates of Blackwood Manor like a predator returning to its den. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching the sprawling estate unfold. It wasn't a home; it was a fortress of marble and glass, perched on a cliff overlooking the churning sea.
"We're here, Miss Elena," the driver said, his voice as robotic as the security cameras tracking our every move.
The door opened, and the salt-heavy air hit me, chilling the sweat on my neck. Standing at the top of the grand limestone stairs was Silas. He had ditched the suit jacket, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. He looked less like a businessman and more like a king surveying his latest conquest.
I climbed the stairs, my legs trembling. As soon as I reached the top step, his hand found the small of my back. It wasn't a gentle touch—it was a firm, heavy weight that steered me forward.
"Welcome home, Elena," he murmured. The word home felt like a threat.
The interior was a cathedral of cold wealth. Minimalist, expensive, and silent. He didn't take me to a guest wing. He led me straight up the floating glass staircase to the master floor.
He pushed open a set of double doors. The room was massive, dominated by a king-sized bed and a view of the ocean that felt close enough to touch. On the bed sat a dozen designer shopping bags and several garment bags.
"What is this?" I asked, my voice small.
"Your old life ended the moment you said 'deal,'" Silas said, walking toward me. He reached out, his fingers catching a strand of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. His touch lingered on my skin, sending a spark of heat through my body that I hated myself for feeling. "That dress you're wearing, the cheap perfume... it's gone. From now on, you wear what I buy. You eat what I provide. You exist because I allow it."
I stepped back, my heart racing. "I'm a fiancée, Silas, not a prisoner."
In one swift movement, he closed the gap, pinning me between his chest and the heavy mahogany door of the wardrobe. He didn't touch me with his hands, but his presence was suffocating. He leaned down, his nose brushing against mine.
"You are whatever I say you are," he rasped, his silver eyes dark with a possessiveness that made my breath hitch. "You belong to the debt. Which means you belong to me. If you want your father to stay out of a cell, you'll learn to love your cage."
He reached past me, pulling a silk robe from the wardrobe. It was a deep, blood-red. He pressed it into my hands, his fingers brushing against mine.
"Shower. Change. I'm having dinner served in my study in twenty minutes," he commanded, his gaze dropping to my lips for a lingering, hungry second. "Don't be late. I don't like to wait for what's mine."
He turned and walked out, leaving the scent of sandalwood and power lingering in the air. I sank onto the edge of the bed, clutching the red silk. I had saved my father, but looking at the heavy locks on the doors, I realized the 'Viper' didn't just want a fiancée.
He wanted a masterpiece to keep in a box. And I was already starting to suffocate.