Lyvana gasped and her legs went weak almost at once.
"Don't fight bitch," a man whispered.
Her clutch slipped from her fingers and hit the ground. She tried to scream, but her voice wouldn't come out right.
A dark car stopped at the curb. One of the men opened the door and shoved her inside.
The door slammed shut and they sped off. The lights outside blurred as her head spun.
Her body felt heavy.
She was freaking out. This wasn't happening again. Was it?
Someone had set a trap for her.
....
Lyvana slipped in and out of consciousness. She could feel hands and lips on her neck and body, and pain in between her legs.
Her throat burned from screaming, but no sound came out — until finally, her eyes flew open.
She bolted upright, with a scream finally tearing from her lungs.
Her hands trembled so hard she had to clench them into fists. Was she dreaming?
Panic flared again and she looked down at herself. She wasn't wearing her banquet dress. She was dressed in a silk nightgown, the fabric cool and smooth against her skin.
There was no ache, no soreness, and no sign of the bleeding she expected.
The abuse in the dream hadn't happened in reality. Relief washed over her, but it didn't last.
Where was she — and how had she gotten here?
She lay in the middle of a huge bed, covered in dark velvet sheets that felt cool against her skin. Above her hung a large, chandelier.
The room was huge. Everything around her looked expensive.
She slid out of bed and moved toward the windows which showed the city below.
A soft click sounded behind her.
The door opened.
Lyvana spun around sharply, her heart slamming into her ribs.
Her breath caught.
It was him.
The stranger. The man who had kissed her at the banquet. Her mind raced. Did he plan this? Was this all his doing?
Her hands came up around herself without thinking, her eyes wide with fear and fury.
"Stay back," she warned, her voice shaking.
He lifted his hands slowly, palms open. "Calm down," he said. "It's a long story, I—"
She didn't wait to hear it.
Lyvana grabbed the first thing within reach — a heavy glass object from the table and hurled it at him.
Julian swore and ducked just in time. The object shattered against the wall behind him, glass exploding across the floor.
"Damn it," he snapped.
She backed away. "You had me taken," she said, her voice rising. "You drugged me. You locked me in here."
"No," he said quickly. "That wasn't me."
"Liar!"
She grabbed something else and hurled it at him.
Julian ducked again. "Stop," he said sharply. "You need to calm down and listen to me."
"I am listening," she shot back, snatching up a wooden decoration from the table and holding it like a weapon.
"I saw you get taken," he said. "I followed the car and called the police. The men who grabbed you were arrested."
Her breath caught.
"The leader got away," he continued. "We're still looking for him. I brought you here because it's safer."
Julian walked closer. "A doctor already examined you. He's been here all night because I didn't know how the injection might affect you. He is downstairs as we speak."
Lyvana's grip loosened.
The pieces seem to fit together — the lack of pain, the clean clothes. It almost made sense.
Slowly, she lowered the wooden ornament.
Her shoulders sagged as the adrenaline drained out of her. "You should've told me," she whispered.
Julian smirked. "I tried."
"Okay," she said softly. "I believe you. H
But how did I end up in this night dress."
"The nightgown is silk," he said. "I assumed your skin would be too sensitive for anything else after the way you were shaking."
She frowned. "How… how did I get into it?"
Julian's smirk deepened.
"Someone had to undress you. It was either me or the doctor."
Lyvana's face went from pale to a blush in a matter of seconds.
She clutched the front of the silk gown, the delicate fabric suddenly feeling like paper-thin armor against his piercing gaze.
"You touched me?"
Julian leaned against the heavy doorframe, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement pulled his shirt tight, hinting at the powerful build hidden beneath the expensive cotton.
"You were catatonic, Lyvana. Shivering so hard I thought you'd snap a rib," he said. "The doctor needed to check you. I wasn't going to let anyone handle you more than necessary, and I certainly wasn't going to leave you in a torn dress that smelled like the men who grabbed you."
He took a slow step forward. Lyvana didn't throw anything this time, but she was still blushing.
"I am a man of many vices," Julian continued, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her knees feel like water again. "But I don't take advantage of unconscious women. If I'm going to touch you naked, it will be because you want me to. Not because you were drugged."
The bluntness of his words hit her like a physical blow. It was arrogant, possessive, and yet — infuriatingly — it made her feel safer than she had since waking up in this timeline.
"Who were they?" she asked. "The men in the car."
"Hired muscle. Low-lifes. They didn't know who was paying them — or so they claim. But I have people 'encouraging' them to remember."
He walked over to the mahogany sideboard and poured a glass of water, bringing it toward her.
"Drink. You're dehydrated."
Ava reached out, her fingers brushing his as she took the glass. A spark of heat traveled up her arm, a sharp contrast to the cold marble floor beneath her feet. She took a sip, her eyes never leaving his.
"You said the leader got away," she prompted.
Julian nodded slowly. "He was fast. Professional. He knew exactly how to vanish the moment I forced their car off the road."
Lyvana hesitated, then the words slipped out before she could stop them.
"Can you be my boyfriend?"