The mansion was obscene.
Scarlett had seen wealth before—glimpsed it through shop windows, on television screens, in the lives of people who existed in a completely different world. But this... this was generational power. Old money mixed with new blood, wrapped in marble and gold leaf and the kind of excess that made her stomach turn.
The iron gates alone were taller than her apartment building, wrought with intricate designs that might have been beautiful if they weren't so clearly designed to keep people in as much as out. As the convoy pulled through, Scarlett pressed her face to the window and counted. Memorized. Twelve feet high, security cameras every ten meters, guards posted at intervals she could map in her mind.
She was already planning her escape.
"Admiring the view, kitten?"
Sylus's voice made her jump. She'd almost forgotten he was there, silent and watchful beside her. Almost. It was impossible to truly forget a presence like his—it pressed against her awareness like a physical weight.
Scarlett said nothing, turning her face away from both him and the window.
She felt rather than saw his smile. "That pretty little head of yours is already plotting, isn't it?" His tone was amused, indulgent even, like he found her rebellion charming. "Let me save you some time, sweetie. The gates are reinforced steel, biometric locks, motion sensors throughout the grounds. Thirty-seven guards on rotation. Walls topped with sensors that will alert every one of my men the moment you so much as touch them."
Her hands clenched in her lap.
"But please," he continued, voice dropping to that dangerous purr, "do try. I enjoy a good chase." He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Just remember—every time you attempt to leave, your parents will pay the price. A finger for the first attempt. A hand for the second. After that..." He let the threat hang in the air, unfinished and all the more terrifying for it.
Scarlett's nails bit into her palms hard enough to draw blood. She wanted to scream at him, to claw at that perfect face, to fight back somehow. But the image of her mother, already so broken, losing pieces of herself because of Scarlett's choices...
She swallowed the rage down like poison.
The car stopped beneath a portico that belonged in a palace. The mansion rose before them, all sweeping architecture and floor-to-ceiling windows that glittered in the afternoon sun. Beautiful. Soulless.
A prison dressed as paradise.
An older woman in a crisp uniform waited at the entrance, hands folded primly before her. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a severe bun, but her eyes were kind when they landed on Scarlett.
"This is Mrs. Chen," Sylus said, placing his hand on Scarlett's lower back again—that possessive touch she was beginning to recognize as habit. "She manages the household staff. Whatever you need, she'll provide."
Mrs. Chen offered a small bow. "Welcome, Miss Scarlett. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your quarters."
"Her quarters are in the east wing," Sylus added. His fingers pressed slightly firmer against Scarlett's spine. "Third floor, overlooking the gardens. I trust you'll find them comfortable."
Scarlett's head snapped toward him. "My quarters?" The words came out sharper than intended. "We're not...?"
"Sharing a room?" Sylus's expression was unreadable. "Not yet, kitten. I'm a monster, not an animal." Something flickered in his red eyes—was it hurt? Regret? "You'll sleep in your own room, undisturbed, until after the wedding. Even then..." He paused, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Even then, I won't touch you unless you want me to."
It was the last thing she expected him to say. In every drama she'd watched, every story she'd read, the captor always claimed their prize immediately. Brutally. But this man, this dragon lord who ruled an empire of blood and fear, was offering her... what? Mercy? Space?
It didn't make sense.
"I'll never want you to," she said quietly, meeting his eyes for just a moment before looking away. She'd heard the rumors about his power—how those red eyes could bend minds, turn people into puppets dancing on his strings.
Sylus went very still beside her. When he spoke again, his voice was carefully neutral. "We'll see."
Mrs. Chen cleared her throat delicately. "Miss Scarlett? Shall we?"
Scarlett followed the older woman into the mansion, very aware of Sylus's gaze burning into her back until they turned a corner and he finally, mercifully, disappeared from sight.
The room was bigger than her entire apartment.
Scarlett stood in the doorway, unable to process what she was seeing. A four-poster bed large enough to sleep five people, draped in silk the color of cream. Plush carpets that her feet sank into. A sitting area with velvet couches. Floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a balcony overlooking manicured gardens that stretched as far as she could see.
A golden cage, beautiful and suffocating.
"The closet is fully stocked," Mrs. Chen said gently, gesturing to double doors on the left. "Mr. Sylus had everything prepared in your size. If anything doesn't fit or isn't to your taste, just let me know and we'll have it replaced immediately."
Scarlett walked to the window, pressing her palm against the cool glass. Three floors up. Too high to jump. The gardens below were beautiful but crawling with guards—she could see at least six from this vantage point.
"The bathroom is through there," Mrs. Chen continued. "I'll have meals brought up three times a day, plus snacks whenever you like. If there's anything you're craving—any food, any drink—don't hesitate to ask."
"I want to go home," Scarlett whispered.
Silence hung heavy in the room. Then Mrs. Chen sighed, a sound full of sympathy that Scarlett didn't want and couldn't afford. "I'll send up lunch in an hour. Please, Miss Scarlett... try to eat something."
The door clicked shut softly, and Scarlett was alone.
She didn't cry. Wouldn't let herself. Instead, she explored her cage systematically, looking for weaknesses, for opportunities. The windows didn't open wide enough to slip through. The door locked from the outside—she heard it engage after Mrs. Chen left. The balcony was a dead end, nothing but a three-story drop to gardens full of armed men.
She was trapped. Completely and utterly trapped.
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The days blurred together.
Mrs. Chen brought food—so much food. Delicate pastries Scarlett had only ever seen in shop windows, exotic fruits she couldn't name, perfectly prepared meals that tasted like ash in her mouth. She ate enough to survive and nothing more.
The maids brought clothes. Designer dresses in every color, each more expensive than the last. Silk and cashmere and fabrics so fine they felt like water against her skin. Scarlett left them hanging in the closet and wore the same jeans and t-shirt she'd been wearing the night Sylus took her.
They tried to brighten her days with small kindnesses—fresh flowers in crystal vases, books they thought she might enjoy, an offer to take her walking in the gardens with an escort. Scarlett refused it all. Accepted nothing from her captors except what she needed to survive.
And every night, he came.
Sylus arrived like clockwork at nine PM, knocking softly before using his key to enter. He always brought papers, tablets, samples of things that meant nothing to Scarlett. Wedding preparations, he called them, as if this were a normal engagement between two people who loved each other.
"I've narrowed down the venues to three options," he said on the second night, settling into the chair across from where Scarlett sat curled on the window seat, as far from him as the room allowed. "The cathedral in the old quarter would be traditional. Or there's the botanical gardens—I thought you might prefer something outdoors. Or we could keep it private, just the ceremony here at the estate."
Scarlett stared out the window, counting guards. Seven tonight. One more than yesterday.
"Scarlett." His voice held a note of patience that shouldn't exist in a man like him. "I'd appreciate your input."
"Do whatever you want," she said flatly. "It's not like my opinion matters."
"It does matter." There was something raw in his tone that made her glance at him despite herself. His red eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. "Everything about this matters. The flowers, the music, the food—tell me what you want, and it's yours."
"I want my freedom."
"Anything but that."
She turned back to the window. "Then I have nothing to say to you."
Silence stretched between them. Scarlett expected him to get angry, to use his power, to force her compliance. That's what monsters did, wasn't it?
But Sylus just sighed, a sound almost human in its weariness. "The cathedral then. White roses, I think. They suit you." Papers rustled as he gathered his things. "I'll have the seamstress come tomorrow for your dress fitting."
"I'm not wearing white," Scarlett said to her reflection. "White is for brides who have a choice."
"Red then." His voice was closer now—he'd stood without her noticing, moved to stand behind her. Not touching, but close enough that she could feel his presence like heat from a fire. "Red like your name. Like passion and rage and all the fire burning inside you." He paused. "Like blood."
Their eyes met in the reflection—his crimson gaze holding hers. Scarlett knew she should look away, knew the danger of meeting those eyes, but she was frozen. Trapped not by his power but by the raw emotion she saw there. Longing. Desperation. Something ancient and aching.
"I'm not going to use my power on you," he said quietly, answering the fear she hadn't voiced. "I could make this easier—for both of us. I could make you smile at me, reach for me, say the words I'm dying to hear." His hand lifted, hovering near her shoulder but not quite touching. "But I won't. When you come to me, Scarlett, it will be because you choose to. Even if that choice takes a thousand years."
"I'll never choose you," she whispered.
Pain flashed across his reflection so quickly she almost missed it. "Perhaps not." He stepped back, and the absence of his presence felt like a cold wind. "But I'll wait anyway. I've waited this long."
Before she could ask what that meant, he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, and Scarlett was alone again with her reflection and her rage and the beautiful prison that held her captive.
She didn't sleep that night. Or the next. Just sat by the window, memorizing patrol patterns, looking for gaps, planning an escape she wasn't sure she'd ever be brave enough to attempt.
Because every time she closed her eyes, she saw her mother's face. Heard Sylus's casual threat about fingers and hands and prices that would be paid in blood.
She was trapped. And the monster who held the keys visited every night to discuss wedding plans like they were playing house.
Like this was normal.
Like they had all the time in the world.
And the worst part—the part that terrified Scarlett more than anything—was the way he looked at her sometimes. Not like property he'd acquired. Not like a trophy to be displayed.
But like she was something precious he'd lost once and found again. Like she was the answer to a question she'd never heard him ask.
It didn't make sense.
Nothing about this made sense.
But in three days, she would walk down an aisle. Would wear red instead of white. Would promise herself to a dragon who looked at her like she held his very soul in her hands.
And Scarlett didn't know if she'd survive it.
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To be continued.