The mansion felt colder than usual that night. Shadows stretched across the ornate corridors, bending under the soft glow of the chandeliers. I walked cautiously, careful not to make a sound. Every creak of the wooden floor made my heart jump. Even after days here, I still felt like a trespasser in someone else's world.
The Don didn't speak as I entered the library. He simply leaned against the massive mahogany desk, his eyes dark, unreadable, as though he'd been expecting me.
"You're restless," he observed quietly, almost amused.
I kept my chin high, though my pulse betrayed me. "Curiosity isn't a crime," I said.
He smiled faintly, the corner of his lips twitching in a way that made me shiver. "In my house… curiosity can be dangerous."
I bristled. "I'm not afraid of your games."
His eyes sharpened. "Games?" He took a slow step toward me, and the air between us seemed to thrum. "You think surviving this world is a game? Everything here—every deal, every smile, every whisper—has a price. Some pay with money. Some with loyalty. Some… with blood."
The words should have terrified me. And they did. But beneath the fear, there was something else—a thrill I couldn't name.
I forced myself to look away from him, pretending to inspect the bookshelves. Old ledgers, dusty tomes, and photographs lined the walls. One photo caught my attention: a younger version of the Don, standing beside my father, smiling faintly. My stomach twisted.
"I don't understand," I said quietly, barely audible. "Why… why did you buy me?"
He stepped closer, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. Too close. Too commanding. Too… dangerous.
"I didn't buy you for pleasure," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "I bought you because the world has a way of taking what's mine. And you… you were marked by it long before you even knew."
I froze. "Marked?"
His gaze locked with mine, piercing. "Your father made enemies. Powerful enemies. Ones who thought they could silence him. They were wrong. You're not just my responsibility… you're my leverage. My advantage. My reminder of why power matters."
I swallowed hard, fear knotting in my chest. I wanted to scream, to run, to defy him—but I knew I couldn't. Not yet. Not here.
A sudden noise—footsteps echoing in the hall—made us both turn. One of his men passed by the doorway, eyes flicking toward me. The Don's hand brushed against mine as if to claim a small space between us. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't cruel either.
"You'll learn quickly," he murmured, almost to himself. "In my world, hesitation is a weakness. And weakness… is a death sentence."
I wanted to hate him. I wanted to resist. And yet, in that moment, with the shadows wrapping around us and the mansion whispering secrets, I felt the dangerous pull of his presence.
He let go of my hand, stepping back, and the spell broke. My pulse raced, my mind reeled. But I knew one thing with terrifying clarity: surviving him… would be harder than surviving them.
And somewhere deep inside, I realized—I didn't want to escape.
Not entirely.