Lyra's POV
The silk of my dress felt like cold water against my skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the penthouse. My heart wasn't just beating; it was a trapped bird slamming against my ribs, loud enough that I was sure the security cameras could hear it.
Focus, Lyra. Just one file. One signature.
I didn't want to be a thief. Three months ago, I was Lyra Belrose, the girl whose name opened every door in the city. Now, after my father's "accident" and the collapse of the Belrose Group, the only doors opening for me were the ones I picked with a trembling wire.
The safe was hidden behind a minimalist oil painting in Silas Vane's private study.
Click.
The heavy steel door groaned open. My breath hitched. Inside sat the ledger—the one that held the $10 million debt my father had signed away in his final, desperate days. If I could just burn it, the vultures circling my mother and me would lose their claws.
I reached for it, my fingers inches from the leather binding, when the lights didn't just flicker—they died.
The room plunged into a thick, expensive darkness.
"It's a long way down from the Belrose pedestal, isn't it, Lyra?"
The voice didn't come from the door. It came from the shadows behind me. It was a low, velvet growl that vibrated through the floorboards and straight up my spine.
I froze. I didn't need to see him to know it was Silas Vane. He carried the scent of rain, expensive cedarwood, and a danger that felt entirely too much like attraction.
"I... I can explain," I whispered, my voice betraying me by breaking at the end.
I felt him move before I heard him. A sudden shift in the air, a rush of heat, and then he was there. He didn't grab me. He did something worse. He stepped into my personal space, his chest nearly brushing my shoulder blades. He was so tall that he blocked out what little moonlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Explain which part?" Silas's breath was a warm, sinful caress against the shell of my ear. "The part where you broke into the most secure building in the city? Or the part where you thought you could steal from me and walk out alive?"
I tried to turn, but his hand shot out, slamming against the safe door next to my head. He was pinning me in, his body a wall of hard muscle and tailored wool.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I turned slowly, my back hitting the cold safe. In the dim light, his eyes were predatory—shards of flint that seemed to see right through my cheap silk dress and into the mess of my soul. He was devastatingly handsome, the kind of man who looked like he'd been carved from marble and dipped in sin.
"The debt is fake," I choked out, trying to find my old Belrose fire. "My father would never—"
"Your father was a gambler, Lyra. And he lost." Silas leaned closer, his other hand coming up to tilt my chin. His thumb brushed over my lower lip, a touch so electric it made my knees go weak. "And now, the debt has passed to you."
"I don't have ten million dollars," I snapped, though it came out as a breathy plea.
"I know." His gaze dropped to my lips, and for a terrifying second, I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, a dark, slow smirk spread across his face. "I don't want your money, Lyra. I have plenty of that."
"Then what do you want?"
He leaned in until our noses almost touched. "I want a toy. Something beautiful to break. Something... high-born."
He pulled a small, folded piece of paper from his pocket—a contract.
"Ninety days," Silas whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "You live in this penthouse. You answer only to me. You belong to me, body and soul, until the debt is paid. Or... I call the police now, and your mother spends her final years in a cell for your father's crimes."
My breath hitched. The choice was a cage or a different kind of prison. I looked into Silas Vane's dark, hungry eyes and knew that if I signed, I wouldn't just be losing my freedom.
I'd be losing my heart to the King of Sin.