The car glided through the city like a shadow, silent and swift. I sat stiffly beside him, my back pressed against the door, wishing I could melt through it and disappear. My heart hadn't stopped hammering since he'd said the words:
"You're mine."
They echoed in my skull like a curse I couldn't shake.
He hadn't spoken since we got in. Just sat there, calm, powerful, like he hadn't just ended a man's life and abducted a stranger in the same breath. His gaze stayed forward, focused, jaw tense with unspoken thoughts. I couldn't figure him out—and that terrified me more than anything.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes flicked to me, unreadable. "Somewhere safe."
"That's not an answer."
"I don't owe you one."
The bluntness knocked the wind out of me. I wanted to scream at him, demand he let me go—but I wasn't stupid. This man didn't make threats. He didn't bluster or posture. He acted. Swiftly. Lethally.
Still, I had to try.
"You can't just keep me. People will notice I'm gone."
He arched a brow, amused. "And who exactly is going to come looking for you, Elena? Your roommate who's out of town? The professor who probably doesn't even remember your name?"
His words were knives, cruel and precise. But the worst part? He wasn't wrong.
I swallowed hard. "I have a job. At the café on 6th—"
"Already handled. They think you're visiting family out of state."
My stomach dropped. "How do you know that?"
"I know everything about you." He finally turned fully to face me. "Elena Marie Russo. Twenty-one. Art student. No parents. No siblings. One roommate, currently in Spain. One part-time job. No pets. No debts. No threats. Until tonight."
I stared at him, every word hitting like a blow. "Why?"
"Because the moment you stepped into that alley, you became my problem."
"And instead of killing me," I said slowly, "you decided to… what? Keep me as your pet?"
A flash of something dark crossed his face. Not anger—something deeper. Possessiveness. Hunger. It was like staring into the eyes of a wolf that hadn't eaten in days.
"No," he said quietly. "Not a pet."
He leaned closer. I recoiled as far as I could, heart slamming against my ribs.
"You're not a pet, Elena. You're the only softness I've touched in years. The only light I've seen in a long, long time."
I didn't know what to say. What could I say to that?
The car slowed, then pulled through tall, wrought-iron gates that creaked open on command. I caught glimpses of stone statues, trimmed hedges, and a mansion that looked like it had stepped out of an old Italian opera—grand, ancient, and undeniably haunted.
The car stopped at the front entrance. A man in a black suit opened the door. He didn't look at me—only at Alessio. A silent soldier awaiting orders.
"Inside," Alessio said.
I hesitated.
"Elena."
My name in his voice was like silk over steel. I slid out of the car, trembling, and followed him up the marble steps into a house that smelled like cedarwood, money, and danger.
The inside was even more intimidating. High ceilings. Crystal chandeliers. Paintings worth more than my education. It didn't feel like a home—it felt like a trap.
He led me down a long corridor, stopping at a set of tall double doors. He opened them and gestured for me to enter. I stepped into a bedroom bigger than my entire apartment—velvet drapes, a fireplace, a four-poster bed I had no intention of sleeping in.
"This will be your room," he said. "You'll stay here until I say otherwise."
"Do I get a choice in that?" I snapped.
He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence suffocating.
"I could've killed you tonight," he said. "Easily. You know that, don't you?"
I nodded, barely.
"But I didn't. Because something about you…" His voice dipped low. "It stopped me. It made me want to protect you. Claim you."
"I'm not yours," I whispered.
"You will be," he promised. "You just don't know it yet."
He reached out, but not to touch me. He tucked a card into my hand.
"If you need anything, call this number. There will be guards outside the door. They're not there to hurt you—but don't try to run. It won't end well."
And then, just like that, he turned and left, the doors shutting behind him with a soft click that sounded far too much like a lock.
I stared at the door for a long time.
Then I looked down at the card. It was blank—except for a single gold-embossed number.
And underneath it, scrawled in flawless cursive:
"Little deer, you belong to a king now."