The car door clicked shut, sealing her in with him.
Luciano sat across from her in the back of the black car, legs crossed, one hand resting on a cane he didn't need—more a symbol of power than necessity. His presence consumed the space. The silence between them was thick with everything unsaid.
Amethyst stared out the window, refusing to look at him. Her dress clung to her legs, still damp from the rain. Her father hadn't even hugged her goodbye.
"Speak," Luciano said at last, his voice low, calm, and commanding.
She didn't.
"I don't like silence," he added, the edge of warning just beneath his tone.
"Then get used to it," she snapped, still not turning to him.
There was a pause. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled. A soft, humorless sound. It unsettled her more than shouting would have.
"You have spirit," he said. "That will either serve you... or destroy you."
She turned now, eyes burning. "You think you own me just because you paid for me?"
His eyes met hers. Dark. Emotionless. But something flickered in them—brief, dangerous.
"I don't think I own you, Amethyst," he said quietly. "I do."
Her breath caught. She hated the way his voice slid under her skin, hated the way her heart reacted to him—even now, afraid and furious as she was.
"Why me?" she whispered.
He didn't answer right away.
She watched him. His jaw was sharp, clenched. His fingers tapped once against the cane. Then he leaned forward, his face inches from hers.
"You'll find out soon enough."
The car slowed, then turned onto a long gravel road. As the trees parted, a mansion came into view—cold stone, tall iron gates, and windows that glowed like eyes watching her.
Her heart dropped.
This was her new home?
The car stopped. A man in a suit opened her door, and Luciano stepped out without another word. She hesitated, then followed, heart pounding.
Inside, the house was colder than the storm outside—marble floors, high ceilings, chandeliers that sparkled like frozen stars. She felt small in it. Swallowed.
Luciano led her up the stairs, his silence louder than footsteps. At the top, he stopped in front of a heavy door.
"This is your room," he said. "You'll stay here. Don't wander. There are places in this house you're not ready to see."
She raised her chin. "And if I do?"
His gaze turned to ice. "Then I won't be so kind next time."
He opened the door and stepped back, allowing her inside. The room was grand—velvet curtains, a fireplace, a four-poster bed that looked untouched.
As she turned to shut the door in his face, he caught it with one hand.
"One more thing," he said, his voice low.
She glared at him. "What?"
Luciano leaned in just slightly, his gaze resting on her lips, then her eyes.
"You belong to me now, Amethyst. But don't worry…" He gave a slow, chilling smile. "I always take care of what's mine."
Then the door shut behind him.
And she was alone.