Aria woke to rain tapping the glass like a warning drum. She lay stiff in the too-soft bed, Luca's words from the night before echoing in her skull: You belong to me.
She hated how they made her feel. Trapped. Owned. But deep down, a shiver whispered that it was true her name on his contract, her parents free only because she'd sold herself.
The door cracked open. Maria's gentle face peeked in, but her eyes held a note of pity that made Aria's stomach clench.
"Mr. Cross says your appointment is in an hour. He wants you ready."
Aria sat up. "Is it here?"
Maria hesitated. "He'll explain. Dress comfortably."
The door shut before Aria could ask more.
She showered quickly, trying to scrub away the ghost of his touch, the way his thumb had brushed her lip like he owned every inch of her already. She dressed in leggings and an oversized sweater, pulling her damp hair into a knot.
She looked in the mirror. Her own eyes seemed like a stranger's.
You can do this, she told herself. It's just your body. Just for the money.
When she stepped into the living room, Luca was already waiting. He wore a crisp white shirt open at the throat, dark trousers, no tie like he'd rolled out of bed still a king. He barely looked at her as he scrolled through something on his phone.
"Where's the doctor?" she asked, forcing her voice steady.
Luca's eyes flicked up. "There's no doctor."
Her pulse stuttered. "What do you mean?"
He set the phone down with deliberate calm. "There's no test tube. No sterile clinic. No one watching."
She stepped back a half-step. "That's not… I thought"
"I told you, Aria. Once you're in, there's no way out." He rose, moving toward her with that quiet, predatory grace that made her want to run and stand her ground all at once. "You agreed to give me an heir. I want no lab, no questions, no risk. I do this my way."
A cold shiver ran down her spine. "That's not how it works"
"It is," he said, voice low, threading around her like a chain. "Or you can break the contract. And your parents will enjoy the view from their cell window again. Do you want that?"
Her throat closed up. No way out.
She hated him. Hated herself more because some reckless, trembling part of her wanted to know what it would feel like to be touched by him, not because he paid her, but because he wanted her.
She spun away, pacing to the window, city lights blurred by the rain.
"This wasn't the deal," she said, her voice raw. "It was supposed to be clinical. Detached."
He came up behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his chest at her back. His reflection in the window looked carved from darkness.
"Tell me you don't want this," he murmured at her ear.
She squeezed her eyes shut. "You're disgusting."
But her body betrayed her every nerve lit up, her breath catching when his hand settled on her hip.
His lips brushed her temple, cruelly soft. "Lie better, sweetheart."
He took her hand, her fingers limp in his. Led her through the penthouse to the master bedroom she'd never seen. It looked like something out of a magazine: black and silver, rain streaking the floor-to-ceiling windows. A bed so large she wondered how many people it could swallow.
Panic clawed at her ribs. She pulled back. "Don't"
His grip tightened, just enough to remind her he could snap her will like a twig if he wanted to. "Be still," he said. "Do you think I enjoy this? Forcing you?"
His voice cracked just slightly enough to slip through her anger.
She stared at him. Do you? she wanted to scream. But the look in his eyes…hot, conflicted, darker than any threat told her what his mouth wouldn't say.
He wanted her. Not just her womb. Her.
When his mouth found hers, it wasn't gentle. It wasn't cruel, either. It was ownership and something else she couldn't name because it burned too hot. His hands pushed her sweater up, palms cold on her bare skin. She gasped against him, wanting to push him away, hating herself for curling her fingers into his shirt instead.
The world shrank to his scent cedar, whiskey, rain and the thud of her heartbeat when he laid her back on silk sheets.
Her mind screamed: You can't want this. But her body arched into him, desperate for more than the hollow, gnawing ache of survival.
"Look at me," he said, voice hoarse as he hovered over her. She did and wished she hadn't. His eyes looked wild, like something raw and wounded hid behind all that ice.
"Say it," he murmured against her throat.
"Say what?" she rasped, trying to remember how to breathe.
"That you're mine."
She bit her lip. She would never. But when he pressed into her, when her back bowed and her fingers clutched his shoulders, the word broke from her lips in a sob:
"Yours."
****
Later, the room smelled like sweat and rain and secrets she couldn't scrub off her skin. She lay half-twisted in the sheets, Luca's arm draped heavy around her waist, pinning her like a brand.
His breath was steady. As if none of this cost him a damn thing.
Aria stared at the ceiling, hating the tears that slipped down her temples. She'd told herself she'd do anything to save her family. But no one warned her how much she'd lose piece by piece, pride, hatred, maybe her own heart.
He shifted behind her, lips brushing the back of her neck.
"You'll get used to it," he murmured against her skin, voice thick with sleep and triumph.
She bit her lip to keep from saying the truth: That's what terrifies me.
Days passed in a fog. Luca didn't touch her again not like that. He left early, returned late, his presence hanging over the penthouse like a storm that refused to break.
She stared at herself in the mirror every morning, half-waiting for something to change. Her stomach. Her eyes. Anything that would make her feel less like a stranger in her own skin.
Then, on the fourth morning, she jolted awake to nausea gnawing at her belly. She stumbled to the bathroom, retching so hard her ribs ached. When she wiped her mouth and saw her reflection, her face looked pale but alive in a way that made her pulse pound with dread.
No!! She counted the days. She was late. She'd never been late.
Maria found her at the sink, cold sweat clinging to her hairline.
"Are you alright?" Maria asked softly.
Aria couldn't form the word. Pregnant.
"Fine," she lied. But her hands trembled when she splashed water on her face.
That night, she heard Luca's voice from the office again low, clipped, in that same other language she didn't understand. She crept closer, curiosity eating at her guilt like acid.
She froze when she heard her own name.
"…Aria Lane is compliant. No issues. I'll handle her."
A pause. A shadow moved behind the glass door.
"But if she tries to run, there's more at stake than the baby."
Her breath caught. More at stake?
She leaned closer, her palm pressed to the wall like it might hold her up.
Luca's silhouette shifted as if he felt her listening. His voice dropped, dark silk:
"Don't worry. She's mine. And no one takes what's mine."