🔥 Chapter 1: "You Don't Steal from the Devil" by C Amara Vale.
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Zara Cross knew she shouldn't have been in that house.
The penthouse was too quiet, too expensive, too loaded with danger.
But that watch? That stupid fucking million-dollar Patek Philippe lying on the marble counter?
She could fence that and feed herself for a year.
So she took it.
She was out the window, down the back fire escape, just three feet from freedom—
Until the black SUV pulled up behind her, tires screaming, and three men in suits stepped out like shadows.
"Miss Cross," one of them said.
Her blood went cold.
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Now, her wrists were bound in leather straps, the soft kind that mocked you for struggling. She sat in a luxury chair she didn't belong in, legs crossed like a defiant queen, in a room so silent it could choke.
The man across from her wasn't yelling. He didn't need to.
He was watching her.
Sitting like a god in a tailored black suit, legs spread, fingers steepled beneath his lips, he didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just... watched.
Zara raised her chin. "Are you going to kill me, or are you just going to stare at me all day?"
He smiled.
It wasn't kind.
It was the smile of a man who could end you and make the world applaud.
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"You don't remember me, do you?"
His voice was deep, European-accented, Russian maybe. Silk and gravel wrapped in ice.
She blinked. "I've stolen from a lot of rich bastards. Forgive me if your face doesn't stick."
His smile widened. "Bold little thief."
He stood.
Every step he took toward her made the room shrink. The scent of danger and expensive cologne thickened.
He knelt in front of her. Close. Too close.
"You stole from Damien Orlov, heir to the Bratva. That alone would have warranted your death."
He leaned in, brushing her jaw with the back of his fingers.
"But then I saw your face."
Zara flinched, fighting the way her heart slammed into her ribs.
"Now?" he murmured. "I've decided I want something more."
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He reached into his jacket, pulled out the watch.
"Return this, and maybe I'll let you keep your hands."
"Maybe I'll bite them off instead," she spat.
He chuckled darkly. "There she is. The fire I remembered."
Zara narrowed her eyes. "What the hell do you want from me?"
Damien Orlov tilted her chin up. His fingers were cold, steady, claiming.
"I want a pet," he said.
"A toy."
"A lovely, feral little thing to break in slowly. To train. To taste."
She went still.
"You're insane."
"No," he whispered. "I'm obsessed."
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His mouth brushed her cheek.
"From now on, you're mine. You'll stay in my home. Wear what I tell you. Sleep where I say."
Zara snarled. "I'm not some whore you can buy."
"I didn't buy you," he said, standing tall again, watching her squirm.
"I stole you."
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END OF CHAPTER 1
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