The morning sun was golden and the environment, quiet as a graveyard.
The door creaked open.
A maid stood with head bowed, posture like punctuation.
"Good morning ma'am, here's the outfit for the day. Freshen up and I will lead you to where Sir Rael has instructed."
Vireya slowly stood from the bed, not uttering a word. She had her bath, stepped out of the bathroom in a plain black slit dress that clinged to her body down to her knee.
"This way ma'am." The maid murmured, stepping aside to clear the path.
Vireya stepped out of the room, red bottom Louis Vuitton heels thumping against the polished floor, steady and unapologetic.
She followed down corridors glazed with antique gold and mirrored regret. The air thickened as they walked, until a new hallway bled into view. Clean. White. Painlessly modern.
At its end, a single door waited. Unmarked. Patient.
Inside:
Three men.
Same suit. Same stillness. Same gaze.
Rael sat between them, back straight, fingers laced, expression unreadable.
"One is mafia. One is politician. One is criminal."
"Find the one who lies for power."
And just like that, the test began, not with blood, but with choice.
Vireya stood before them, hands steady, expression composed. But inside, the silence tugged at her gut, Rael was watching. Not just her moves. Her instincts.
Three men.
Same suits.
Same faces, carved with practiced ease.
She stepped toward the first.
Man One had a politician's smile, all teeth, no warmth.
"What's more dangerous: influence or fear?" she asked.
He gave a low chuckle.
"Fear fades. Influence lingers. That's why we build legacies."
She nodded, moved on.
Man Two had rougher hands, wrists thick, face more worn.
"Ever fired a gun?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"That depends. On who's asking, and who's dying."
No shift in breath. No twitch.
He was practiced. Not clean.
Last: Man Three.
He was silent. Paler. Younger. But his eyes were sharp.
She stood still.
"Do you believe loyalty is a choice?" she asked.
He tilted his head.
"No. It's survival. Only fools romanticize it."
She stepped forward. The three men watched her like statues wearing skin.
"He's the mafia," Vireya said lowly, pointing at Man Three.
The room stayed still.
Rael remained seated, fingers resting on his lips. Then slowly, with deliberate precision, he stood.
He walked past her, past her choice, until he paused in front of Man One, the smiling politician.
He reached into the man's coat pocket and withdrew a worn leather ring tied with black thread, a symbol no outsider should recognize. Then turned it in his fingers.
"This," Rael said calmly, "is the marker used by the Drovani syndicate for their top enforcer."
He glanced over his shoulder.
"Man One is the mafia."
"You chose poorly."
Vireya blinked. Her blood felt loud in her ears.
"The criminal had too much shadow," Rael continued.
"And the true threat wears charm like armor."
He stepped closer, voice clipped, surgical.
"You judged based on edge. Mafia wears elegance. You saw a blunt blade and missed the hidden dagger."
Then he looked at her, as if studying something broken inside her that she hadn't noticed until now.
"Mistake," he said.
"And now, we teach consequence."
Rael didn't shout. He didn't move fast. His cruelty never wore speed.
Instead, he walked back to his chair and sat, crossing one leg over the other like he was setting the tone for something ceremonial.
"Remove her voice," he said.
"She talks too much without accuracy."
Two staff entered, silent, dressed in steel grey.
They approached Vireya with reverent precision and presented a thin silver collar lined with faint blue light. Not tight enough to wound. Just tight enough to matter.
It locked with a hiss.
Rael watched.
"No speaking. For twenty-four hours."
"Not to me. Not to staff. Not to yourself."
He leaned back.
"Let's see what you say when you can't."
She was escorted to the central wing of the mansion, an open ballroom transformed into a gallery space. Guests roamed: high society, low morals. People asked her name. Questions about Rael. About fashion. About art.
She could only blink. Nod. Stare.
They laughed, confused.
One whispered, "Pretty but useless."
Rael arrived midway through the evening, immaculate in black. He walked past her without pause, then stopped. Turned. Smiled coldly.
"Next time, choose the threat that smiles too easily."
"And don't look for violence, it rarely wears its real face."
Then he was gone again.
She spent the night nodding.
Staring.
Silent.
And somewhere beneath the collar, her throat burned, not from tightness, but from everything she couldn't say.
Midday arrived like a slow, deliberate omen.
Vireya's room was washed in golden stillness, nothing soft about it. The walls felt warmer, like they'd been watching her thoughts simmer from morning. She hadn't spoken in hours, the voice collar still clutched around her throat like punishment pressed into metal.
A knock at the door.
Then two staff entered: silent, curt, glass-eyed. One carried a black velvet box. The other lingered like a shadow.
"For the evening," the taller one said.
They left the box on her bed and departed without another word.
Inside: a dress of deep wine silk, slit high, backless — designed for beauty, not battle. Alongside it: gold stilettos with crimson soles, polished to a cruel shine.
Rael's taste.
Rael's game.
By evening, the mansion pulsed with life. Music bled through crystal chandeliers, and the guests, diplomats, heirs, beasts in tuxedos, floated in glitter and desire.
Vireya moved through the crowd like fire smothered in silk. Her voice still trapped. Her expression unreadable.
That's when he found her.
Minister Arvoné.
Smiling like misused privilege. Drunk on scent and silence.
He cornered her near the ballroom staircase.
"You look expensive," he murmured.
"But quiet. That's perfect."
She stepped back.
He followed.
She turned toward the hallway.
He caught her wrist.
The music grew distant.
She ripped free, fast, panicked, but he caught her again near the bathroom entrance, pushed through the door behind her, locked it.
"You can't tell me no," he breathed, pressing too close.
"So maybe you won't mind."
Her hands shoved against his chest. No words. No escape.
She reached for the collar, tugged, twisted, tried. Nothing.
The moment pressed deeper.
She kicked. Hard.
He stumbled.
But he smiled, sick, insistent.
"I like fight. But not noise."
He reached his hands down into her dress, the way a seductive man would.
Then,
The door shattered open.
Rael.
Not poised. Not slow. Not symbolic.
Just rage.
His fist connected before a word was spoken, clean, precise, lethal in restraint. Arvoné collapsed against the sink, bleeding quiet.
Rael stood over him.
Breathing like knives.
"You do not have any business with her. She's mine… She didn't speak," Rael hissed.
"Not because she couldn't object… but because I ordered it."
His eyes shifted to Vireya.
She was trembling.
Still silent.
He stepped toward her, slow, deliberate, dark as a closing door.
Then, his hand slid gently to her waist.
Not possessive. Not frantic.
Just quiet contact.
Grounding her.
He didn't look at her. His gaze never left Arvoné, as if still calculating how many ways the man could be undone. But his grip remained, guiding her out of the bathroom like she was glass in a house filled with knives.
Rael's hand never left her waist as he led her through silent corridors, past guests whose eyes whispered more than their mouths dared. The music still played, elegantly blind to what had happened behind the bathroom door, but the party had lost its shape.
He didn't speak.
She didn't look up.
And when they reached his room, he opened the door himself. No staff. No spectacle.
Just them.
He stepped inside first. She followed, her breath uneven, silk clinging to skin that felt like trembling.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Rael turned to her, expression unreadable, but less carved than usual. He reached out slowly, and his fingers brushed the collar.
A subtle tap at its side.
It unlocked with a whisper.
The light faded.
Her throat pulsed.
Vireya gasped, soft, broken, like someone suddenly given lungs. Then,
The sob caught her.
She didn't plan it.
Didn't mean it.
But it tore through her quietly, violently, shaking hands, burning eyes, her whole body folding inward like shame dressed as grief.
She turned away fast, tried to hide it.
Rael didn't move.
She was shaking. Tears spilled uncontrollably now, thin and silent. Her body trembled like truth had finally found skin.
He watched for a long beat. No soft words. No apologies. Then finally:
"You didn't fall apart when he touched you."
"You waited until I saw it."
His voice was flat. Like observation dressed as fact.
Then, quieter, almost absent-minded:
"That's not weakness."
"That's calibration."
He turned from her and walked to the far window. His posture was still sharp.
"Sleep here if you need to. No one enters this room without invitation."
She didn't answer.
But her tears slowed.
Not because it helped.
But because something about it… felt enough.
For now.
The room still held its hush, but her voice didn't.
Vireya didn't look at Rael when she spoke.
She looked past him.
"This is what you wanted, after all."
"You knew the kind of men you invited."
Rael shifted, finally. Slight, the kind of movement that might have been a wince, if he had the humility.
Vireya kept going.
"So why didn't you let him do what he wanted?"
Now she looked at him. Eyes unmoved, jaw unclenched.
"Would that have been easier?"
"Less messy?"
Rael didn't answer.
But something inside him did.
The guilt didn't crawl. It collapsed.
Vireya's words didn't echo.
They pierced.
Rael stood at the window, back sharp, jaw clenched. The room held them both like a breath that refused to exhale. Her accusation hadn't flinched, and he hated that something in him had.
He turned.
Slowly.
Eyes locked on her like she was a trespasser inside her own wound.
"Stop taking things too far, Vireya."
His voice wasn't raised.
It was precise. Measured. Cold.
"I defended you because he touched what's mine without permission."
"Not because I care."
Her breath caught.
He stepped closer , not towering, but deliberate. Mafias don't bluff. They sharpen.
"Consent is currency. And he spent it like a thief."
"I protect what I own."
"Don't mistake that for compassion."
She didn't respond.
Not right away.
Because there were no words soft enough to wrap around what he'd just weaponized.
And somewhere between the silence and the shivering pulse in her wrist, Vireya realized.
She had misunderstood power.
"If you were trying to be pitiful just now, congratulations. You've achieved it. You stand here, quiet, compliant, like a pet begging to be owned."
He circled her slowly, not menacing, just deliberate.
"You ask why I didn't let him take advantage of you? Why ask questions when you already know the answers that cut?"
"I saw you freeze up. Not courage. Not defiance. Just paralysis dressed in silk."
He leaned close, voice almost gentle.
"You didn't fight. Because deep down, you don't believe you're worth defending."
Her breath caught, but he didn't stop.
"I didn't save you. I intervened. To clean up a mess before it stained my name."
"Next time, you shouldn't intervene. Not to stain your name or reputation… to prove that you don't care." Vireya said coldly, eyes red as flames, body still trembling.
Rael stepped in close enough that Vireya could feel his breath, warm, dangerous, against her ear. His voice was silk dipped in venom.
"Look at you," he murmured, letting each word linger.
"Hands still shaking, lips still raw from silence. You wear fear like a perfume, intoxicating."
He circled her, slow, predatory.
"I love how your pulse races when you think you're alone. It reminds me you're alive. Reminds me you're mine to break… or keep whole."
His fingers found her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone.
"Tears don't disgust me. They're proof you feel. Better than empty compliance. You'd be so boring without them."
His thumb slid to her lips, still stained with quiet sobs.
" It's cruel of me to let you feel this way, yet here I stand, fascinated."
He stepped back just enough to let the candlelight carve shadows across his face.
"Don't mistake my cruelty for indifference. Every cut is a lesson. Every touch… a claim."
He paused. His eyes darkened.
"And I claim you, trembling or not."
He turned away, voice low:
"Let them think I'm a monster. You already know I'm something far more delicious."
Vireya staggered back, pressing her palm against the nearest wall for support. Her dress whispered against her skin, the silk catching every candle's glow. Panic flickered behind her eyes, then sharpened into defiance.
He followed, slow steps swallowing the distance until only the heat of his body remained. His hand hovered at her shoulder, as if torn between cruelty and desire.
"You always say you don't care," she spat, voice trembling but steady.
"You claim you're indifferent, uninterested. But you can't resist me."
She turned, shoulders squared, eyes locking onto his.
"My body… your weakness. You fall into temptation too easily."
His gaze darkened. That calculated mask cracked, revealing something feral. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, gentler than she expected, yet electric.
Rael's breath hitched. He pressed one hand to the small of her back, drawing her into the space he had every right to dominate.
"You're wrong anyway," he whispered, voice rough with admission.
"I just take opportunities."
His other hand trailed down her arm, fingertips alight with heat. In that charged silence, Vireya realized she'd traded one form of power for another, and neither knew who would break first.
Vireya's hand pressed gently but firmly against Rael's chest, sliding him back an inch. The heat between them pulsed, but her eyes were steel.
"Not tonight," she said, voice low.
"I'm not your project. I'm not submissive tonight."
Rael froze, surprise flickering across his face. His hand hovered where her warmth had been, as if uncertain whether to retreat or advance.
She took a breath, stepping around him so only her silhouette caught the candlelight.
"Enough of your orders," she continued softly.
Rael swung back from Vireya, heading to the door.
His foot hovered by the doorframe, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but he stayed. In one swift motion, he seized Vireya's arms and drew her close, fingers pressing into the curve of her waist.
His lips collided with hers in a fierce, claiming kiss, no softness, only urgency. Vireya's breath caught as his mouth moved over hers, every inch a reminder of the power he wielded.
When he finally broke away, Rael's chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and whispered against her lips, "I'll be back once the party ends."
With that, he released her and slipped out into the hallway, leaving the door swinging on its hinges. Vireya stood in the dim light, heart pounding, not from desire, but from the weight of his promise.
She straightened her shoulders, steeling herself for the night ahead: the music, the guests, and the knowledge that Rael would return, whether she wanted him to or not.
**After the party.**
Rael eased the silk-draped doors of his penthouse closed behind him. Black marble floors stretched beneath his polished Oxfords, reflecting the glow of crystal chandeliers overhead. Walls of smoked glass revealed the city's neon heartbeat, while onyx pillars and gilt accents whispered of a fortune built on fear and loyalty.
He passed the foyer's onyx grand piano, silencing the hum of distant sirens below. Each step toward his private wing resonated in the hush of imported cashmere curtains and ivory rugs that swallowed sound whole.
Outside his bedroom, he paused before opening the door. A muted lamp cast a pool of amber light across the living room's cream-suede couch. There, Vireya lay in her silk dress, straps slipped from her shoulders, the fabric clinging to every curve in soft abandon. A delicate outline of lace peeped from the thigh-high slit, and tendrils of dark hair spilled across her face.
A single, derisive snort escaped him. He reached for the heavy cashmere duvet folded on the nearby ottoman and threw it over her, covering her curves in one sweeping arc. The fabric settled around her like a guard, tucking her into the night.
He straightened, smoothing the lapels of his tailored jacket, and glanced once more at her peaceful form. Then, with that same cool precision, he turned on his heel and stepped out.
The door clicked shut behind him as he strode down the marble hallway toward his work office, where deals waited, debts were tallied, and the world bent to his design.
The apartment is bathed in pale light before sunrise. An insistent electronic chime echoes through the hallway, Rael's custom alarm, jolting the silence. He stands at the window, sharp silhouette against the cityscape, phone pressed to his ear. His jaw tightens as each second ticks by.
Two maids arrive with swift efficiency, arms loaded with carefully selected items:
- A tailored black sheath dress and a deep emerald cocktail dress
- Stiletto heels in onyx and burgundy leather
- A structured leather weekender bag with hidden compartments
- A slim pistol, two spare magazines, and a compact knife in a discreet pouch
- Travel documents, passports, and unmarked cash bundles
They place everything neatly on the polished console. One maid glances toward Rael, awaiting orders.
Vireya stirs on the chaise longue, the hum of the city barely audible. She blinks at the designer dresses draped over chairs and the weekender bag open on the floor. Confusion clouds her features as she pushes herself upright in her silk dress.
With a tentative voice, she asks, "What's going on?"
Rael turns from the window, slipping off his tailored blazer. His face is drawn, eyes dark with urgency. He crosses the room and stops several feet away from her.
"A faction called the Costa Novas discovered our safehouse last night," he says, voice low but firm. "They're moving in fast, and I found out too late to neutralize the threat."
He lays the passports and cash on the console. "We need to leave now, low profile, no delays. Tonight, we cross the border. Stay close and don't draw attention."
Vireya's heart thunders. She straightens, awareness sharpening. Escape isn't optional, it's their only chance.
They settled into the forward cabin where onyx‐black leather seats curved around a gloss walnut table. Overhead, hidden LED strips cast a muted glow, turning the polished metal fittings to liquid moonlight. Rael sank into his chair, fastening the lap belt with a single, deliberate click. Vireya sat opposite him, ankles crossed, fingertips tracing the seam of her tailored charcoal suit.
A flight attendant in crisp black stepped through the divider and set two flutes of champagne on the table's silver lip. Rael nodded once.
The jet banked into a soft turn. Vireya's hair brushed her collar. Turbulence hit almost instantly: the plane trembled, overhead bins rattled. She gripped the armrests; her knuckles went white. Rael lifted his glass without looking, as if that small gesture could calm the storm.
"Never traveled by air. Doesn't mean you shouldn't act composed." He took another sip of his champagne.
"I don't still understand why I have to come with you. I'm of no use, you should've left me behind."
"Now listen, before you start talking loquaciously. I didn't leave anybody behind in that penthouse, it's just us up here doesn't mean the others are still back there. I don't know why you keep reasoning some sort of way." Rael lashed out.
Vireya chose silence over conflict this time around. She just let her gaze drift across the horizon, sky bleeding into sky, lost in the humming of the engines.
Her voice finally cut through the engine drone, trembling but steady. "Why drag me halfway around the world if you don't care a damn about what happens to me?"
Rael leaned forward, the leather straps creaking like a noose. His voice was velvet and steel. "Because you're my property
," he said. "And I can't leave my property behind."
A surge of wind had rattled the windowpane. Vireya's jaw had clenched; her eyes glittered with defiance. "Property," she repeated. "You're a monster who just thinks people are disposable."
Rael's lips had curved into a slow, dangerous smile. He'd reached into his jacket pocket, fingertips grazing the cold metal of a pistol. "Disposable," he murmured, "is exactly how I see anyone who underestimates me."
The jet wheels kissed the tarmac with a muffled thump, its sleek frame dipping gently before coasting into the private hangar. The runway outside stretched like scorched silver under the midmorning sun.
Rael unbuckled his harness with that same cold precision he used for threats and deals. He stood and shrugged into his tailored jacket, already texting someone without a glance at Vireya.
She remained seated, fingers grazing the armrest, spine tall. Through the window, the skyline loomed, high-rise towers in brushed gold and steel, their edges angular and watchful. Signs in an unfamiliar language flashed past a security escort vehicle. Somewhere beyond the horizon, a distant mosque tower gleamed.
She didn't gasp. Didn't blink quickly or ask questions. But her eyes flicked from the tarmac to the skyline and lingered longer than they should have.
Rael glanced over his shoulder. "Eyes front," he said coolly. "We're guests here. Temporary ones."
Vireya rose slowly. Her movements betrayed nothing, but inside, her breath caught at the sheer scope of the new territory. She'd never seen buildings climb so high, or streets glitter like that.
As they descended the jet's steps, a wall of bodyguards flanked the perimeter. The air was different here, sharper, warmer, thick with currency and consequence.
Vireya adjusted the strap of her handbag, watching Rael greet a stone-faced envoy with a subtle nod. She stayed silent, but her eyes memorized everything, the gates, the guards, the flags rippling beside the hangar.
She knew Rael didn't bring her here to marvel. He brought her here to hide, and maybe, to test what silence really cost.
A charcoal armored car waited near the hangar, engine already idling. The rear door swung open without prompting.
Rael climbed in first. No hesitation. No pause. Vireya eased in behind him, the scent of leather and cold steel brushing past her as she sank into the seat beside him.
The door clicked shut.
Rael didn't look at her. His attention shifted to the window as they pulled away from the airstrip, flanked on both sides by identical black escorts. Skyscrapers pierced the skyline in jagged lines. Billboards with unfamiliar symbols flashed by.
"You'll keep your head down," Rael said, voice smooth but threaded with finality. "This city isn't curious. It's territorial."
Vireya didn't reply. But her gaze lingered on the buildings, on the veiled wealth and simmering danger that seemed to ripple from every alley and rooftop.
A place built on silence and power.
And here she was, still quiet, but far from invisible.
The convoy snaked through the outer rim of the city, trading glass towers for low stone walls and security outposts manned by silent sentinels. The landscape shifted gradually, palm fronds bowing over iron gates, cobblestone drives twisting between manicured gardens with thorns beneath the blossoms.
Rael's armored car led the fleet, its tinted windows hiding the man who'd vanished off the grid. Vireya sat beside him, hands folded tightly on her lap. She hadn't asked where they were going. She didn't need to.
The vehicle slowed before an ornate gate, a mix of modern steel and old-world iron, marked with no emblem, no name. Just a scanner and a silent man with a tablet. Rael rolled the window down by a few inches. A code was entered. No words spoken.
The gates opened.
Beyond the walls, the compound unfolded like something drawn from a billionaire's fever dream:
- A low-rise villa built of shadow-toned limestone and smoked glass
- Security towers discreetly camouflaged among trees
- A long reflecting pool with no ripples, as if movement were forbidden
The car parked beneath an awning shaped like folded wings. Rael stepped out first, greeted by a woman in a grey suit carrying a tablet. She bowed her head but never spoke. He nodded and gestured toward the villa.
Vireya followed, her heels tapping softly against obsidian stone. Inside, cool air wrapped around her, marble floors with volcanic veins, silence thick as velvet, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered no clear view of the city.
This was no retreat. It was containment.
Rael walked the hallway beside her, not looking her way. "We stay until the Costa Novas stop sniffing around," he said. "No press. No online traces."
Vireya didn't reply. She turned slightly, catching her reflection in a mirrored panel, calm face, unreadable eyes.
He stopped at a black door and pressed his palm against the scanner. "Your quarters. Don't wander at night."
She stepped inside. The room was pristine, styled like a hotel but colder. And beneath the beauty, beneath the silence, every detail whispered: this wasn't safety.
It was a pause between storms.
The hallway outside Vireya's room had fallen into absolute silence. Pale light from motion-triggered sconces traced the contours of the marble floor. Rael's footsteps broke it, the confident rhythm of a man who never hurried unless blood was in the air.
He stopped outside her door, then entered without knocking. In his hand: a folded set of nightwear, soft cotton pants and a sleeveless top, still warm from the dryer.
Vireya was seated at the edge of the bed, brushing out her damp hair in slow, methodical strokes, she had just showered. Her gaze flicked to him, then returned to the strands gathered in her palm.
Rael tossed the clothes onto the cushioned bench. "These will do," he said. "Bathroom's stocked. You'll sleep undisturbed."
She nodded once. Then paused.
"Did you… leave Malric… behind?"
The room changed. Like oxygen had dropped.
Rael straightened slowly, the line of his shoulders sharpening. "Why do you care about Malric?"
"I just… asked… out of…curiosity."
The corner of Rael's lip curled. He stepped forward, voice low and dangerous. "He's my cousin. I didn't abandon him."
He crossed to the window, pulled aside the curtain just enough to let in the city lights. "He moved out of my penthouse before the raid, took refuge in his own hideout."
Vireya's shoulders eased fractionally. "So… he's safe", voice still trembling. For some reason, she couldn't find the confidence in her voice.
Rael turned back, eyes dark with warning. "Safe enough. He knows how to vanish."
Rael halted in the doorway, hand inches from the handle. The bedside lamp threw long shadows across Vireya's face, pale, tense, eyes bright with emotion.
He turned back, voice cold and precise:
"Never ask me about Malric again. If you care so much, go to him. Stay with him."
Vireya's shoulders shook. Her voice came in a trembling whisper:
"I'd rather stay with Malric… because he's human."
Something in Rael snapped. He stormed across the room, each step echoing on marble tile. His tailored jacket flared with the motion; his eyes burned like embers.
"How dare you," he snarled, striding to stand nose-to-nose with her. "You think you can compare me with my cousin?"
She swallowed hard, backing up until her heel caught the edge of the rug. Rael loomed over her, chest heaving, the air between them crackling.
"You're nothing but a pawn in my game," he spat. "and pawns get discarded the moment they think they can make a move on their own."
The words struck Vireya like ice. Her breath hitched, eyes wide in the flickering light. Rael's fury crackled in the air, a promise that freedom here was as lethal as the loyalty he demanded.
Vireya's voice trembled but stayed defiantly loud:
"Then discard me. Why drag me with you everywhere you go? You keep spouting empty words, vain words that mean nothing. I'm tired of living with… a monster. To hell with this contract marriage."
Rael's eyes blazed red in the low light. He took a single, fierce step forward, the soles of his shoes silent on the marble. His jaw worked once, twice, before he spit out each syllable:
"You think I haven't already wanted to?"
He reached out and gripped her by the jaw, tilting her face up to his. The faint light caught the glint in his pupils.
"Listen carefully," he whispered. "I don't want to discard you yet, because I love watching you bleed emotion."
With brutal deliberation, he shoved her back against the marble wall. Vireya's back arched on impact; a soft crack of bone echoed in the hush. Rael's hand tightened on her shoulder, pressing her into the cold stone.
"Every defiant glare, every tremor in your voice…it fuels me," he said, voice smooth as silk. "I'm not tired of your torture. Not yet."
Pain flared across Vireya's ribs, but she folded her arms across her chest, raising her chin in spite of it.
Rael leaned closer, breath hot on her ear. "You're mine… my constant reminder that monsters live, breathe, and enjoy the hunt."
He released her with a shove. Vireya slid down the wall in a crouch, gasping for air. Rael straightened his jacket, expression settling into that lethal calm.
"Don't expect mercy," he said, voice barely louder than steel. "Because I have none left for you."
He turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving Vireya trembling against the marble, more alive, and more terrified, than ever.
Moonlight pooled across the marble hall, painting the walls in cold silver. Vireya slipped from her bed, clutching the charcoal loungewear at her chest, every breath a promise to herself. The estate's hush pressed in, broken only by the distant thrum of generators.
She edged into the corridor. At the corner, she pressed her ear to the servant-only door, no voices, no footfalls. She pushed it open a crack, slipped inside, and found herself in a dim staff hallway lined with supply closets and a service elevator.
In the faint glow of an emergency light, she located the lockbox for the security fob, a single swipe granted access to the estate's exterior gates. Her fingers trembled as she fitted the plastic card into her pocket. She paused, scanning the corridor: the shadows deepened, but the path was clear.
A soft click as the elevator arrived. She coaxed the doors open and descended two levels until she emerged in the underground garage. Rows of empty vehicles waited, engines silent. At the far end, a side exit led to the perimeter wall.
She found the maintenance gate locked with a simple tumbler. Using a hairpin from her pocket, she bent the guard's lock until the bolt slid free. The gate groaned as she pushed it open, revealing the manicured garden beyond.
Heart pounding, Vireya stepped into the night air. The statues lining the driveway stood silent witness. Through the iron gates, streetlamps glittered like distant beacons.
Ahead lay the unknown, freedom or flight. She pressed forward, silhouette swallowed by darkness, leaving behind the mansion's cold walls and Rael's merciless grip.
A shrill klaxon cut through the deadened stillness of the control room, red lights pulsing in time with each urgent beep. Rael's security chief, Marta, leapt from her swivel chair, voice clipped. "Sir, we've got an exit breach, sector C, south gate. The CCTV confirms it: she's on the move."
Rael strode across the room, every step precise. Dozens of monitors lined the wall, each displaying a different angle of the mansion's sprawling grounds. He tapped a command on the console. The main feed zoomed in on Vireya, her silhouette slipping past the iron gates and vanishing into the manicured hedges beyond.
His jaw tightened. "Lock down the perimeter," he ordered, voice low but razor-sharp. He didn't wait for answers, he already knew none would come fast enough.
Below, in the garage bay, engines roared to life. Five matte-black SUVs rolled out in perfect formation, headlights slicing through the lawn's dew.
Rael's eyes never left the screen. "No discretion, by any means necessary," he murmured. Marta nodded, fists clenched. She tapped her earpiece. "Alpha teams, intercept and contain. Don't let her reach the road."
On the monitors, the convoy wove between statues and fountains, tires crunching over gravel. Dust kicked up behind them as they fanned out, cutting off every escape route.
Back in the control room, Rael exhaled slowly, the glow of screens reflecting in his eyes. Tonight, flight would not be an option for Vireya. Unless something unexpected tipped the scales, she was walking straight into his net.
Thirty-five minutes later, the control room's silence shattered with the chime of a secure line. Rael was leaning over the console, studying the last known feed of Vireya slipping through the iron gate.
The screen on his desk blinked. He hit accept.
Voice (over speaker, tight): "Boss... we've combed every sector. No sign of her… inside or out. No footprints, no vehicle tracks. She's vanished."
Rael's hand slammed onto the desk, rattling the stack of security logs. The monitors flickered as he stood, the amber glow of the emergency lights reflecting off his cold, hard stare.
Rael (low, furious): "Not seen anywhere? What about the drainage tunnels, service roads, the river bank?"
Voice (hesitant): "We checked them all. Twice. Nothing."
Rael's jaw clenched so hard the veins at his temple stood out. He spun to Marta at the video wall, voice snapping like a whip.
Rael: "Alert every perimeter team. I want drones over the estate grounds in ten minutes, and infrared scans across the surrounding forest. Issue a citywide APB: name, description, last sighting. I want her found."
He stalked back to the console, fingers flying over the keyboard. The room hummed as alarms and notifications cascaded across the screens.
Rael (bitter whisper): "Don't come back without her."
He swiveled in his chair, eyes blazing at the empty monitors, as if daring Vireya to reappear. In that charged moment, every exit point felt like a challenge thrown at his feet, and he would burn the city to find her.
Rael pushed back from the console, the hum of screens and alarms fading into a single pulse: the beat of his own fury. Without a word to Marta, he strode for the door, leather shoes clicking against the marble floor.
Outside the control room, he found the keys to his armored sedan waiting in Marta's outstretched hand. He snatched them and vaulted into the back seat, signaling his driver without ceremony. The door slammed shut behind him.
The convoy roared to life, tires spitting gravel as they tore out of the underground garage. Rael leaned forward, eyes locked on the night-shrouded street ahead. He tapped commands on a tablet mounted to the seat's headrest, live traffic feeds, infrared overlays, crowd-sourced tips, all flashing with red dots that formed a spider's web across the city.
"Block every major route," he ordered through the partition. "Hit toll booths, cameras, highway exits. No one in, no one out."
The driver's calm nod did nothing to soothe Rael's simmering rage. Neon signs blurred past as they raced toward the perimeter road. Bodyguards flanked them in two SUVs, lights off, engines purring in the darkness.
On his tablet, he isolated Vireya's last known path. The iron gates of the estate lay behind them now, yet his conviction burned brighter with every mile. He switched to street-level CCTV feeds, the faint impressions of bare feet on damp pavement, a whisper of movement in alley shadows, but every lead dissolved into the city's darkness.
Rael's jaw clenched. He leaned back and spoke into a headset. "Contact every precinct. I want patrols on foot and motorcycle squads fanned out in two-block grids. She won't slip through my fingers."
Ahead, the road forked into the whispering heart of the city. Rael's gaze flicked to the windshield, where amber streetlamps carved the night into segments of light and dark, his hunting ground.
He closed his eyes for a moment, tasting the urgency in the air. When he opened them, the world was no longer a map of escape routes but a battlefield rigged for one outcome: Vireya's capture.
And he would see this hunt through himself.
By the hour hand's turn deep into the night, the city had succumbed to silence, streets empty, neon signs flickering like dying embers. Rael's convoy prowled every lane, fanned out in a relentless grid, drones swarming overhead with thermal cameras. Yet no trace of Vireya emerged from the shadows.
Rael sat in the lead sedan, leather jacket open, sleeves rolled up. His eyes, bloodshot from screen glare, darted between live feeds and his reflection in the tinted glass. Each empty alley, each vacant square only stoked his fury higher.
At 2:17 AM, exhaustion finally crept into the radios. Marta's voice crackled through the earpiece, tight with frustration:
"We've scoured every district within a ten–kilometer radius. No sightings, no footprints beyond those initial cameras."
Rael slammed his palm against the partition. The metal vibrated under his strike. He leaned close to the partition, voice barely higher than a growl:
"Spread it wider, river crossings, highways, even the docks. I want every boat and bus manifest checked. Anyone matching her build, her clothes… pull them in."
A driver flicked on the sedan's interior lights as they idled at a red signal. The harsh glow revealed the toll of the hunt on Rael's face, jaw clenched so tightly it could crack bone, eyes dark with murderous intent.
He exhaled, slow and venomous, then spoke into his earpiece with surgical calm:
"When I find her, I will punish her until she begs for her own death."
By dawn's first pale glow, Rael's convoy rolled back through the iron gates of the estate. Exhausted drivers killed their engines in the courtyard, the silence heavy after hours of radio chatter and dead leads. Rael strode from the lead sedan, boots echoing off cobblestone, his leather jacket dusted with city grime. His men fanned out, gathering around torches and the wide marble steps, faces drawn tight from fruitless hours.
He halted at the foot of the grand staircase, every eye locked on him. With a single sweep of his arm, he dismissed them. No cheers, no confidence, just the low rumble of suppressed frustration. Rael's jaw clenched so firmly you could hear the grit between his teeth as he spat, "We failed tonight. But nobody fails me twice."
Officers scurried to relay new orders: tighten patrols inside the walls, double the guard rotations, scour every hidden passage. Rael retreated to his study, the door closing with a finality that left his men in uneasy silence. Outside, the estate's fountains whispered in the half-light, mocking the emptiness of the night's labor.
Two miles beyond the main gates, Vireya pressed her back against cold brick in a deserted alley. Her clothes, were stained and torn; her breath came in ragged bursts. She'd slipped past the drones by pressing herself into shadows and timing her movements between the sweeps of thermal scanners.
Vireya kept her senses razor-sharp. Every distant engine, every footstep on pavement, pulled her heart tight, but she refused to freeze. When a patrol's flashlights brushed past a nearby doorway, she melted inside, curling into a hidden alcove until the danger passed.
Hour after hour, she navigated through back streets and abandoned courtyards. At one point, she scaled an overgrown wall and slid down into the city's forgotten canals. Cold water lapped at her calves, but it concealed her reflection from overhead sensors. By midnight's crest, Vireya reached a crumbling boathouse and slipped inside, praying the decaying wood would hold until first light.
As the sky began to lighten, she settled against a wet plank, every muscle trembling. Despite the exhaustion, a fierce spark glinted in her eyes. She survived this night, and she'd be ready for whatever came next.
Vireya had curled into a corner of the boathouse, every muscle coiled, convinced she'd outwitted Rael's men. Pale light filtered through rotted planks as she pressed her back to the damp wood.
A soft creak from the doorway snapped her head around. Before she could slide away, a cloth was slammed against her face and heat pressed into her back. Her palms slapped at the assailant, boots thudded on the floor, then rough fingers yanked her arms behind her.
Vireya's eyes snapped open to half-light and the muffled drip of water. Her wrists throbbed where rough rope bit into her skin. She pressed her face against the cold stone floor, every sense alert for a clue, any sound that might betray who had brought her here. But the only voices were muted, distant, impossible to place.
A gruff whisper drifted through the bars: "Keep her quiet until we are ready to send the message." The speaker's accent was foreign, nothing like Rael's smooth inflections. Vireya's heart hammered, these couldn't be Rael's men or local thugs; she didn't recognize a single tone or turn of phrase.
Outside her cell, boots clacked on stone. She lifted her head, catching the glint of metal against stubble-lit jawlines. Masks hid their faces. Each man's stature spoke of professional training, not a street gang's sloppy bravado. Panic spiked in her chest, she had no idea who'd pulled her from the boathouse, or why they'd chosen her.
One guard tossed a paper onto the floor. It landed at her feet with a soft thud. She hovered over it, heartbeat echoing in her ears, unwilling to read yet desperate for any scrap of information.
Footsteps receded, and the lock clicked. Darkness swallowed her again, but now ignorance weighed heavier than the chains. Whoever these strangers were, they held all the cards, and Vireya had no clue what game she'd been forced into.
Rael sat behind his mahogany desk, the dawn light slanting through floor-to-ceiling windows. His study was immaculate, leather-bound books, a single glass of Scotch untouched. He'd just leaned back to plan his counterstrike when the secure line on his tablet blinked red.
He tapped it. Instantly, the screen filled with four masked figures in a dimly lit warehouse. Between them lay Vireya, unconscious and bruised, her cheek swollen, lips split, hair matted with dried blood.
Rival Voice (distorted, cold): "Rael… look closely. It's your contract bride. Now she's ours."
One of the men lifted Vireya's motionless form by the shoulder, tilting her so Rael could see every cut running down her arm and ribs. The light glinted off the blood on her temple.
Rival Leader: "Twenty-four hours. Come alone to the old textile mill by the docks. No tricks. If you show force, if you send a single man, she dies."
They pressed a phone to Vireya's ear. A faint, unconscious murmur escaped her lips, a last, desperate echo of life. Then the call cut.
Rael's fist crashed into the desk, wood splintering under his blow. He rose in one fluid motion, eyes burning. Glass shattered where the Scotch had sat.
He grabbed his custom 1911 from the safe behind him and slid it into his jacket. Without hesitation, he swept past his stunned men in the corridor. His command crackled through the earpiece: "Prepare the fastest car. I go alone. And ready every angle: the mill, the docks, every rooftop between."
Outside, the estate gates opened. Rael's sedan roared to life. In the passenger seat lay a single, folded contract, his marriage papers with Vireya. He stared at her name on the page, his jaw tightening.
There was no room for mercy. Today, he would face his rivals, and make them regret ever touching what was his.
The pale fingers of morning light seeped through shattered windows, illuminating mounds of discarded looms and coils of frayed thread. Rael's matte-black sedan rolled to a halt on cracked concrete, its engine's low hum swallowed by the cavernous quiet.
He stepped out, heart pounding in time with the rhythmic drip of a leaking pipe. Two Iron Shroud sentries, faces hidden behind forged-iron masks, flanked him, their steps echoing as they guided him toward a lone steel door at the back of the mill.
Inside, a single bulb swung from a frayed cord, casting swaying shadows across the room. On a low metal table beneath it, Vireya lay motionless, her arms bound, bruises blooming along her ribs. Each shallow breath she drew sounded painfully loud in the stillness.
Before Rael could reach her, a guard pressed cold steel against his back and ordered him forward. He complied, every muscle coiled like a spring.
Beyond the table, crates stacked into a crude dais formed a throne for the Iron Shroud's leader. Clad in dark leathers threaded with iron weave, the Riftlord reclined, one booted foot resting on the top crate. His single sleeve was rolled up to reveal a jagged, rift-like scar that ran from wrist to elbow.
Riftlord (smiling with controlled menace): "Good morning, Rael. You and I both know how precious time is at daybreak."
Rael's eyes locked on the scar, then flicked to Vireya's still form. Rage thrummed through him, but he spoke with measured calm.
Rael: "Let her go."
Riftlord leaned forward, fingertips steepled beneath his chin. The iron mask he removed revealed a face as cold and beautiful as forged steel.
Riftlord: "Iron Shroud operates on terms, and today's price is high. You have one hour to recall every hunter you unleashed… or your precious ally greets only dusk's last light."
Sunlight slanted through the broken panes, turning the dust in the air to golden motes. In that suspended moment before Rael answered, predator and prey faced off, and the coming day held its breath.
Rael stood unflinching beneath the weak morning light, hands empty and open by his sides.
Rael (steadfast):
"I came alone. No men, no nothing. I want her free… now."
Riftlord's scarred grin cut the stale air. He leaned forward, folding his hands atop the crate-dais.
Riftlord (cold amusement):
"You still remember, don't you? The Turin operation… 2019. You siphoned every lira from my vault, left me bankrupt and begging for scraps."
Rael's jaw clenched, but his gaze never wavered from Vireya's prone form.
Riftlord (voice dropping like steel):
"Revenge is a hungry beast, Rael. I've waited years to taste yours. Now, I want one hundred million euros… clean, wired to the Black Murex account in under forty-five minutes. Only then does she walk out of this mill alive."
He rose, stretching out his arms as if embracing the crumbling walls.
Riftlord (menacing):
"No tricks. No double-cross. Miss the deadline, and I'll carve a warning into her skin… live, so you can hear every scream."
Silence pressed in. Rael's eyes darkened, calculating. The weight of old sins and a fresh life hung in the balance.
Rael (confident, measured):
"Forty-five minutes is generous. Consider it done. But tell me… one hundred million is all you need? Or is that just the down payment on your grand revenge?"
Silence fell as Riftlord's eyes narrowed. Behind them, Vireya's shallow breaths counted down the next move in this deadly game.
Riftlord's lips curled into a predatory smile as he rose from the crate-dais, the bulb's light glinting off his scar.
Riftlord (soft menace):
"Money's only half the fun, Rael. Transfer me the concession to your Golden Harbor terminal, your most profitable import-export route, and wire the one-hundred million euros."
He paused, letting the weight of his demand settle.
Riftlord (leaning in):
"Do that, and your contract wife walks free. Fail… and you'll watch her drown in regret."
Silence stretched in the dawn-lit mill, broken only by Vireya's labored breathing, and the ticking clock on Rael's next move.
Rael's eyes flicked from Riftlord's scar to the bruised form of Vireya and back again. His jaw worked as he absorbed the demand. The mill's dawn light cut harsh lines across his face, every muscle coiled beneath his jacket.
Rael (voice low, controlled):
"You want my Golden Harbor terminal," he breathed, "the heart of my empire. You realize that's not just a business. It's my leverage over every port from Marseille to Mumbai."
He took a slow step forward, the tension in his shoulders visible even in the pale glow.
Rael (challenging):
"You're asking for my most profitable asset like it's a trinket. What guarantee do I have you'll honor your end of the bargain once you've gutted me?"
Riftlord's grin widened behind the iron mask. He rose, savoring the hesitation in Rael's stance.
Riftlord (cold amusement):
"Guarantee? In our world, guarantees are bullets and broken spines. You give me the terminal's concession papers signed, sealed… and your beauty walks free. No tricks."
Rael's gaze hardened. He glanced at Vireya's shallow breathing, then back at Riftlord.
"If you pull a single betrayal… if she's harmed again… I'll hunt the Iron Shroud to every corner of this earth. I'll burn your docks, sink your freighters, and leave your empire in ash. Do you understand me?"
Riftlord leaned back, folding his arms. The single bulb above rattled.
Riftlord (flat):
"Your threats bore me, Rael. Time's running out."
He swept a hand toward the guards.
Riftlord:
"Thirty minutes, or she dies."
Rael's eyes flashed. He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the secure vault app. Every second was a point of no return, one signature meant forfeiting his greatest stronghold; one delay meant Vireya's life.
In the hushed dawn, two mafia titans measured each other by blood and broken promises, as the clock beneath Vireya's battered form ticked inexorably toward its verdict.
Rael stood over the table, the morning light a pale witness to his torment. Vireya's shallow breaths rattled in the silence, each one a reminder of the price he faced. Riftlord's assassins flanked them, weapons trained on Rael's hands and feet.
His gaze drifted to his pocket where his phone laid, the secure vault app already open on the terminal concession files. He placed a finger on the "Transfer Ownership" button and paused.
Every import route, every container manifest, every bribe and back-channel deal he'd ever made pulsed at his fingertips. Golden Harbor wasn't just wealth, it was leverage over governments, a chokehold on rivals. Losing it could unravel half his empire overnight.
He lifted his eyes to Riftlord's scarred face, cold and unyielding as forged steel. Vireya's labored breathing flickered in his periphery.
Rael inhaled. The tension in his shoulders eased as he made his choice. With a steady thumb, he confirmed the transfer. A soft chime signaled the concession's release.
Rael (voice low, wounded calm):
"Consider it yours. Now free her."
Riftlord's iron-masked grin stretched wider. He gestured to the guards, and one of them untied Vireya, lifting her into Rael's arms with surprising gentleness.
Riftlord (nodding once):
"You did well, Rael. But remember… every debt demands its toll."
As Rael supported Vireya's weakened form, he shot Riftlord a look of buried fury. Even as he carried her toward freedom, his mind sharpened on one vow: this was not the end of their war.
Outside the mill, dawn broke fully, illuminating the shattered remains of Rael's greatest stronghold, his sacrifice for a single life, and the spark that would ignite the vengeance to come.
Rael lifted Vireya in his arms and carried her through the crumbling mill doorway into the pale dawn air. Across the cracked concrete yard sat his own matte-black sedan, armored, low-profile, no license plates. He laid her gently on the reclined backseat and slid behind the wheel himself, closing the door with a soft click.
He pressed the ignition; the engine's purr was almost too loud in the morning hush. Before pulling away, he toggled a hidden switch beneath the dash, GPS, cell signal, any electronic trace vanished in a hiss. His reflection stared back from the tinted glass: cold, determined.
Instead of the main roads, Rael turned onto a forgotten service lane that skirted the docks' eastern perimeter. No CCTV, no streetlights, just rusting warehouses and the rhythmic drip of sluice gates. He shifted gears smoothly, tires whispering over gravel, the sedan's chassis gliding beneath tangled vines.
At the river's edge, he guided the car across a shallow ford at a secret break in the wall. Water sluiced around the wheels, washing away any mud tracks.
Once on the far bank, he threaded through narrow farm roads, past shuttered cottages and fields of wild reeds. Dawn's silver light grew stronger overhead, but here the world felt forgotten, perfect cover. He tapped the dash switch again, restoring minimal signals only enough to call up his estate's private gate code.
From the hillcrest, the mansion appeared through lingering fog, marble columns, silent guard towers, sprawling lawns. Rael guided the sedan down a hidden access drive he'd carved years ago, one only he and his inner circle knew. No guards challenged him; no patrols shadowed his path.
He brought the car to a gentle stop beneath the west colonnade. Keyless, the doors unlocked at his touch. Slipping out, Rael scooped Vireya into his arms once more and carried her through the cool marble halls, every step measured, every echo muted. Behind them, the morning world woke, but Rael's secret route remained buried in silence, a lifeline no rival could ever trace.
Rael carried Vireya through the silent corridors, each marble step echoing off vaulted ceilings. In her suite, he eased her onto the silk-draped bed and drew the curtains against the morning glare. The aftermath of the mill was written across her bruised ribs and swollen brow. Without hesitation, he signaled to the guard: "Send Dr. Moréau, now."
Moments later, a soft knock announced the estate's chief physician, Dr. Helena Moréau, her white coat immaculate despite the early hour. She slipped inside, medical satchel in hand, and assessed Vireya with swift efficiency. Rael stood by the foot of the bed, shoulders tensed, eyes never leaving the doctor's hands.
Dr. Moréau pressed a gloved finger to Vireya's pulse, pause, then murmured, "Concussion, two cracked ribs, significant soft-tissue trauma." She produced a small vial of sedative. "I need to sedate her for at least twelve hours… prevent further strain on the ribs and manage the pain."
Rael's jaw clenched. "Do what you must. Keep her here, guarded. No one enters without my say-so." His voice was ice, but beneath it lay something unspoken, rage.
The doctor nodded and administered the sedative. As Vireya's breathing evened and her eyelids fluttered closed, Dr. Moréau met Rael's gaze. "She'll need bed rest and minimal disturbance. I'll monitor her vitals round-the-clock."
Rael exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time since dawn. He watched Dr. Moréau adjust the IV line, then turned to the windowsill, eyes fixed on the mist-shrouded gardens.
Rael stepped off the private elevator into his office on the 57th floor, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city's skyline. The minimalist space was lined with dark steel and polished glass: a long conference table, a bank of monitors displaying live feeds from every arm of his business empire, and a single leather armchair behind a sleek walnut desk.
He passed the consoles, eyes scanning notifications:
- Import-export manifests showed every container safely delivered.
- Trade platform dashboards glowed green—no sudden withdrawals or flagged transfers.
- Real estate holdings reported steady revenue, precisely as budgeted.
At his desk, Rael tapped open the "Black Murex" escrow ledger he'd set up for Riftlord's ransom. On-screen were timestamped entries of fabricated transfers, six-digit sums, routing confirmations, even a faked SWIFT code. Everything Riftlord believed had moved, in reality, existed only in a mirrored sandbox. No real funds left Rael's vault.
He leaned back, fingertips steepled. A half-empty tumbler of whiskey caught the afternoon light. Rael swirled the amber liquid, savoring the quiet victory. Riftlord would discover the deception too late.
Setting the tablet aside, he stood and walked to the windows. Below, the city pulsed with life, oblivious to the mafia war waging above. Rael's jaw tightened. He'd protected his empire, and now, he would ensure Vireya's recovery, and then lash out.
Vireya sat on the edge of her bed, fingers tracing the dark bloom on her side, each breath a reminder of how close she'd come to freedom, and how violently it had been snatched away.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She pictured his cold gaze, remembered, the steely calm in his voice when he bargained for her life. Release had come at a price she could never repay, yet here she was, trapped under his roof, uncertain whether she'd survive his fury.
A sudden chime jolted her from the spiral of terror. Her heart seized as a small tray glided beneath the door. She stepped forward, every muscle trembling. On the tray lay a single card:
"Ms. Vireya, Mr. Rael requests your presence in his suite."
Her breath caught. Dread flooded her limbs, this summons could be the calm before another storm. She pressed her back against the wall, eyes fixed on the card, and waited for the worst to come.
Vireya's hand shook as she reached the polished steel door of Rael's suite. She raked a breath through bruised ribs and threw her weight into the knock, then pivoted the handle and slipped inside before he could stop her.
He stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, back rigid, shoulders squared. The morning light traced every hard line of his tailored suit, but there was no welcome in his eyes, only silent, coiled fury.
The room held its breath beneath the glow of silent monitors. Rael's jaw clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened; he didn't move a muscle or offer a word. Rage hung between them like a blade ready to fall.
Rael's head whipped around slowly. His gaze burned into Vireya's frightened eyes as he closed the distance in two long strides.
Without a word, he raised his hand and delivered a sharp, resounding slap across her cheek. The crack echoed off the glass walls, and Vireya's head snapped to the side, a hand flying to her stinging face.
Rael stood over her, chest heaving, every inch of his posture radiating seething fury. Vireya's eyes brimmed with shock and pain, the thin line of her mouth trembling as she struggled to find her voice.
Rael loomed over her, voice low and cold:
"I told you not to do anything stupid. You left the estate. You want freedom."
Silence fell again, thick and suffocating. Rael's chest rose and fell with each measured breath. Vireya's gaze flickered between his unforgiving stare and the distant exit she'd risked stepping toward.
Rael's gaze darkened as Vireya pressed against the wall, cradling her stinging cheek. He strode forward and seized her by the upper arms, yanking her from the corner into the center of his suite.
He slammed her back against the smooth glass panel, the impact rattling the frame. Vireya's breath whooshed out; bruised ribs protested with every shallow inhalation. Rael's hands dug into her shoulders, forcing her eyes level with his.
Rael (voice cold iron):
"I warned you… no stupid risks."
He tightened his grip until she gritted her teeth against the pain, then released her just enough that she sagged forward. Before she could crumble entirely, he spun her around by the wrist and pinned her palms to the frosted glass. Her back arched; each breath was a hiss of agony.
Without breaking eye contact, Rael leaned in, thumb pressing beneath her chin, forcing her face up. His voice dropped to a low whisper, every word a blade:
"I warned you about silent movements. You wanted to flee from me… do you know what I would've lost if I wasn't as smart as I am? You decided to act stubborn and leave this estate. Now I will make sure you beg for your own death every day. If you try to run away again, you would hate the way I will slowly make you fade from this earth. Do you understand?!"
Vireya's lips trembled. She nodded, pain softening in her eyes, a whole stream of tears flowing from her eyes down her face. Rael straightened, releasing one wrist only to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, brusque, indifferent to the dark bruise forming there.
He stepped back, gaze cool and unyielding, leaving Vireya pressed against the glass, every tremor a reminder of the price for defiance. Between them hung a silent promise: freedom under his roof, but only at the mercy of his command.