Morning arrived too soon.
Too much light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her beautiful prison.
Elara had barely slept after Kael's midnight vigil.
Her dreams broke apart under the weight of his silhouette against the city lights—
and that promise that sounded more like a threat: Nothing in this world can harm you while I'm here.
She found him in the kitchen.
Impeccably dressed, charcoal suit, probably worth more than her old car.
A tablet in his hand.
A cup of coffee steaming but untouched beside him.
He looked up when she entered, eyes dark and exact, cataloging her like someone taking inventory.
Assessing the merchandise.
"You look tired," he said.
His voice held that clinical detachment she was starting to recognize as his default when discussing her wellbeing.
"I wonder why," she muttered, pouring herself coffee from a machine that looked like it belonged on a spaceship.
"The nightmare, or my presence afterward?"
Both. Definitely both.
"Does it matter?" She sipped coffee that was—annoyingly—perfect.
Everything in his world was perfect.
The apartment, the clothes, the food, his total control over her life.
"It matters to me."
He set down the tablet and gave her his full attention.
It always felt like being pinned beneath a microscope.
"I need you at your best tonight."
Tonight. Right. Because there's always something, isn't there?
"What's tonight?"
"The Meridian Foundation Gala. Five hundred of the city's most influential people—celebrating charitable giving while networking and displaying their wealth."
His smile was sharp as winter wind.
"It's where we make our debut."
Debut. Like we're a new product being launched.
"Our debut as what?"
"As the city's newest power couple, naturally."
He crossed to a briefcase she hadn't noticed, withdrawing something that caught the morning light and threw it back in prismatic fragments.
"Which reminds me—you'll need this."
Oh God. Please don't let it be what I think it is.
It was exactly what she thought.
The ring box—midnight blue velvet, sin against her fingertips.
Inside, a diamond pulsed with its own internal light.
A stone so large and flawless it looked like captured starfire.
This isn't a ring. This is a down payment on a small country.
"Twenty-two carats," Kael said casually, as if discussing the weather.
"Flawless D-color, cushion cut, surrounded by pink diamonds from the Argyle mine."
Pink diamonds. Because regular diamonds weren't expensive enough.
"It's…" She searched for words that wouldn't sound ungrateful or overwhelmed.
"It's very impressive."
"It's a statement."
He moved around the kitchen island with predatory grace, stopping close enough for her to smell his cologne—bergamot and something darker, more dangerous.
"About my intentions. About your value. About the permanence of our arrangement."
Permanence. We agreed to six months.
"I thought this was temporary," she said, staring at the ring that mocked her with its beauty and weight.
"The contract is six months," he corrected, taking the box from her nerveless fingers.
"But some things transcend contractual obligations."
Such as your obsession with owning me.
He lifted the ring from its velvet nest, holding it up to catch the light.
"Give me your hand."
This is really happening. He's really going to put that thing on my finger in front of five hundred people.
"Kael—"
"Your hand, Elara."
Steel edged his voice.
Refusal wasn't an option.
She extended her left hand, surprised at how steady it was despite the chaos in her chest.
His fingers were warm circling her wrist.
Gentle, yet carrying that undertone of possession that made her breath catch.
The ring slid onto her finger with perfect ease, as if made specifically for her.
Which it probably was. He plans everything.
"Perfect fit," he murmured, thumb tracing the band.
"Though I shouldn't be surprised."
You measured my finger while I was sleeping, didn't you? Of course you did.
The ring felt impossibly heavy, a beautiful shackle.
She flexed her fingers, watching rainbows scatter across the marble countertop.
"I can't wear this," she whispered.
"You can and you will."
His grip tightened fractionally.
"Tonight you'll be introduced to everyone who matters in this city. Politicians. CEOs. Old money families who trace their lineage back to the Mayflower."
And they'll all think I'm your devoted fiancée instead of your captive.
"What am I supposed to tell them about our love story?"
"The truth, with minor modifications."
His smile was all teeth and dark promises.
"We met through mutual friends. Were instantly attracted. After a whirlwind romance, I knew I couldn't live without you."
Whirlwind romance. Is that what we're calling kidnapping now?
"What if someone asks for details?"
"Then you'll improvise."
He released her wrist, though she still felt the phantom heat of his touch.
"You're intelligent, well-educated, surprisingly good at thinking on your feet when properly motivated. Just remember—every person you meet tonight can be an asset or a threat to our arrangement."
Our arrangement. Not our relationship. Not our engagement. Our arrangement.
"And if I mess up? Say the wrong thing? Don't play my part convincingly?"
Something cold and terrible flickered behind his beautiful eyes.
"Then you'll discover that social embarrassment is the least of your concerns."
Threat received and understood.
"Tell me about tonight," she said quickly, trying to steer away from consequences.
"The Meridian Foundation supports medical research—specifically cancer treatment initiatives."
His voice turned businesslike, efficient.
"Several board members have investments that could benefit from the Swiss pharmaceutical partnership I mentioned."
Cancer research. Of course. He's using my mother's illness as networking leverage.
"So this isn't really about charity."
"Angel, nothing at this level is ever really about charity."
He faced the window, hands clasped behind his back, looking down at the city sprawling below.
"It's about power, influence, and the careful cultivation of mutually beneficial relationships. Tonight is about establishing us as a fixture in that world."
Us. There is no us. There's you and your latest acquisition.
"What should I wear?"
"Already taken care of."
He gestured toward a garment bag she hadn't noticed near the kitchen entrance.
"Along with shoes, jewelry, everything you'll need to look appropriately spectacular."
Appropriately spectacular. Like I'm a display piece.
She walked to the garment bag with growing dread, like someone opening a present they couldn't refuse.
The zipper revealed a gown that stole her breath—midnight blue silk flowing like liquid starlight, cut to emphasize every curve while keeping an air of elegance.
It's beautiful. Of course it's beautiful. Everything he chooses is beautiful.
"How did you know my size?"
"I know everything about you, remember?"
His reflection appeared in the window behind her, dark and perfectly composed.
"Height, weight, measurements, preferred style, the fact you've never owned anything costing more than two hundred dollars."
Until now. Now I'm wearing millions of dollars in diamonds and silk.
"This dress probably costs more than I used to make in a year."
"Considerably more."
His smile was sharp as broken glass.
"But you're not the struggling waitress anymore. You're Kael Thorne's fiancée, and that comes with certain… expectations."
Expectations. Like being dressed up and paraded as proof of your domestication.
"What if people don't believe it? What if they can tell this is fake?"
He turned from the window, moving toward her with that predator's grace.
"It won't be fake," he said, voice dropping to a velvet whisper that bypassed her conscious mind.
"By tonight, you'll believe it yourself."
No. I won't. I can't.
"That's impossible."
"Is it?"
He stopped close enough to touch her, close enough for her to see the gold flecks in his dark eyes.
"You've been living in my home. Wearing my ring. Depending on me for everything from food to safety. How long before that starts to feel normal? How long before you can't imagine any other way?"
It already feels normal. God help me, it already feels normal.
"Six months," she said weakly. "The contract says six months."
"The contract says six months minimum," he corrected, tracing the line of the ring on her finger.
"But we both know this arrangement will last much longer."
No. No, it's not. I won't let it.
Yet looking at the ring catching firelight, the dress that would transform her, his face with its promises she was afraid to understand—
she realized with growing horror he might be right.
This is how it happens. This is how he makes me forget who I used to be.
"The car will arrive at seven," he said, straightening his tie with mechanical precision.
"We'll make our entrance at seven-thirty, fashionably late enough to ensure everyone notices."
Everyone notices. Of course. Because this is all about being seen.
"Smile, Elara."
His voice carried that dangerous edge that meant consequences were being calculated.
"Play your part convincingly, and remember—every eye in that room will be on what's mine."
What's mine. Not who's mine. What's mine.
The possessiveness in those words made her skin crawl and her pulse race at once.
Because looking into those beautiful, terrible dark eyes, she realized tonight wasn't just about making their relationship public.
It was about making her transformation complete.
And once five hundred of the city's most powerful people saw her on his arm, wearing his ring, playing the part of his devoted fiancée, there would be no going back to who she used to be.
Every eye in that room will be on what's mine.
The promise followed her as she walked toward her room, preparing for the performance that might save her—
or damn her completely.