The night still lingered in Sharon's mind when Akon pulled up outside her aunt's house the next morning. His black car gleamed under the Italian sun, like a shadow waiting for her. She hesitated on the doorstep, her hands trembling against the strap of her bag, yet some invisible thread pulled her toward him.
When she slid into the passenger seat, Akon's eyes didn't leave her face. That gaze was overwhelming—half a caress, half a claim.
"You didn't sleep," he murmured, his deep voice brushing over her skin like silk.
Sharon looked away, clutching her hands together. "It's nothing. I just… had things on my mind."
"You're lying." His hand moved across the console, taking hers. Large, warm, unyielding. "I can hear the storm in your silence, Sharon. You don't have to carry it alone anymore."
The words should have comforted her, but instead they stirred something dangerous inside her chest. A warning. A temptation.
They didn't go to the café, as she expected. Instead, Akon drove her out of the city, his silence heavy with intent. After nearly an hour, they reached a villa on the cliffs, overlooking the sea. The waves crashed below, wild and endless, as though echoing the chaos in Sharon's chest.
She froze. "Why are we here?"
Akon stepped out first, then opened her door, his hand extended. "Because I can't let you run anymore. And because you deserve more than crowded cafés and sleepless nights. You deserve a world where you're safe—where you belong."
His words felt like both a promise and a sentence. Sharon's instincts told her to resist, but the way he looked at her—like she was oxygen to a drowning man—left her unable to move.
Inside the villa, everything was drenched in quiet luxury. Marble floors, long windows, the scent of roses and salt air. But the most dangerous thing was not the wealth—it was Akon himself, pacing like a lion in his den, circling her with his presence.
"Sharon," he said, his voice low, almost pleading. "You think I'm just obsessed. Maybe I am. But you don't understand—I've already lived without you once, and it was hell. I won't do it again."
Her breath caught. "You can't just decide that. I'm not—"
"You are." He cut her off, closing the space between them. His hand cupped her cheek, gently this time, reverently. "You are mine. Not because I want to own you, but because I want to worship you. Protect you. Love you until you forget what loneliness feels like."
The tenderness in his voice shook her more than his intensity ever had. Sharon's heart betrayed her, thudding faster, aching with something she wasn't ready to name.
That night, he didn't touch her beyond the brush of his hand on her cheek, the press of his palm at the small of her back. But the intimacy was in everything: the way he poured her a glass of wine, the way he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the way his eyes devoured her like she was the only star in his sky.
When she finally went to the room he'd prepared for her, Sharon stood by the balcony, staring at the sea, her chest heavy with conflict. She should have been afraid. She should have been angry. But instead… she felt seen. Wanted. Alive.
And downstairs, Akon sat alone in the dark, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand, whispering to himself like a vow etched in blood and fire:
"She'll learn to love me. And when she does, she'll never escape."