Lila Hart woke to sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city skyline mocked her with its freedom.
The silk sheets clung to her skin, reminders of last night's torment—Alexander Knight's touch, his teasing promises, the heat of his body that had left her trembling with unwanted desire.
She sat upright, heart pounding, the contract's weight pressing heavier than the bed beneath her.
She had signed herself over to the devil.
The bedroom door opened.
A maid stepped in, her face blank, voice clipped.
"Miss Hart, Mr. Knight requests your presence in the dining room."
Disdain laced her tone, her eyes raking over Lila as though she were dirt dragged across the pristine penthouse floor.
Lila's cheeks burned.
"I'm not his mistress," she snapped.
The maid didn't answer.
She only placed a sleek black dress on the chair and left.
Lila's stomach twisted.
He had chosen her clothes—marking her as his before she even stepped out of the room.
In the dining room, Alexander sat at a glass table.
His tailored suit cut sharp as a blade.
Blue eyes locked on her, blazing with the same hunger that had haunted her since that storm-soaked night two years ago, when she had dragged him from a burning wreck.
She'd saved his life.
Now he had made her his prisoner.
"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the chair beside him.
Smooth voice, but possession dripped from every syllable.
"You're moving in. This penthouse is your home now."
Lila froze.
Her fists curled tight.
"This isn't a home. It's a cage."
She glared at him, ignoring the elegant spread of food—caviar, fresh fruit, pastries that mocked her empty stomach.
"I'm not your doll to dress and keep."
His lips curved, dangerous amusement sparking.
"You signed the contract, Lila. You're mine for a year. My home, my rules."
He rose, circling her like a predator, fingertips brushing the bare skin of her shoulder where the dress dipped low.
A shiver darted through her, heat she despised flooding her veins.
His hand lingered, slow and deliberate, igniting a pulse she wanted to deny.
"You can't own me," she whispered.
Her voice faltered as his touch slid down her arm, grazing the curve of her waist.
He leaned close, breath hot against her ear, lips ghosting her skin.
"I already do," he murmured, voice rough with hunger.
"Every breath, every heartbeat—they're mine."
His grip tightened, pulling her against him until the hard evidence of his desire pressed into her hip.
Her breath hitched, a traitorous sound trembling at her lips.
The door swung open.
A butler cleared his throat.
"Sir, your schedule."
Eyes averted, yet judging.
The interruption shattered the moment, but the staff's glances branded her mistress, each look cutting deep into her pride.
Humiliation seared.
Resolve flared.
She couldn't stay—couldn't suffocate beneath his obsession.
She waited until Alexander's pen scratched across documents.
Then she slipped away, pulse hammering as she bolted for the private elevator.
Freedom hovered close.
But when the doors slid open, two guards filled the space.
Black suits. Stone faces.
"Miss Hart, return to the penthouse," one ordered, tone flat and unyielding.
Lila's chest heaved, panic clawing her throat.
She shoved forward, but hands clamped on her arms—firm, careful, as though she were delicate property.
"Let me go!" she screamed.
She kicked, thrashed, but they dragged her back.
The penthouse doors loomed like prison gates.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Alexander's shadow fell over her, heavy as a storm.
She turned, meeting his eyes—blue fire blazing with betrayal.
"Did you really think you could run from me?"
His voice was low, lethal, each word a blade of promised punishment.
He stepped closer, towering over her.
His hand gripped her chin, forcing her gaze upward.
"You're mine, Lila. And I never let what's mine go."
Her pulse thundered.
Fear and defiance clashed with the unwanted heat his touch sparked.
What would he do to her now?