He didn't take her that night.He didn't have to.
He just made sure she understood.Every inch of her belonged to him—On his terms.On his time.
Elara lay stiff in the vast bed, trapped in the iron circle of Damien Vance's arms.His chest pressed against her back, his breath hot on her neck.Every exhale felt like a warning.
The silk negligee he'd chosen clung to her skin.Beautiful. Fragile.A mockery of freedom.
Sleep came in short bursts.Every time she stirred, his grip tightened—A silent command.Stay.Submit.Be mine.
Morning light sliced through the penthouse windows.Harsh. Unforgiving.
Elara jerked awake, her pulse racing.Damien was already watching her.One arm propped under his head.Hair slightly tousled.Eyes cold as steel.
"Good morning, wife."His voice was low. Smooth.Too satisfied.
She pulled the sheet higher. Pointless. The silk barely covered her.His gaze followed every movement like a claim.
"Don't," she whispered."Don't look at me like that."
His lips curved, slow and predatory."Like what?"He leaned closer. Fingers brushed her jaw."Like you're mine?"
Her stomach twisted.She wanted to scream. To shove him away.But the weight of the contract sat heavy in her chest.Her signature. Her prison.Her family's survival.
He leaned in until his breath warmed her ear."You are, Elara. Every breath. Every heartbeat. Every inch of you. Get used to it."
A sharp knock cut through the air.Damien's expression shifted instantly—business mode.
"Get up," he ordered, already out of bed. "We have a busy day."
Her legs shook as she followed him into the main room.The penthouse buzzed with strangers.
A stylist.A nutritionist.A doctor.
All of them moving with quiet precision—like soldiers following orders.
The stylist approached first, arms full of garment bags."Mr. Vance prefers sophistication," she said briskly, handing Elara an emerald gown.
The fabric shimmered under the light.Tight. Elegant. Exposed.
Elara stood still while the woman adjusted the straps, tugging and pinning until she barely recognized herself in the mirror.Pale skin. Haunted eyes.A stranger wearing her face.
Next came the nutritionist. Thin. Nervous.He handed her a color-coded schedule.
"High protein, low carbs, no alcohol," he rattled off, avoiding eye contact. "We want your body in optimal condition for conception."
The word hit her like a slap.Conception.
She swallowed hard.They didn't see her.Not as a person.Only as a vessel.
Then came the doctor.A woman with sharp eyes and colder hands.
"Sit," she said.
Elara obeyed.The needle pierced her arm, blood filling the vial.
"Mr. Vance wants a full fertility panel," the doctor said, writing notes."Everything must be ready for him."
For him.Always for him.
The sting in her arm was nothing compared to the humiliation flooding her chest.Her body was being cataloged. Controlled.Prepared.
When they left, she finally crumbled.Her knees buckled.Her breath came in shallow bursts.
The emerald gown clung to her like chains.The meal plan sat on the counter—a schedule for her captivity.And the needle mark throbbed like a brand.
The door opened.Damien.
Perfectly dressed. Perfectly composed.His gray eyes swept over her like a scan.
"You look perfect," he said softly."Exactly as I imagined."
Her hands clenched."This isn't me," she said, voice shaking. "This is your fantasy. Not my life."
His eyes darkened."Your life," he said quietly, "is whatever I say it is."
He stepped closer."Come with me."
He led her to his office.Cold. Expansive.Every inch of it screamed control.
A velvet-lined box sat on the desk.
"Sit," he ordered.
She obeyed, heart hammering.
He opened the box.Inside, a diamond choker gleamed like frost.
It was stunning. And terrifying.
"What is that?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.Instead, he lifted it.
The metal brushed her neck—cool, delicate, deceptive.Then came the click.Final. Unforgiving.
Her fingers flew to the clasp.There wasn't one.
Her chest tightened. "What did you do?"
Damien held up a small silver key."My mark," he said simply.
He slid the key onto his chain.Locked it into his pocket.
"So you never forget who you belong to," he murmured, brushing his fingers along her throat."Even when I'm not here to remind you."
Her hands trembled.The diamonds bit into her skin.She could barely breathe.
"This is too much," she choked out. "I can't—"
"You can." His voice hardened."And you will."
His thumb lifted her chin until their eyes locked."You're mine, Elara. This—"He tapped the choker."—is just proof."
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
He stepped back, studying her like art he'd commissioned."We have dinner tonight," he said."You'll wear what I choose.You'll smile.You'll be perfect.And you'll remember who you belong to."
The door shut behind him.
Elara sat frozen.The choker pressed against her pulse, every beat a reminder.
Her heart pounded with one truth—She was his.
For now.