The world whispered his name, but never too loudly.
Scarlett stopped dead in the doorway of her modest living room, her grocery bags slipping from nerveless fingers. Apples rolled across the worn wooden floor, forgotten.
The crime lord everyone whispered about sat on her threadbare couch as if he belonged there, as if the peeling wallpaper and water-stained ceiling were part of his dark empire.
His red eyes glowed in the dim light, predatory and ancient. Beautiful and terrible all at once.
Silver hair fell across his forehead in an artful mess that spoke of casual violence and careless elegance.
He wore all black—an expensive suit that probably cost more than her entire apartment building.
One long leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he watched her with the patience of a dragon who had all the time in the world.
Around the room, his men stood like statues. Full tactical gear, automatic weapons held with casual expertise. They had locked down every exit, every window. The air itself felt trapped, suffocating under the weight of their presence.
But it was the sound that made Scarlett's blood run cold.
Sobbing.
Her parents knelt on the floor before him, hands clasped together in desperate prayer. Her father's face was bruised, one eye already swelling shut. Her mother's mascara ran in black rivers down her hollow cheeks.
"Please," her father begged, voice cracking. "Please, Mr. Sylus, we need more time. Just one more month, we can get the money—"
"You've had six months." Sylus's voice was smooth velvet over steel. Deep and cultured, with an edge that promised violence.
"And in that time, your debt has only grown. With interest, you now owe me 2.3 million."
Scarlett's mind reeled. 2.3 million? How could they possibly—
Her mother let out a wail. "We don't have it! We'll never have it! Please, have mercy—"
"I don't do mercy." Sylus shifted slightly, and the movement drew every eye in the room. Power radiated from him like heat from a furnace. "But I do accept... alternative forms of payment."
That's when his gaze fixed on Scarlett.
Those red eyes locked onto her face with an intensity that stole the breath from her lungs. Something flickered in their depths—
recognition, hunger, something almost like wonder. He tilted his head, studying her the way a collector might study a rare gemstone finally come into his possession.
Time seemed to stop.
Scarlett felt pinned in place, a butterfly on display. Her heart hammered against her ribs so hard she thought it might break free. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her feet refused to move.
Sylus smiled. It was a slow, dangerous curve of his lips that never reached his eyes.
"Her," he said simply, as if he were selecting fruit at a market. "I'll take her as payment."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"What?" Scarlett finally found her voice, though it came out as barely more than a whisper. "No. No, you can't—"
"Scarlett!" Her father lurched forward, still on his knees. "Sweetheart, please, you have to understand—"
"You're going to sell me?" The words tasted like ash in her mouth. Fury and terror warred in her chest, making it hard to breathe. "To pay off your gambling debts?"
Her mother sobbed harder, but neither parent denied it.
Sylus uncrossed his legs and stood in one fluid movement. He was massive—easily 190 centimeters of lethal grace and controlled power. He moved like liquid shadow, crossing the small room in three strides until he stood directly in front of Scarlett.
She barely reached his shoulder. At 160 centimeters, she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, and the position made her feel even more vulnerable. Small. Prey.
"Scarlett," he said, testing her name on his tongue like he was savoring wine. His voice dropped lower, more intimate.
"What a fitting name. Red, like blood. Like passion." He reached out slowly, giving her time to flinch away, and caught a strand of her hair between his fingers. "Like fate."
"Don't touch me." She jerked back, but there was nowhere to go. One of his men stood directly behind her, a wall of muscle and weapons.
Sylus's smile widened a fraction.
"You have a choice, kitten."
The endearment should have sounded absurd, but from his lips it sounded like a claim. Like ownership. "You can come with me willingly, become my wife, live in luxury most people only dream of..."
He paused, reaching behind his back. When his hand reappeared, he held a sleek black pistol. "Or I can paint these walls with your mother's brain matter, then your father's, then yours. The debt will be settled either way."
He pressed the cold barrel against her mother's forehead with casual indifference.
Her mother's eyes rolled back, her whole body shaking. "Scarlett, please—"
"Stop!" The word ripped from Scarlett's throat. "Stop, I'll do it. I'll go with you. Just... just don't hurt them."
The gun disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
Sylus's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes softened almost imperceptibly. "A wise choice, sweetie."
He turned to his men with a sharp gesture. "We're done here. The debt is settled."
Then, to her parents, still kneeling on the floor, "If you contact her, if you attempt to see her, if you so much as breathe her name in public, I will know. And I will finish what we started here tonight. Understood?"
They both nodded frantically, pathetically grateful to be alive.
Sylus placed a hand on the small of Scarlett's back—possessive, proprietary. His touch burned through the thin fabric of her shirt. "Come, kitten. We have arrangements to make. We'll be married within the week."
"Married?" Scarlett's voice cracked. "I don't even know you!"
"You will." He guided her toward the door with inexorable pressure. "You'll know me better than anyone alive. I'll make sure of it."
She looked back once at her parents, still huddled on the floor of the shabby apartment. They wouldn't meet her eyes. Shame and relief warred on their faces—relief that they were alive, shame that their daughter was the price.
The night air hit her face like a slap as Sylus led her outside. A convoy of black SUVs lined the street, sleek and expensive and completely out of place in her working-class neighborhood. Curtains twitched in nearby windows. Tomorrow, the whole building would be buzzing with gossip.
Sylus opened the door of the center vehicle himself, one hand on her elbow as if afraid she might bolt. "After you."
Scarlett climbed in on shaking legs. The interior was all black leather and tinted windows. It smelled like expensive cologne and danger.
Sylus slid in beside her, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers. He didn't move away. Instead, he reached across her to buckle her seatbelt himself, his face inches from hers. His breath ghosted across her cheek.
"There," he murmured. "Safe and sound."
The door closed with a heavy thunk that sounded like a prison cell locking.
As the convoy pulled away from the only home she'd ever known, Scarlett stared out the window and tried not to cry.
She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Wouldn't show weakness to this beautiful monster who had just bought her like property.
"You're afraid of me," Sylus observed. He wasn't looking at her, but somehow she knew his attention was focused entirely on her.
"That's good. Fear will keep you from doing anything foolish."
"I hate you," she whispered.
"Not yet, you don't." There was something strange in his voice. Something almost like sadness. "But you will. Before this is over, you'll hate me more than you thought it possible to hate anyone."
Scarlett finally turned to look at him. In the passing streetlights, his profile was sharp and perfect, like a statue carved by a master. "Then why are you doing this?"
He was quiet for so long she didn't think he would answer. Then, so softly she almost didn't hear it:
"Because losing you once was enough for a thousand lifetimes."
She didn't understand what that meant. Didn't want to understand. This man was insane, clearly. Dangerously insane.
The city lights blurred past as they drove deeper into the night, toward the N109 Zone. Toward the restricted area where crime lords built their empires and the law feared to tread. Toward a gilded cage and a forced marriage and a life she never asked for.
Scarlett didn't sleep that night. Or the next. Or the one after that.
In three days, she would wear white and promise herself to a dragon. In three days, her life as she knew it would end.
And the man beside her, with his red eyes and silver hair and devastating smile, would become her husband.
Her captor.
Her monster.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.