OCTAVIA POV
I wake up drowning.
No—not drowning. Just panic squeezing my lungs so tight I can't breathe. My eyes fly open and I jerk upright, gasping.
Soft sheets. Expensive sheets. The kind I've only seen in magazines.
This isn't my apartment.
The memories slam back. The destroyed apartment. The blood on the walls. The man with amber eyes and that voice—you belong to me now—and then darkness.
I scramble backward until my spine hits a headboard. My heart pounds so hard it hurts.
The room is huge. Floor-to-ceiling windows show a city stretched out below, twinkling like stars. We're high up. Really high. The bed I'm on could fit four people. Everything screams money—the kind my family never had.
I'm still in my damp scrubs. That's something, at least. He didn't... I check quickly. Everything's in place. Relief floods through me, then immediate shame. Why am I relieved? I'm kidnapped. This is bad. This is really, really bad.
I swing my legs off the bed. My shoes are gone but my feet touch soft carpet. There's a door across the room. I run for it.
Locked.
"No, no, no." I yank the handle harder. It doesn't budge.
Another door—a bathroom. Marble everywhere, gold fixtures, a shower big enough for a family. The window is sealed shut. And we're at least forty floors up based on the view.
No escape there.
I catch my reflection in the massive mirror and barely recognize myself. My hair is a tangled mess, mascara smudged under my gray eyes. I look small. Scared. Breakable.
I splash cold water on my face, trying to think. Okay. Okay. Someone kidnapped me. That man said my parents sold me, but that's crazy. They're addicts, sure, but they wouldn't actually—
Except Dad's texts. Bad people are coming. Please.
My stomach drops. He knew. He knew this was going to happen.
Rage burns through the fear. How could they? How could they do this to me?
A sound from the bedroom makes me freeze. The main door opening.
I grab the only weapon I can find—a heavy soap dispenser—and press myself against the bathroom wall.
Footsteps. Slow. Confident.
"I know you're awake," that honey-smooth voice calls out. "I can hear your heartbeat from here."
That's impossible. That's a lie meant to scare me.
It's working.
"Come out, Octavia. I brought breakfast."
He knows my name. Of course he does. He probably knows everything about me.
I grip the soap dispenser tighter. If he comes through this door, I'll smash it against his head and run. Simple plan. It has to work.
"If you make me come in there," he continues, almost amused, "you won't like what happens next."
My hands shake. I hate that they shake. I hate feeling weak.
But I'm trapped in a bathroom forty floors up with no way out and no way to fight a man twice my size.
I step into the doorway, soap dispenser raised. "Stay back."
He's standing by a small table near the windows, setting down a tray. When he turns to face me, my breath catches.
The man from last night is even more devastating in daylight. He wears a black suit that probably costs more than my entire year's tuition. His dark hair is perfectly styled. Those amber-gold eyes study me with an intensity that makes my skin heat.
He's beautiful. Terrifyingly, impossibly beautiful.
And he's smiling at my pathetic weapon.
"A soap dispenser? Creative." He pulls out a chair. "Sit. Eat. We need to talk."
"Where are my parents?" My voice shakes but I force the words out. "What did you do to them?"
"They're alive. For now." He sits in the opposite chair, completely relaxed. "Whether they stay that way depends on you."
The soap dispenser slips from my fingers and thuds on the carpet.
"Sit down, Octavia."
"No."
His eyes flash—something dangerous. "That wasn't a request."
"I don't care." The fear is still there but anger is stronger now. "You kidnapped me. You don't get to order me around like—"
"Like you belong to me?" He stands smoothly, and suddenly he's crossing the room toward me. "But you do. Your parents made sure of that."
I back up until I hit the wall. He keeps coming until he's right in front of me, so close I can smell him—expensive cologne and something darker.
"Don't touch me," I whisper.
"I'm not." He braces one hand on the wall beside my head, leaning in. Not touching but trapping me. "But I could. I own you, little dove. Every breath you take is mine."
Tears burn my eyes. I refuse to let them fall. "You can't own a person."
"Tell that to your parents." His voice is cold now. "They owed my boss Konstantin Voss two hundred thousand dollars. When they couldn't pay, they offered you as collateral. Signed papers and everything. Very official."
The room spins. Two hundred thousand dollars? How could they—
"I was supposed to deliver you to Konstantin last night," he continues. "He has... specific tastes. Enjoys breaking pretty things."
My blood turns to ice. "Then why didn't you?"
He tilts his head, studying me like I'm a puzzle. "Good question. I've been asking myself that all night."
His finger—just one finger—traces my jawline. I flinch but can't move away.
"Maybe because you looked at me with those defiant eyes even while crying," he murmurs. "Maybe because something about you made me... curious."
"Please." I hate how my voice breaks. "Please just let me go. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again. I won't tell anyone—"
"No."
"I have a life. School. Jobs. People who need me—"
"Not anymore." He steps back, and I can breathe again. "Your old life is over. You live here now. With me."
He walks back to the table and picks up a folder. Tosses it to me.
I catch it with shaking hands. Inside is a contract. Pages and pages of legal terms I don't understand. But some words jump out: submit, obey, punishment, sexual services, duration until debt paid in full.
My vision blurs. "I'm not signing this."
"Then I deliver you to Konstantin tonight." He pulls out his phone, shows me a video.
It's my mother. Tied to a chair in a dark room, her face bruised and swollen. She's screaming. A man's hand—just visible at the edge of the frame—slaps her hard across the face.
"Stop!" I lunge forward. "Stop it, please!"
He pauses the video. "Sign the contract, and they live. Refuse, and I send them back to Konstantin piece by piece. Your choice."
There's no choice. There's never been a choice.
My hands shake so badly I can barely hold the pen. Each signature feels like signing away my soul. My freedom. Everything I am.
When I finish, he takes the contract and smiles. "Good girl. See? You can be obedient when properly motivated."
I want to throw the pen at his face. Want to scream and fight and make him hurt the way I'm hurting.
Instead, I ask the question burning in my throat: "What's your name?"
He pauses at the door, looks back. "Dante. Dante Corsaro."
"And what happens now, Dante?" I force myself to meet his eyes. "What do you want from me?"
His smile is slow and absolutely terrifying.
"Everything."
The door closes behind him. I hear the lock click.
I sink to the floor, contract crumpled in my fist, and finally let myself cry.
But through the tears, my mind is racing. He said he was supposed to deliver me to Konstantin. That means he's not the boss. He's working for someone.
Which means he disobeyed orders to keep me.
Why?
And more importantly—can I use that?
I wipe my eyes, stand up, and walk to the window. Forty floors up. No way down. No way out.
Not yet.
But I've survived my parents' addiction. Survived working two jobs while going to school. Survived poverty and debt and disappointment.
I'll survive this too.
And when I find a way out, Dante Corsaro will regret ever hearing my name.
The door opens again. I spin around.
Dante stands there with a garment bag. "Get cleaned up. We're going out."
"Out?" Confusion replaces anger. "Where?"
"Shopping. You'll need proper clothes." His eyes rake over my scrubs with distaste. "Everything in your closet now belongs to me. Including you."
He leaves the garment bag and exits again before I can respond.
I unzip it with trembling fingers.
Inside is a dress. Black, expensive, beautiful.
And on top, a handwritten note in elegant script:
Wear this. Obey me. And maybe—just maybe—you'll see your parents alive again.
But try to run, little dove, and you'll learn exactly how cruel I can be.
Choose wisely.
- D
I stare at the note until the words blur.
He's giving me a choice, but it's no choice at all.
And something tells me this is just the beginning.