OCTAVIA POV
I don't sleep.
How can I? Every time I close my eyes, I see my parents tied to chairs. Hear my mother screaming. Feel Dante's hands pinning me against that dressing room wall.
So I sit on this expensive bed in this prison-palace and watch the sun rise over a city that doesn't know I'm trapped here.
My stomach growls. I haven't eaten since yesterday's hospital shift—a granola bar I scarfed down between patients. That feels like a lifetime ago.
The dress Dante made me wear is uncomfortable. Too tight, too revealing. I want my scrubs back. Want my tiny apartment with its broken heater and stained carpet. Want my normal, exhausted, broke life.
I'd give anything to have yesterday's problems back.
A key turns in the lock.
My heart jumps into my throat. I scramble off the bed, looking for a weapon. Anything.
The door opens.
Dante enters carrying a tray like this is normal. Like he's bringing breakfast to a guest, not his prisoner.
He looks different in daylight streaming through the windows. Still terrifyingly beautiful, but tired. Dark circles under those amber eyes. His suit is wrinkled like he slept in it.
Good. I hope I kept him up all night.
"Good morning." His voice is too cheerful. "I brought food."
"I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours. You're starving." He sets the tray on a small table by the windows. "Sit."
"No."
His jaw tightens. "Octavia—"
"That's not my name anymore, right?" I cross my arms, trying to stop shaking. "You own me now. Shouldn't you give me a new name? Something that matches your fancy apartment?"
"Sit. Down." Each word is clipped. Dangerous.
But I'm done being scared. Scared didn't help last night. Scared didn't stop him from kidnapping me or forcing me to sign that horrible contract.
"Make me."
Wrong thing to say.
He crosses the room in three strides. Grabs my wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that I can't pull away—and drags me to the chair.
"Sit."
I sit. Mostly because my legs give out.
He takes the chair across from me, watching me like a teacher watching a difficult student. It makes my skin crawl.
The tray has fancy food. Scrambled eggs with herbs I can't name. Fresh fruit cut into perfect pieces. Toast that probably costs more than my usual breakfast of stale cereal.
My stomach growls again. Traitor.
"Eat," Dante says. It's not a request.
I pick up the fork with shaking hands. The eggs taste like heaven. I hate that. Hate that his prison food is better than anything I've eaten in months.
I eat because I need strength. Because refusing to eat only hurts me, not him.
He watches every bite. It's creepy.
"Why are you staring?" I demand around a mouthful of toast.
"Making sure you eat. You're too thin."
"I work two jobs and go to school. I don't have time to eat."
"Worked," he corrects. "Past tense. You don't have those jobs anymore."
The toast turns to ash in my mouth. "They'll wonder where I am. My manager, my professors—"
"Already handled. You had a family emergency. Took a leave of absence."
Ice floods my veins. "You... how did you..."
"I'm very good at my job, Octavia." He leans back, looking pleased with himself. "Your emails are forwarded to me. Your phone is disconnected. As far as anyone knows, you're taking care of your sick mother."
My mother. Who's tied up somewhere because of debts I didn't know about.
"Where are they?" I set down my fork, appetite gone. "My parents. You said they're alive. Prove it."
Dante pulls out his phone. Taps the screen. Slides it across the table.
The video shows a concrete room. My parents sit on a bare mattress, alive but looking terrible. Mom's face is still bruised. Dad is hunched over, defeated.
But they're breathing. Moving.
Relief and rage war in my chest.
"This was taken an hour ago," Dante says. "They're fed twice a day. They have water, a bathroom. If you behave, they stay comfortable."
"If I behave." I taste bile. "And if I don't?"
His expression hardens. "Don't find out."
I shove the phone back at him. "You're a monster."
"Yes." No denial. No excuse. Just agreement. "But I'm the monster keeping you safe from worse monsters. Remember that."
"Safe?" I laugh, and it sounds broken. "You kidnapped me!"
"Konstantin Voss would have done much worse." Dante's voice drops. "I've seen what he does to his pets. Breaks them in ways that never heal. At least with me, you have rules. Boundaries. A chance."
"A chance at what? Being your slave?"
"A chance to survive." He stands, towering over me. "Two weeks. That's all I'm asking. Two weeks of cooperation, and then—"
"And then what? You hand me over to Konstantin anyway?"
Silence. His face is unreadable.
That's answer enough.
"Get out." My voice shakes with fury. "Get out or I'll scream until someone hears me."
"We're forty floors up. The windows are soundproof. Scream all you want." He heads for the door. "Someone will bring you clothes. Get dressed. We're going out."
"I'm not going anywhere with you!"
He pauses at the threshold. Looks back with something almost like sympathy.
"You signed a contract, Octavia. You belong to me now. The sooner you accept that, the less painful this becomes."
The door closes. Locks.
I grab the breakfast plate and throw it at the door. It shatters, eggs and fruit sliding down the expensive wood.
It doesn't make me feel better.
I sink to the floor, hugging my knees, and finally let myself fall apart. Really fall apart. Not the crying from last night—that was fear. This is grief.
For my old life. For my future. For the version of me that died in that apartment.
I cry until I'm empty. Until there's nothing left but a hollow ache in my chest.
Then I stand up.
If I only have two weeks before he hands me over to someone worse, I need a plan. I need to find out everything about Dante Corsaro. His weaknesses. His secrets. His lies.
Because everyone has them. Even beautiful monsters.
I clean up the broken plate, wash my face, and start searching the room. Really searching.
The closet has designer clothes in my exact size—creepy. The bathroom has expensive makeup and toiletries. Everything a prisoner could want except freedom.
But then I find it.
Under the bathroom sink, hidden behind cleaning supplies no one ever uses in a place like this: a small vent. The screws are loose like someone removed them before.
My heart pounds. Could it lead somewhere? Could I—
The bedroom door opens again.
I slam the cabinet shut and stand up too fast, guilty.
A woman enters. Tall, dark-skinned, elegant. She's carrying garment bags and eyeing me with open curiosity.
"You must be Octavia." Her accent is British, warm. "I'm Nina. Mr. Corsaro asked me to help you get ready."
"Ready for what?"
"Shopping trip." Nina hangs the garment bags in the closet. "He wants you in the blue dress. Said it matches your eyes."
Of course he picked my outfit. Control freak.
Nina pulls out a stunning blue dress. It's beautiful and I hate it.
"I'm not wearing that."
Nina's expression softens. "Honey, you don't have a choice. None of us do."
"Us?" I step closer. "Are you—is he keeping you here too?"
"No. I work for Mr. Corsaro by choice. He pays well and treats his staff fairly." She pauses. "But I've seen his collections before. You're different."
"Different how?"
"You're the first one he's kept for himself." Nina's dark eyes hold warning. "Usually he delivers them within twenty-four hours. But you... he's keeping you. I don't know if that's good or bad."
Before I can respond, Dante's voice calls from the hallway. "Nina, is she ready?"
"Almost!" Nina shoves the dress at me. "Quickly. Don't make him wait. Trust me."
I change because I don't have a choice. The dress fits perfectly, hugging curves I didn't know I had. Nina does my makeup—light, natural—and brushes my hair until it shines.
I look beautiful. Like someone worth two hundred thousand dollars.
The thought makes me sick.
Dante appears in the doorway. His eyes rake over me and something flashes in them—approval? Possession?
"Perfect." He extends his hand. "Let's go, little dove."
I don't take his hand. "Where?"
"I told you. Shopping."
"Why would I need more clothes? You've already filled an entire closet."
His smile is sharp. "Because where we're going, you need to look like you belong to me. And right now, you still look like a nursing student playing dress-up."
"I am a nursing student!"
"Not anymore." He grabs my wrist when I don't move. "You're mine. And tonight, I'm introducing you to my world."
He pulls me toward the door. I resist but it's useless.
"What world? What are you talking about?"
We're in an elevator now. Going down. Down toward whatever fresh hell he's planned.
Dante doesn't answer until we reach the parking garage. A sleek black car waits, driver ready.
He opens the door for me. When I hesitate, his voice drops low.
"Get in the car, Octavia. Or I call Konstantin right now and tell him you're ready for pickup."
I get in the car.
As we pull into traffic, Dante makes a phone call. I can only hear his side.
"Yes, tonight... She'll be ready... No, I haven't told her yet..."
My blood runs cold. "Told me what?"
He ends the call. Turns to me with an expression I can't read.
"That call was Konstantin. He's moved up the timeline."
"What does that mean?"
"It means we don't have two weeks anymore." Dante's jaw clenches. "He wants to meet you. Tonight."
The world tilts.
"Tonight? But you said—"
"Plans changed. He's having a party. All his top people will be there. And he specifically requested I bring his new pet."
"I'm not his pet. You said I belong to you!"
"I lied." His voice is flat. Empty. "You were always meant for Konstantin. I was just the delivery boy."
The betrayal steals my breath.
"So this morning, the breakfast, pretending to care if I ate—all of it was—"
"Part of the job." He won't look at me. "I need you presentable for tonight. That's all."
Something breaks inside me. Some stupid, naive part that thought maybe, just maybe, he was different.
"I hate you," I whisper.
"Good." He finally meets my eyes. "Hate will keep you alive longer than hope."
The car pulls up to an exclusive boutique. Dante gets out, extends his hand.
I ignore it and climb out myself.
As we walk toward the entrance, he leans close and whispers:
"Tonight, you'll meet the man who really owns you. And Octavia?" His breath is hot against my ear. "Whatever you think I am, Konstantin Voss is a thousand times worse."
"Then save me." I turn to face him, desperate. "Please. If you have any humanity left—"
His expression shutters. "I don't."
The boutique doors open.
And I walk into hell wearing designer heels and a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.