This wasn’t just some rich man’s indulgence.
This was control. This was discipline. This was power, wielded by a man who enjoyed watching people squirm.
I swallowed, forcing my legs to move as I stepped closer, as if some invisible force dared me to understand what kind of monster I was dealing with.
Why wasn’t I surprised?
Of course he had a fucking torture chamber in his house. Of course he had an entire room dedicated to breaking people, bending them, and moulding them into whatever he wanted.
I should’ve expected this.
My stomach twisted.
I could picture it too easily—the way his stormy gaze would darken with something unreadable, the way his voice would drop to that terrifyingly low register, murmuring commands that no one dared to disobey.
Had he brought people here? Women?
I squeezed my eyes shut, bile rising in my throat.
The worst part?
I didn’t know what unsettled me more. The fact that he had this room.
Or the fact that I wasn’t entirely shocked.
Because deep down, I already knew he was the kind of man who enjoyed taking, owning, and controlling.
But now, I had proof.
And if I wasn’t careful, I’d be next.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mine or His
Secrets have a scent. And his smelled like leather, whiskey, and blood. Sinfully dark.
The bookshelf slid back into place with a muffled click, but the sound shattered the silence as if I’d just been shot in the chest.
My fingers trembled as I wiped them against my dress. As if they could erase what I had just touched, what I had just seen.
The room still existed behind that wall, even if I pretended it didn’t.
And I had left the papers untouched, yet I knew too much.
Too much to sleep. Too much to breathe properly.
Like a loaded gun. And the worst part?
I wasn’t sure whether it was aimed at him… or me.
Shit. What more was he hiding? How many of these… terrifying secrets did he have?
I ran a shaky hand through my hair. Knees threatening to collapse.
Then I heard it.
Approaching footsteps.
