My cheeks heat, but I force the sarcasm. “Trust me, I’ve had worse. At least you danced with me at the ball.”
The men at his sides exchange a look—either baffled by my nerve or trying not to laugh. Miron’s gaze never leaves mine. He looks almost pleased. That unsettles me more than threats ever could.
He lets silence stretch until it nearly strangles me. “You’re different from the others,” he says, almost to himself. “You don’t fold.”
I toss my head, feigning boredom. “Maybe you’re just not very scary. Mafia boss, right? Bratva? I thought you people were supposed to be more…” I look him up and down, “intimidating.”
His lips twitch. “Is that what you want, to be intimidated?”
I refuse to blink. “Not especially. I just expected more drama. Less staring. Are you going to monologue now? Tell me about your tragic childhood?”
He leans back, a glint in his eye. “No. I’d rather hear about yours.”
The jab lands, sharper than I expect. I push back, voice like steel. “Fine. My parents raised me to spot a con. Guess I missed one.”
“Not missed,” he corrects. “You just underestimated what you were dealing with.”
“Maybe,” I allow, looking down at the ropes. “I don’t plan on making that mistake again.”
He watches me in a way that prickles my skin, fascination and hunger interwoven. I want to shrink away from that gaze. Instead, I smile, teeth bared. “You really like this, don’t you? The power trip. You get off on scaring women half to death.”
He shakes his head, voice low and calm. “I like the fight. I like the way you refuse to break. Most people—most men, even—they crumble under pressure. You spark hotter.”
“Careful,” I shoot back. “You’ll start sounding sentimental.”
His laughter rumbles in his chest. “Don’t worry, Sera. I’m not sentimental. I’m possessive.”
The air changes. I feel it—the shift from threat to something deeper, darker. His eyes devour me, not with lust, exactly, but with ownership. It makes my skin crawl and flush at the same time. The weight of his attention presses down, heavy as stone.
I force myself to keep needling him, needing the shield of words. “You’re delusional. You think tying me up makes you in control, but you’re just a man playing at being God. I’ve seen men like you before.”
He stands then, the movement smooth and unhurried. He circles me, deliberate and slow, and every instinct screams to run, to hide, to strike out with whatever I can. The ropes remind me: I have nothing.
He pauses at my shoulder. I refuse to look up. He leans down, voice just for me. “You’re right, Sera. I’m just a man, but you’ll learn what a man with no limits can do.”
I shiver, hating that he can see it. Hating that the sound of my own breath is too loud.
“Are you going to kill me?” My voice is flat, defiant.
He laughs again, stepping in front of me. “No, little raven. Killing you would be a waste. I want you alive, working for me. I want to see how long you keep that fire.”
I glare. “I’d rather die than work for you.”
He bends close, the air between us thin and charged. “That’s not the choice you have, Sera. Your only choice is how much you suffer before you surrender.”
My vision blurs for a moment—not from tears, never tears—but from rage. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting for composure.
When I open them, he’s back in his chair, watching. Admiring. Like I’m some rare animal he’s managed to trap. I hold his gaze, chin up, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my fear. If I’m going down, I’ll burn all the way to the ground.
“Keep staring,” I say, voice icy. “I hope you choke on it.”
He just smiles, lazy and pleased, as if every word I hurl only deepens his fascination. It terrifies me more than the ropes, more than the room, more than the certainty that I’m completely alone.
The worst part is, I can’t tell if I want to scream or spit or just close my eyes and disappear. I know only one thing for sure: I’ll never let him see me break. Not now, not ever.
***
Time drags, measured in pain and shallow breaths. My arms are numb, shoulders screaming from the awkward angle. Each movement grinds rope deeper into already tender skin. Fury burned hot at first—spitting words, twisting against restraints, daring Miron to see me as more than prey. Now that anger collapses into a dull ache, just one more kind of suffering in this endless room.
