He takes a bottle of soap, pouring the fragrant liquid into his hands. He begins to wash me, his hands moving with a slow, deliberate reverence over my body. He washes my shoulders, my breasts, my stomach, his touch both clinical and possessive. He is learning the map of my body, memorizing every curve, every line.
He turns me around, his hands moving over my back, my hips, my thighs. He is washing away the last vestiges of my old life, of my innocence. He is cleansing me, preparing me for my new life. As his.
When he’s done, he shuts off the water and wraps me in a thick, fluffy towel. He lifts me into his arms again, carrying me back to the bed. He lays me down on the clean sheets, then pulls the covers over me.
He lies down beside me, pulling me into his arms, my back pressed against his hard chest. He is a warm, solid wall behind me, a cage of flesh and bone.
“Sleep now, Snowflake,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my hair. “You belong to me now. Nothing will ever harm you again.”
I lie there, rigid in his embrace, the scent of him, of our shared act, clinging to my skin. My voice is a tiny, trembling thing, a whisper in the dark.
“Cara?” I ask, the word barely audible. “What does it mean?”
He stiffens for a moment, surprised by my question. Then his arm tightens around me, pulling me even closer against his chest. His voice is a low rumble against my ear. “It’s Italian. It means ‘dear’. ‘Beloved’.”
The words, so tender in their meaning, are a chilling contradiction to my reality. I am his captive, his prize. To hear him call me "beloved" is a form of madness all its own.
I take another shaky breath, daring to ask the second question that has been echoing in my mind. “And… Snowflake?”
I feel him smile against my hair. “Because you are like a snowflake, Wynter. Skin as white as snow. And utterly unique. There is no one else like you in the world.” He nuzzles my neck, his voice dropping to a possessive, dangerous purr. “And you are mine. My perfect, one-of-a-kind snowflake. And I will never let you melt away.”
I close my eyes, a single tear escaping and tracing a cold path down my cheek. He has an answer for everything. A reason. A narrative. He has not just captured my body; he is actively colonizing my mind. And in the chilling poetry of his words, I feel myself starting to drown.
Twenty Six
Kaden
Thefirstlightofdawn filters through the heavy drapes, casting the room in shades of gray. I’ve been awake for hours, watching her.
She sleeps curled on her side, facing away from me, her dark hair a silken spill across the white pillow. Her breathing is deep and even, the soft sound a stark contrast to the storm that raged between us just hours ago. My arm is draped over her waist, my hand resting on the gentle curve of her hip. I can feel the warmth of her skin, the subtle rise and fall of her breath.
Triumph. That’s what I should feel. I took what I wanted. I claimed her, broke her, filled her with my seed. She is mine, unequivocally. The physical act was a final, branding confirmation of a truth I decided the moment I saw her. Every strategic objective of the night was met.
But as I lie here, a foreign, unsettling emotion coils in my gut. It’s not triumph. It’s… something else. Something quieter, deeper, and far more dangerous.
I remember the feel of her body shattering around mine, the raw, desperate cry of her release. That was for me. I remember the way she looked at me in the aftermath, dazed and broken, a beautiful ruin I had created. But then I remember cleaning her, the strange, fierce tenderness that had surged through me. It wasn't about cleaning my prize; it was about caring for her. It was about soothing the hurt I had inflicted, an impulse that runs contrary to my very nature.
And her questions… her soft, trembling voice asking about the names I call her. She was seeking understanding, a foothold in the chaos. And I gave it to her. I explained'cara', 'Snowflake'. I didn't just command her; I confided in her, offering a piece of my own twisted affection.
This is a deviation from the plan. The plan was to break her, bind her, and breed her. To create an heir and secure my legacy with a beautiful, compliant wife. But looking at her now, the thought of her, pregnant with my child, is no longer just a strategic victory. It’s a deeply personal, aching need. I don’t just want an heir; I want her to be the mother of my child. I want tosee her belly swell with my son, to see her nurturing the life we created.
This is a weakness. A fatal flaw in my armor.
I slide out of bed, careful not to wake her. I walk to the window, pulling the drapes back slightly. The Alaskan wilderness is a brutal, beautiful expanse of white and blue. My kingdom. A kingdom I built on control, on ruthlessness, on the utter absence of emotional vulnerability.
And yet, my gaze is drawn back to the woman in my bed. She is a splash of vibrant, dangerous color in my monochrome world.
I go to my office, the screens showing the silent, efficient movements of my empire. Shipments moving, accounts being monitored, rivals being tracked. It’s the world I command. But my eyes keep flicking to the feed from the bedroom. I watch her stir, her hand reaching out for the space I just vacated. I see the flicker of confusion, then fear, on her face as she finds it empty.
A sharp, unfamiliar pang hits my chest. I don’t like seeing that fear. Not when I’m not the one deliberately causing it to bend her to my will.
I press the intercom to the kitchen. “Breakfast. My suite. In thirty minutes. And add a bowl of fresh raspberries. The ripest you can find.”
I remember reading it in her file. A small detail. A childhood favorite. It’s a calculated move, another way to show her I know her, that I can provide for her every desire. But the motive… the motive feels different this time. It’s not just about control. I want to see her eat them. I want to see a flicker of pleasure on her face that is not born of my touch, but of a simple, genuine comfort.
I want her to be happy here.
The thought is so foreign, so utterly absurd, I almost laugh. A man like me does not deal in happiness. I deal in power, submission, and control.
