“Let me make this clear,” I say, voice low and edged with steel. “In case you didn’t get it the first time. You’re not a guest, Elara. You’re a prisoner. My prisoner.” I stop inches from her, my shadow swallowing hers. “You don’t have the luxury of your bag, or your phone. You should worship me because you’re still breathing.”
She stiffens, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into me, but she doesn’t look away. That defiance again. That fire. The same kind that gets people killed.
“My father might hate me,” she bites out, voice trembling but steady, “but at least I’m useful to him. He’ll try to find me. And when he does, you’ll regret it. I promise you.”
I laugh—dark, humorless. “You think threats make you sound powerful,printsessa?”
I glance toward the door. “Luka.”
He steps forward instantly, silent as a shadow.
“Cut the zip ties.”
She blinks, startled, as Luka draws a knife from his belt and slices clean through the plastic. The ties snap apart, and she jerks her hands free, rubbing at the red, raw marks on her wrists.
“If she attempts anything stupid,” I add, my tone almost bored, “bind her again. With her legs this time.”
Her head snaps up, eyes flashing. “You—”
“Careful,” I warn softly, cutting her glare with one of my own. “You’re not in a position to test me.”
She folds her arms, every line of her body rigid with contained rage. “You will regret this.”
I give her a small, amused tilt of my head. “I look forward to it.”
“Take her away,” I tell Luka without another glance in her direction.
Luka grips her arm and starts for the door.
She doesn’t struggle this time, but as she’s dragged out, her voice follows me, low and certain.
“You will regret this.”
And for reasons I can’t explain, the echo of her words lingers long after she’s gone. No, I’m not scared of her father. Far from it. But there’s a timbre in her voice that arrests me. I don’t have time for this.
I walk to the window, watching the night press against the glass. It’s past midnight, but my men are still out there, moving shadows under the floodlights, rifles slung across their backs, boots crunching gravel. The world outside is at rest, the way I like it. But my mind isn’t.
It drifts, unbidden, to her. To Elara.
I should talk to Lev. Or Sasha. They both know her; she was at their wedding, smiling like she had nothing to hide. I could ask them what they know, what they think of her. But the thought of saying her name aloud—of admitting I have her locked up downstairs—makes something twist in my gut.
No. Not yet.
For now, I want to sit on it. Keep her existence mine alone. Why? I have no damn clue.
It won’t stay quiet for long anyway. David Chang is too big a name. The second his daughter vanishes, he’ll raise hell—or at least, that’s what any normal father would do.
But David isn’t normal, is he?
No father sells his daughter to the highest bidder.
I drag a hand through my hair and exhale slowly. The man is a bastard. Greedy. Cold. The kind that measures love in profit margins.
Still…men like him love an audience. Even when they’re the villain, they need someone to clap. If his daughter’s missing, he won’t suffer in silence. He’ll make it a spectacle. A show.
And when he does, I’ll be waiting in the wings—watching the performance unfold, knowing the prize he auctioned off now sits in my house.
The door opens, and I turn to see Luka step in. I lift an eyebrow; he nods once.
