The SUV sped through the night.
Victor stared out the window, a statue of ice. He didn't touch his tablet. The deed was done. The victory was his.
Elara sat curled against her door. The crimson dress felt like a burial shroud.
She could still feel Lucian's agonized gaze. The weight of the ruby choker. The echo of Victor's voice.
My wife.
The words were for the crowd. For Lucian. But they made the contract real.
She was his wife. In the eyes of the world, she belonged to him now.
---
Victor vanished into his study the moment they arrived. Kaelen appeared to escort her upstairs.
The routine was the same. The atmosphere was not.
In her bathroom, Elara fought the choker's clasp. Her fingers fumbled. It wouldn't budge.
Finally, she gave up with a frustrated sound. She peeled off the hateful dress. It pooled on the floor like blood.
She put on simple cotton pajamas. The platinum collar remained. A cold, unyielding shackle.
She climbed into bed. Her mind replayed the gala on a loop.
Then her encrypted tablet lit up. A news alert.
BREAKING: KNIGHT HOTELS CEO IN VIOLENT ALTERCATION AFTER CHARITY GALA.
Her heart stopped. She opened the link.
No video. Just witness accounts. Lucian had confronted a paparazzo in the valet area.
The reporter had asked about Victor Sterling's new wife.
Lucian had "seen red." He'd shoved the photographer. Smashed the camera. Security had to restrain him.
A grainy photo showed his face—a mask of pure, unhinged fury.
Elara dropped the tablet. It clattered on the nightstand.
This was Victor's doing. The "repercussion."
He hadn't just broken Lucian's heart. He'd broken his control. His public image. His sanity.
Recklessness is the easiest flaw to exploit.
Victor had exploited it perfectly. She had been the bait.
---
Her door opened softly.
Victor stood there. He'd changed into dark lounge pants and a black t-shirt. He held two glasses of amber liquor.
He looked relaxed. Satisfied.
He walked in without invitation. He placed a glass on her nightstand. His eyes noted the news headline. The choker.
A slow, dark smile touched his lips.
"I see you've seen the news," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Our performance had the desired effect." He picked up her tablet and swiped the alert away. "Phase one is complete."
He looked down at her. His gaze lingered on the collar.
"It suits you," he murmured.
The words slithered through the air. Possessive. He wasn't just talking about the necklace.
Elara recoiled, pulling the duvet tight.
"Get out." Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
Victor didn't move. He took a slow sip of his drink.
"This hostility is ungrateful," he said. "You played your part. Lucian is publicly unraveling. His board will question his stability by morning."
"We?" she choked out. A bitter laugh escaped. "There is no 'we.' There's you, using me. Him, breaking because of it. And me, trapped in the middle."
"Trapped?" He raised an eyebrow, amused. "You signed a contract. You walked into that ballroom on my arm. You stood silent while I claimed you. Every step was a choice."
"A choice?" Her voice rose, fury burning through the numbness. "What choice did I have? You orchestrated the collapse of my life! You showed me those photos. You knew I'd run. You were waiting!"
She took a ragged breath.
"You gave me a 'choice' between being destroyed by one Alpha or owned by another. That's not a choice. It's an ultimatum!"
A flicker of genuine anger crossed his face. He set his glass down with a sharp click.
"Owned?" he repeated, his voice a dangerous whisper.
He took a single step toward the bed, looming over her.
"You think what I offer is ownership? What Lucian felt for you was ownership. An obsession. He tracked you with a device. Messaged you on a secured phone. Confronted you in a room full of people because he couldn't stand you belonging to anyone else."
He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of her. Caging her in.
His scent—ozone and snow—wrapped around her. Cold. Clean.
"What I offer is a partnership. A transaction. You give me compliance. I give you power. Safety. A status you never dreamed of."
His blue eyes blazed. This was the most honest he'd ever been. It was terrifying.
"You are not a pet in a gilded cage, Elara. You are a queen on a protected throne. The only thing I require is your loyalty."
His face was inches from hers.
"The game is not over," he whispered. His gaze dropped to the choker. "It has only just begun. You are standing at the center of the board."
He paused, letting the words hang.
"Will you be a pawn that is moved… or will you learn to move yourself?"
He straightened up. He picked up his glass and walked to the door.
He paused with his hand on the knob.
"Think about it," he said, not looking back. "Your next move is yours."
Then he was gone. The lock clicked softly.
Elara was alone. The platinum collar felt heavier than ever.
---
Sleep was impossible.
Victor's words echoed. A taunt. A challenge.
Will you be a pawn… or will you learn to move yourself?
He was offering a twisted agency. He wanted a willing participant. A queen who embraced her throne.
The thought made her nauseous.
---
Dawn was a pale grey smear when a new sound cut the quiet.
Not a chime. A wail.
A security siren.
Elara shot upright. Red lights flashed along the baseboards. Her door burst open.
Kaelen stood there, grim. A comm device was at her ear.
"Perimeter breach. Eastern fence line. Stay here. Do not leave."
The door slammed shut. The electronic lock engaged.
A breach.
Lucian. It had to be.
He wasn't sending messages anymore. He was coming for her.
She scrambled out of bed. Her hands flew to the choker. She pulled uselessly.
Shouting echoed from deeper in the house. A metallic crash. Then silence.
The quiet was more terrifying than the alarm.
She backed into the farthest corner. Her eyes were fixed on the locked door.
Click.
The lock disengaged. The door swung open slowly.
It wasn't Lucian.
Victor stood in the doorway. His hair was disheveled. His jaw was tight.
In his hand, he held a single, long-stemmed white lily. Its petals were crushed. Torn.
His knuckles were scraped and bleeding.
He didn't speak. His icy gaze swept the room. It found her cowering in the corner.
He held the broken flower up. He locked eyes with her. He let it drop to the floor.
The message was clear.
He had stopped him. He had defended his territory. His possession.
Elara stared at the ruined flower. A new, chilling fear took root.
The war was no longer a game of scandal and manipulation.
It was violently, undeniably real.
And she was the territory they were fighting over.