The gates closed behind the car with a sound that felt final.
It wasn't loud.
Just a smooth, metallic slide that echoed in my chest long after the sedan rolled forward again.
I pressed my forehead lightly against the cool glass, watching the city disappear behind towering iron bars and manicured hedges trimmed into shapes that screamed money. Everything here was clean. Controlled. So perfect in a way that made my skin itch.
No litter. No noise. No signs of real life.
"Is this… all one property?" I asked before I could stop myself.
The driver didn't look at me. "Yes, miss."
Miss.
I hated the way the word shrank me.
The car curved along a long, private road lined with tall trees that blocked out the sky. My phone had lost signal minutes ago. I tried not to focus on that. Tried not to think about how easy it would be to disappear here.
I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking.
"Do people usually get kidnapped with this level of courtesy?" I muttered.
No response.
Of course.
The estate came into view slowly, like it wanted to be admired. A massive structure of glass and dark stone, all sharp lines and cold elegance. It didn't look like a home. It looked like a fortress pretending to be civilized.
The car stopped.
My door opened before I could reach for the handle.
"Miss West," the driver said, stepping aside. "Welcome."
Welcome.
I stepped out, my worn sneakers sinking slightly into gravel that probably cost more than my monthly rent. The air smelled different here - cleaner, lighter, like money filtered out pollution too.
A man waited at the entrance.
He was older, he had silver hair pulled neatly back, his suit crisp enough to cut. His eyes assessed me in one quick glance, efficient and unreadable.
"Elara West," he said. "I'm Mr. Hale. Mr. Blackwood's chief of staff."
"Is he… here?" I asked.
Mr. Hale smiled.
Not kindly.
"He's always here."
That didn't make sense, but before I could ask, the doors behind him opened soundlessly.
Inside, the estate was quieter than outside. Not peaceful - just muted. The kind of silence that came from too much space and not enough warmth. My footsteps echoed on marble floors as I followed Mr. Hale deeper inside.
Every instinct I had was screaming.
Run.Leave.Don't let the walls close in.
But I kept walking.
We stopped in front of a set of double doors at the end of a long hallway. Dark wood. No handles.
Mr. Hale turned to me. "Mr. Blackwood will see you now."
I swallowed. "I didn't agree to—"
"The contract states otherwise," he said calmly. "Go in."
The doors opened.
And the air changed.
I felt it immediately - like stepping into a room charged with electricity. My breath caught as my eyes adjusted to the dim light.
He stood by the window, back to me, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something amber. The city sprawled beneath him, distant and small.
Lucien Blackwood.
I knew it without being told.
He was taller than I expected. Broader. Dressed in black from head to toe, his suit tailored perfectly, like it had been built around him rather than worn. Everything about him was sharp - his shoulders, his posture, the angle of his jaw when he finally turned.
Our eyes met.
And the world narrowed.
His gaze was dark. Not cruel. Wasn't kind. Just… assessing. Like I was a problem he hadn't decided how to solve yet.
"Leave us," he said.
His voice was low, smooth, unhurried. The kind of voice that didn't need to be loud to be obeyed.
Mr. Hale disappeared without a word.
The doors closed behind me.
I was alone with him.
Lucien Blackwood studied me in silence, his eyes lingering just long enough to make me feel exposed. I shifted my weight, resisting the urge to cross my arms.
"Well?" I said, forcing my voice steady. "You dragged me all the way here. What do you want?"
One corner of his mouth lifted.
Not a smile.A warning.
"You're standing in my house," he said. "I suggest you adjust your tone."
Heat flared in my chest. "I didn't ask to be here."
"No," he agreed calmly. "You didn't."
He took a step closer.
Then another.
Each one tightened something inside me. I didn't move. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"Why me?" I demanded. "There are thousands of students. Why offer me a scholarship that comes with guards and contracts and-" I gestured vaguely around us. "This?"
His gaze sharpened.
"Because," he said, stopping a few feet away, "you needed it."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
I laughed, sharp and with no humor. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know enough," he replied. "I know you work two jobs. I know your grades are excellent despite your circumstances. I know you've been flagged as 'high-risk' since you were twelve."
My stomach twisted.
"I know," he continued, voice even, "that you've been followed twice in the last six months."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"That's a lie."
He tilted his head. "Is it?"
Images flashed through my mind - someone standing across the street too often, footsteps behind me at night, the feeling of being watched that I always brushed off as paranoia.
I hated how calm he was. How unbothered.
"What do you want from me?" I asked quietly.
Lucien's eyes softened just a fraction.
Dangerous.
"I want you safe," he said.
"And in exchange?" I asked.
"Obedience."
The word landed heavy between us.
I straightened. "No."
Something flickered in his expression. It wasn't anger. Interest.
"You don't have a choice," he said.
"I always have a choice."
"Do you?" He stepped closer again, close enough that I could smell his cologne - dark, expensive, subtle. "Say no, and the scholarship disappears. Your tuition goes unpaid. Your job doesn't cover it. You drop out."
I clenched my jaw.
"Say no," he continued softly, "and whatever's circling you out there no longer has a reason to stay hidden."
Fear crept in despite my resistance.
"What are you not telling me?" I whispered.
Lucien looked at me for a long moment.
Then he said, "Everything."
My chest tightened. "You expect me to live here. Follow your rules. Give up my life - because you say it's for my own good?"
"Yes."
"Why?" I pressed.
His jaw tightened. Just barely.
"Because I promised someone I would," he said.
The words sent a chill through me.
"Who?" I asked.
Lucien turned away, walking back toward the window. The city lights reflected in the glass, fractured and distant.
"That," he said, "is not your concern."
I took a step toward him. "You don't get to control my life without explaining why."
He turned back sharply, closing the distance in two strides. His hand came down on the wall beside my head - not touching me, but close enough that I froze.
"You don't get to demand explanations," he said quietly. "Not yet."
My breath stuttered. His presence was overwhelming, not because he was loud or aggressive, but because he was contained. Controlled. Like something dangerous held on a short leash.
"You're afraid," he added softly.
"I'm not," I lied.
"You should be," he replied.
Something in his gaze shifted then—something darker, heavier.
"You will stay here," Lucien said. "You will attend the university. You will follow the terms of the contract."
"And if I don't?"
His eyes dropped briefly to my lips, then back to my eyes.
"Then," he said, voice low, "you'll learn what happens when my protection is removed."
My pulse thundered.
He stepped back, the space between us returning but the tension lingering like smoke.
"Your room is prepared," he added. "Dinner is at seven. You'll meet the staff."
"I'm not your possession," I said, my voice trembling despite my effort.
Lucien paused at the door.
He looked over his shoulder at me, his expression unreadable.
"No," he said softly. "You're not."
The door opened.
"But you are," he continued, eyes locking onto mine, "under my control."
The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
I stood there long after he left, my heart racing, my mind spiraling.
Because something about the way he'd looked at me, like he was already fighting something he refused to name - told me this wasn't just about protection.
And whatever he wasn't telling me?
It was big enough to destroy us both.