After three months of sleeping on the world's most uncomfortable bunk bed, I have finally gotten real sleep, deep, dreamless sleep in a bed that actually feels like it has a soul.
A thick one, with clean sheets and a comforter heavy enough to pin me to the world.
Now, tangled in those same sheets, I blink at the sliver of sunlight stretching across the room like a lazy cat. For once, my body is not aching like it has been dragged behind a truck.
Last night, when those sexy blue eyes left the room, my eyes fell on a pair of silky pink pjs folded neatly on the dresser. I also checked the closet.
They are stuffed. Everything is my size. Designer tags are still attached.
Creepy. Nice...but creepy.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and walk barefoot to the bathroom. It is just as ridiculous with black marble, gold fixtures, and the kind of shower pressure that probably comes with a warning label.
I close my eyes, and warm water is running over my skin after centuries. It feels like all my tensions are melting off my shoulders. A low knock hit the door once. Then again. I ignored it. Whoever it is can wait, or better yet, walk away.
A loud bang cracks through the room. The door to the bedroom swings open. My eyes snap open.
"What the hell..." I whisper, my heart racing.
Footsteps. The pace is slow and measured. Then silence.
I hesitate, and my hand freezes in my hair, shampoo dripping down my neck. Nothing.
Maybe whoever came to my room left. Maybe it was someone doing a creep patrol, whether I ran or not. I roll my eyes and keep soaping my arms, forcing my breath to stay even. Then close my eyes again and stand beneath running water. Just water. Just soap. Just...I feel like I'm being watched.
Not that prison watch more like a knife hovering just out of sight. I crack one eye open.
Gasp escapes my lips, and I cover my face because I am scared that if I scream, he will hurt me. He is there.
Lucien.
Lucien Moretti is leaning against the wall like he owns me, with one foot propped up behind him, hands tucked into the pockets of a charcoal suit that probably costs more than my life right now. Water is trailing down my spine, dripping from my thighs to the black tile beneath my feet.
My breath is on hold somewhere between my lungs and my throat. He is not looking at my body. Not really. His blue stare stays locked on my face.
He is unflinching. Not a flicker of lust. He doesn't even twitch. Just power. The air is cold, clean, and silent.
My lips part. No words come out. He is not moving. Not even blinking. Just standing here like he has every right in the world to watch me stand naked. And actually...he does.
He bought me for seven million dollars. But why? I have no idea and have no strength to ask him.
"I am gonna tell you something for the first and the last time," he says, each word slow and clipped, deliberate. "You have no choice but to follow. Because people who don't do what I say..."
He pauses, eyes pinned to me. Cold. Icy. Certain.
"...don't live long."
My breath catches in my throat. His tone is a quiet threat wrapped in steel and smoke, and it settles under my skin like frost.
He means it.
The realization hit low in my stomach.
"You don't lock that door again," he says flatly. "Ever."
His voice isn't loud, but it lands like a punch in my gut.
I swallow. My fingers twitched at my sides, aching to reach for the towel hanging just outside the glass. But I don't move. I will not give him the satisfaction.
Is this how it's going to be? Commands and humiliation?
I bit the inside of my cheek. fine. You want a show, king? Watch how good I am at not breaking.
I tilt my chin, forcing my eyes to stay steady on him. You barged in on me. And I am the one being warned?
Lucien pushes off the wall, slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world. His shoes are quiet on the wet floor.
Fuck, he is coming close.
The air between us is growing tight. He comes inside the glass and turns off the water, and stands close to me, resting his hand against the frosted edge.
"Let's make something clear: you don't leave this wing of the mansion until I say so."
Wing? What the hell am I, a princess or a prisoner?
"There is no locked door in this house, especially not between you and me."
I open my mouth to ask what about others, but he adds.
"Speak only when spoken to."
I clench my jaw. I fight the flash of heat that climbs up my neck, not from embarrassment but from anger. What are you gonna do, tape my mouth?
"You eat dinner with me whenever I invite," he continues, and his voice is steady as a knife's edge. "Whether you are hungry or not."
Control. Everything is about control with him.
"Touch nothing that isn't yours. He adds, eyes narrowing. "And nothing here is yours."
This one stung more than I expected. My breath hitches despite myself.
"Try to run and you'll regret it."
Try to break me, and you'll be disappointed.
Then he steps forward. Just a little. Close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his suit. He is not touching me. He was not even looking down at me.
"If I call, you come."
My skin prickles. Not from the temperature, but from the way he says it, like obedience isn't just expected but owed.
Then he leans in. Close enough to smell the crisp bite of his cologne like bergamot and power.
"Obedience isn't optional here." He whispers. "It is survival."
My throat feels dry despite the steam. My heart is pounding, but my spine stays straight. He steps back. Almost out the door now.
Then, quietly.
"If anyone touches you without my permission...they die."
I blink, unsure what to do with that.
"Even if you try to touch yourself...you'll face the consequences."
It isn't kindness. It is possession.
He pauses in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
"You are safe here...from everyone but me."
I stare after him; the cold is not hitting me because he has taken all the heat with him. My hands move finally, hovering near the towel.
"Can I touch this towel?" I ask him, voice dry. "Or does this break a rule, too?"
His back is still to me. The silence stretches. Then he turns. Slowly.
Not rushed. Not surprised. Just calculating. His lips curve, but not into a smile, into something...sharper. He turns on his heels; he doesn't answer and leaves the door wide open behind him.
I stand there, towel finally wrapped around me, heart racing like I have just outrun a goddamn war.