Chapter 4
Four
Kaden
The journey from Craigston’s cabin to my home is a blur of snow-swept trees and the steady rumble of the truck’s engine. The heater blasts on full, filling the cab with a dry, stifling heat, but the only warmth I feel comes from the woman in my arms.
Wynter.
Her name is a constant, rhythmic pulse in my mind.
I hold her tight against my chest, her head lolling onto my shoulder, her breaths soft and even against my neck.
For a man who has built an empire on calculated detachment, this raw, cellular need to simply hold her is a seismic shock.
It’s a weakness. A vulnerability I can’t afford.
And yet, I would kill any man who tried to take her from me.
Alrik is waiting at the entrance to my private drive, his car blocking the path. He steps out as I pull up, his face grim in the glare of the headlights. I get out, leaving Wynter bundled in the passenger seat for a moment, the cold air a welcome slap of reality.
“The compound is on high alert,” he says, his voice low. “Perimeter patrols doubled. What are your orders?”
“No one gets in or out without my direct authorization. No one,” I command. My gaze drifts back to the truck, to the precious cargo within. “She’s not to be disturbed. No maids, no staff. Only Doc. Is he here?”
“He’s waiting in your library. He was… concerned by the urgency of your call.”
“Good.”
Alrik’s eyes follow my gaze to the truck. “Sir… is this about the Blanc debt?”
I turn to him, letting the full weight of my authority settle on him. “This is no longer about a debt. This is about her. Everything is about her now. Do you understand?”
The question is a threat. He understands it as such. “Perfectly, sir.”
“Go,” I dismiss him. He gets back in his car and pulls away, disappearing into the darkness, leaving me alone with my obsession.
I carry her from the truck to the house.
The front door opens onto a grand, two-story foyer of dark wood and cold stone, a space designed to intimidate.
But as I carry her across the threshold, it feels different.
It feels like a king bringing his queen home to their castle for the first time.
My home, a place that has only ever been a fortress and a symbol of my power, suddenly feels like something more. It feels like hers.
I take her straight up the main staircase, bypassing the guest wings. Her place is not as a guest. Her place is with me. In my room. In my bed.
My bedroom is a vast, spartan space. A king-sized bed, a fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the dark, brooding forest. It is a room built for solitude and control. Her presence in it is a violation of every rule I have ever lived by. It is chaos. It is color. It is life.
I lay her gently on the silk sheets, the deep gray of the comforter a stark contrast to her pale skin and the ruined yellow of her dress. I press a button on the nightstand, and the gas fireplace roars to life, casting flickering, dancing shadows across the room, across her still form.
I stand over her, just watching her breathe.
This is possession in its purest form. It’s a feeling I recognize from my youth, from the days when I had nothing.
The fierce, desperate need to claim something, anything, as your own.
To have one thing in a world that has given you nothing but pain that you can look at and say, ‘Mine.’
I haven’t felt that way in twenty years. I have everything now. Money, power, respect born of fear. I can buy or kill my way to anything I desire. But I cannot buy this. This feeling. This woman.
My eyes trace the lines of her face, the delicate arch of her brow, the sweep of her dark lashes against her cheek. She is exquisite. A work of art forged in innocence and pain. And someone has dared to mar my masterpiece.
My gaze drifts down to the angry scratches on her arms, the smear of dried blood on her chest. The memory of Evilin’s sneering face flashes in my mind, and the cold, calculated rage returns, sharper and more focused than ever.
I reach out, my hand hovering over her. I want to touch her, but I’m afraid my touch is too rough, too tainted by the violence of my world.
My life has been a series of brutal transactions, of dominance and submission.
I take. I break. I own. I don’t know how to be gentle.
I don’t know how to protect something without putting it in a cage.
But I will learn. For her, I will learn.
She will wake up in my bed, in my home, and she will be terrified.
She will fight me. She will try to run. And I will patiently, methodically, break down every one of her defenses until she understands.
Until she accepts that her life with Evilin is over, and her life with me has just begun.
She has been a prisoner her whole life. The only thing that will change is the nature of her cage—and the nature of her captor.
My cage will be gilded. My cage will be safe. And her captor… her captor will worship the very ground she walks on, even as he locks the door behind her.
A soft moan escapes her lips, and she shifts in her sleep, her brow furrowing in pain. The sound breaks my trance. The time for quiet contemplation is over. Her pain needs to be addressed. The marks on her body need to be cataloged, and the person responsible for them needs to be sentenced.
I turn from the bed, my resolve hardening into a diamond-sharp point. First, I will see to her comfort. Then, I will see to my revenge. And I will start by stripping away the last vestiges of Evilin’s control over her body.
I stride toward the door, my mind already on the doctor waiting downstairs. He will be the first to learn the new, unwritten law of my world: Wynter Blanc is to be protected at all costs. And anyone who harms her will answer to me.