Chapter 16
Sixteen
Kaden
She hesitates. A flicker of defiance in her eyes, a slight stiffening of her shoulders. It’s a small thing, barely perceptible, but I see it. I always see it. And it fuels the fire in my gut. She thinks she has a choice. She thinks she has agency. I will disabuse her of that notion.
“Now, Snowflake,” I say, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. It’s not a request. It’s a promise of consequences.
Her eyes meet mine, and I see the internal battle raging within her. Fear wars with pride, survival instinct with a stubborn, fragile will. For a long moment, she stands her ground. Then, with a barely perceptible sigh, she moves.
She walks past me, her head held high, her pace steady. She doesn’t look at me, her gaze fixed straight ahead. It’s a small victory for her, a defiant march into her captivity. I allow it. For now.
I follow her out of the bedroom, down the grand staircase, and into the dining room. It’s a vast, opulent space, all dark wood and rich fabrics, with a massive table that could seat twenty. But it’s set for two, a stark intimacy that feels both deliberate and unsettling.
She stops at the head of the table, as if unsure where to sit. I walk to the chair at the far end and pull it out. “Here,” I command. “You will sit here.”
It’s the seat of honor, the seat usually reserved for the mistress of the house. Another subtle claim. Another layer of the gilded cage.
She looks at the chair, then at me, a question in her eyes. But she doesn’t speak. She simply walks to the chair and sits down, her movements stiff, her back ramrod straight.
I take my seat at the opposite end, the length of the table a physical representation of the distance between us, yet the intimacy of the meal is undeniable.
The table is laid with an array of breakfast dishes: fresh fruit, pastries, eggs, bacon, sausage, and a steaming pot of coffee.
It’s a feast. A display of abundance. A reminder of her new reality.
A young woman, the same one who brought dinner last night, enters silently and pours coffee for us both. She doesn’t meet my gaze, her movements efficient and deferential. She places a plate of pastries in front of Wynter, then retreats, leaving us alone.
“Eat, Snowflake,” I say, my voice softer now, but still carrying the weight of command. “You have a long day ahead of you.”
She picks up a pastry, her fingers trembling slightly. She takes a small bite, her eyes still fixed on me. She’s watching me, always watching. Calculating. Analyzing. I like it. It means she’s paying attention.
“What do you want from me?” she asks, her voice low, barely a whisper. It’s the first direct question she’s posed since waking.
I lean back in my chair, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Everything, cara,” I say, my gaze sweeping over her, lingering on her lips, her throat, the delicate curve of her collarbone. “I want everything.”
Her eyes widen, a flicker of fear, then a spark of anger. “I am not some object for you to possess.”
“Oh, but you are,” I correct her, my voice losing its softness, becoming sharp, edged. “You are a prize. And now, you are mine. Every inch of you. Every thought. Every breath.”
I push my chair back, the scrape of wood against the floor echoing in the vast room. I rise and walk around the table, stopping directly behind her chair. Her body stiffens, her breath catching in her throat.
I place my hands on her shoulders, my thumbs gently rubbing the tense muscles at the base of her neck. She flinches, but doesn’t pull away.
“You will learn to accept it, Snowflake,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her hair. “You will learn to crave it.”
Her body trembles under my touch. I can feel the rapid beat of her heart against my palms. She is a fragile bird, trapped in my hand, but her spirit… her spirit is still fighting.
I lean down, my mouth close to her ear. “Today, you will meet my men. You will learn the layout of the compound. You will learn the rules. And you will understand that there is no escape. Not from here. Not from me.”
I pull back, releasing her shoulders. She sits perfectly still, her face pale, her eyes wide and haunted. The pastry on her plate remains untouched.
“Finish your breakfast,” I command, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “Then, we begin.”
I walk to the door, my gaze fixed on her. She doesn’t move. She just stares at the untouched food, a silent, desperate defiance in her eyes. It’s a small battle, but it’s a battle nonetheless. And I will win it. Every single one.