Chapter 2
age Twenty-three...
Standing across the vast, dimly lit expanse of my living room, I watch the black duffle bag slumped against the open kitchen’s wall.
The only light comes from the cold glow of spotlights over the island, carving long shadows across marble floors and dark wood.
As always, I wait, but never help. They usually come out on their own accord, eventually.
But this one has now been in there for ten long minutes. I can hear her heavy breathing through the thick fabric—shallow, panicked, but very much alive.
Then, finally, there’s movement and my head tilts to the side.
The opening parts slowly and a slender hand emerges, followed by the rest of her.
Messy black pigtails, damp with sweat, fall over her scrawny shoulders, and her once white dress is ruined—the back soaked through with fresh blood, blooming across the fabric like dark rose petals.
My jaw tightens hard at the sight.
With her back still to me, she awkwardly peels the duct tape away from her lips, a soft hiss escaping before pushing the blindfold up to her forehead using those rope-bound wrists.
Her head turns warily, as if trying to sense the room through blurred vision—to locate the danger she already feels watching her.
I slide my hands deeper into the pockets of my tight black pants and simply observe. My intense, piercing eyes tracing every unsteady twitch of muscle.
Then, she freezes again, listening closely, but the only sound in this house is her own fear.
She cautiously sweeps the room, red eyes wide and glassy, until her gaze finally finds mine over her shoulder.
The moment our gazes lock—her vivid hazel against my cold blue—something inside me stops.
My jaw unhinges, my lips parting, and my eyes widen, just a fraction, before I can stop it.
For the first time since I’ve been doing this, my pulse stutters wildly in my chest.
Terror explodes across her face, and she twists fast, her bloodied back slamming against the wall with a thud. Her chest heaves in frantic gasps as she yanks her knees tight to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible.
She’s shuddering so hard I can see it from across the room, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes away.
She’s a wreck—malnourished, pale as death, and her body is clearly broken in more ways than one. And yet… she's still the most devastatingly beautiful young woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
Fragile, ruined, and ethereal.
I force myself to snap out of it by clearing my throat, tearing my gaze away to stare at the hard floor, trying to regain control.
This is not the fucking time, Law.
Not. The. Fucking. Time.
But even that small movement makes her flinch hard, her hands flying up to cover her face, as if that could possibly protect her.
I betray myself, and my eyes drift back to her, just a side glance at first, then longer. I can feel them starting to sting at the edges, my stomach twisting into knots.
Just get this done. Remember why she’s here.
My thoughts finally claw their way through the unwanted ache inside me, and I pull my gaze away from her.
Crossing the room in long strides, my polished shoes strike the marble, but I sense her watching me through the gaps in her fingers.
The kitchen swallows me for a moment before my hand closes around the grip of a blade, pulling it free from the block with a soft, metallic whisper. Steel gleams under the low light as I turn and stalk back toward her.
As soon as she sees the knife, her tied hands shoot forward, palms flat in desperate surrender, pushing against the air as if she could stop me with nothing but fear.
Those pretty eyes, now flooded with tears, expand until they look almost inhuman.
“STOP!” she screams, and the sound shatters the heavy silence of my mansion.
I freeze mid-step, fingers tightening around the knife until my knuckles bleach white, the blade hovering at my side.
Her chest rises and falls in violent spasms, panic devouring every inch of her face. But for a fragile second, confusion flickers in her eyes, realizing she made me actually pause.
That this broken, bloodied girl just commanded a nightmare in his own kingdom.
I carefully lower myself into a crouch a few feet away, bringing our faces level, because I know, I’m just another shadow casting over her fragile light—tall, broad with dark hair falling messily across my forehead like dripping ink.
My eyes, pale and intense against the darkness of my presence, must look like twin abysses to someone so traumatised.
She stares at me, brows furrowed in a fleeting flash of defiance. Then the fight suddenly dissolves, and a guttural, broken weep tears from her throat as she buries her face against her arms, resting atop her knees.
“Just kill me…” she begs in defeat, the words shuddering out. “Please… please just end it before you rape me. Please… just make it quick.”
The plea sinks into me like another blade, and for the first time in my life, the knife in my hand feels heavier than everything I’ve seen and done.
“No,” I finally say, and her head slowly lifts while I finish. “You live.”
I lower the blade gently and slide it across the marble toward her. It spins once, gleaming like a dark promise, before coming to rest at her side.
She peers down at it, blinking hard, as if the world has tilted into some cruel hallucination. Her eyes then flick back to mine, her plump, quivering lips parting, but no sound escapes.
“Do you have a family?” I ask, my voice deep and steady, slicing through the intense moment.
Her confused gaze drifts down to my bare chest, shirt buttoned down, then she returns to the knife.
“Wha… What?” she stammers, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head once. “You’re… I… I don’t understand.”
A heavy sigh escapes me, my head dropping for a moment, then I plant my hands on my thighs and rise.
Turning my back to her, I pull a glass from the cupboard and move toward the refrigerator.
In that single second I glance down to fill it with cold water, I hear bare feet slapping against marble, fast and desperate.
As soon as I spin, the glass drops and explodes between us in a sparkling shatter.
My hand shoots up on pure instinct, catching the blade just before it plunges into my heart. Steel bites deep into my palm, blood pouring instantly, streaming down my wrist and soaking the sleeve of my black shirt.
I grip the knife tighter, refusing to let go, my emotionless eyes locked onto her wild ones.
She pushes with everything she has left, both bound hands wrapped around the handle, weak arms shaking from the force.
Yet I hold firm, staring into the void of her pain—a pain I know all too well—as if it could swallow me whole all over again.
“Bastard!” she bites, followed by a whimper as she suddenly yanks the blade free from my grasp.
I hiss through clenched teeth as fresh fire explodes across my palm and she stumbles backward through the mess of blood, water, and broken glass, the blade still held out in front of her like an unsteady shield.
Her gaze never pulls from mine as she retreats, every step leaving crimson footprints across my pristine floor.
Then, she finally twists on her heel and bolts.
Bare feet smack frantically against the floor as she races toward the far end of the living room, a delicate ghost in a white dress.
But I remain rooted in place, bleeding silently, watching her as she reaches the tall double doors leading to the pool side.
She yanks them open with surprising strength, and a forceful sweep of cold night air surges inside, carrying the thick scent of chlorine and damp earth.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, causing fresh blood to pulse from the deep gash in my palm, trickling in rhythmic patterns onto the marble below.
Let her go, I tell myself, although, for some reason, everything within me doesn’t seem to want too.
But she suddenly stops, right under the threshold, where the light of my mansion bleeds into the nightfall outside.
And for a long, cold moment, only the wind moves around her as she stares ahead.
Slowly, she turns her head over her shoulder, her eyes finding mine across the distance, and I can see it—the realization hitting her.
I am not chasing her, and I haven’t moved.
Confusion cracks her expression, melting into something deeper, and more delicate. A disbelieving stare that carries the weight of every horror she expected and the terrifying mercy she never asked for.
And still, she stands there, poised between escape and the strange, curious gravity pulling her back toward me.
Then she finally twists to face me fully.
“Why?”
I barely catch the question, yet it slivers straight through me.
“Why what?” I reply, my voice calm and almost tender against the roaring night.
“Why am I allowed to run? Why am I allowed to leave?” Suspicion drips from every syllable. “You just paid sixty million dollars for me.”
I blink twice, slow and blank, the number sounding stupid even to me.
“Because you’re free to go,” I say simply. “I had no intention of keeping you.”
Her brows knit tightly, perplexity carving deep lines into her face.
“There’s no need to go out back, though,” I continue, gesturing with my injured hand. “The front door is right there, unlocked. Walk out freely.”
Her gaze darts toward the dark corridor leading to the entrance, then snaps back to me, wide and bright with annoyance.
“Freely?” she spits. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
My jaw tenses, the muscle ticking like a loaded gun.
“Why would I joke?”
“Because that’s all you perverted assholes do!” Her loud, frantic voice booms and echoes through the halls. “You lie, lie, LIE!”
The final word crashes over me like a wave, twisting something deep in my stomach. Yet I swallow hard against the sudden dryness in my throat, lifting my chin defiantly.
“I’m not the pervert,” I declare, my pale blue eyes cutting into her. “I do this every other month to save girls like you from those dirty, mother fucking rapists.”
For a heartbeat, the fury drains from her face like blood from a wound, and something else flickers in its place—hope.