CHAPTER FIFTEEN Shackled in Sin and Silk
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Shackled in Sin and Silk
The walls felt tighter here. They felt like they were closing in, like they could hear my thoughts, feel my panic, and taste the fear curling around my throat like an invisible noose.
My heels clicked against the marble floor as I followed Elena down the long corridor. Walking felt heavier, and breathing like a luxury I couldn’t afford. My stomach was twisting with something violent. Dread, maybe. Or the sickening weight of inevitability.
Run.
My subconscious reminded me again. Run. As if I could. As if there was anywhere to go.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I was trapped.
I knew that. And yet, my mind kept trying to map out an escape route, grasping for possibilities that didn’t exist. A window I could jump from?
A door that his guards did not guard? A weapon that would most definitely be useless against him?
The world inside this place was solely crafted for me. With illusions. And me? Just another pawn caught in its web.
Elena stopped in front of his office. I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering against my skin as I stared at it.
This was it.
She turned to me with the same unreadable expression she bore earlier. “Knock. He’ll let you in.”
I hesitated. My fingers curled around the fabric of my dress, the silk smooth and cool beneath my clammy hands.
Elena exhaled sharply. “You’ll be fine.” And then, just like that, she walked away, leaving me alone in front of the lion’s den.
I swallowed again. This time with utter difficulty. My throat was dry. My body was at war with itself… one half frozen in fear, the other itching to run. I raised my fist, hesitated again, then finally knocked.
Silence.
For a moment, I thought maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe he was making me wait on purpose, just to toy with me.
“Come in.”
My breath hitched. A shiver ran down my spine, but I reached for the handle anyway. The door creaked open, revealing the room beyond.
It was exactly as I had left it. And yet… it wasn’t.
The seating area had been rearranged, the dark leather couches now facing the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond them, the sky bled in hues of pink and gold, the sea stretching endlessly below, waves crashing like whispered secrets against the shore.
Candles flickered on the low table between the couches, their soft glow cast elongated shadows across the room. A table, set for two, stood nearby, covered dishes waiting beneath the silver lids.
For a moment, just for a slight second, I forgot why I was here. Only when shadows in my periphery moved, I saw him. There he was.
I gasped, my fingers automatically tightening around the doorframe.
He was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, ankles crossed at the boots. His head tilted slightly like he was assessing me silently, and those stormy grey eyes raked over me, drinking in every inch.
The scar.
I had never looked at it properly, nor purposely tried to ignore it.
It ran from his temple to the edge of his cheekbone, jagged and cruel like a mark that told stories without ever needing words.
It should have ruined him. It didn’t though.
If anything, it made him more terrifying.
More real. Like a wolf marked by wars and still standing. Still dangerous.
I forced myself to meet his gaze. A mistake.
His eyes were just like the sea outside… violent, endless, and swallowing. Aa depth that shouldn’t exist, a darkness that knew no bottom. The kind of eyes that made you forget to breathe, that stripped you bare without ever laying a hand.
And then his gaze dipped, just for a second, lingering at my ankle. At the thin band of metal locked around it.
The smirk that curved his lips sent ice through my veins. He was amused. Of course he was. He enjoyed this. My misery. My helplessness and the way I squirmed beneath his scrutiny.
I clenched my jaw, heat flooding my face. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw something at him. I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, carve it off if I had to. But I knew better.
I was here.
Standing in front of him. And that meant only one thing.
I was going to trade my body for the answers only he had.
And the worst part? He knew it.
The silence between us became thicker with passing seconds. My heartbeat pounded against my ribs, loud enough that I was sure he could hear it. He still hadn’t spoken, still hadn’t moved. Just watching.
I hated that look in his eyes, the way it stripped me bare, peeled me apart, exposed every inch of my hesitation. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Smirking to himself, he moved like he had all the time in the world.
One step, then another, until he was close enough that I had to tilt my head back to keep eye contact.
My breath caught in my throat as he lifted his hand, his cruel fingers brushing a loose strand of my hair.
The touch was deceptively light. But then he tugged, enough to tilt my chin.
“Scared, Dolcezza?” he rumbled lowly.
I clenched my fists. “No.”
Liar.
His smirk deepened as his thumb slowly traced my lower lip, staying there for a second too long before he let go. He stepped back just enough to stretch out an arm and point to the couch near the windows.
“Sit.”
The word dropped like a command. I hesitated, shifting on my feet. His expression didn’t change, but something in the air did. The temperature. The intensity of his presence. It pressed down on me, making my skin prickle.
“Unless,” he drawled, “you were thinking of running?”
My throat dried up. The way he said it… so casually, like the idea of me running amused him. Like he wanted me to try. Like he was already picturing exactly what he’d do when he caught me.
He took another step closer.
“You run, and I’ll make sure you can’t fucking walk for a week.” His voice dropped lower. “And not in the way that’ll make you beg for more.”
My stomach flipped. And I moved before I could think, practically stumbling onto the couch.
He chuckled before sinking onto the opposite side. Unlike me… who was sitting with legs pressed tightly and hands curled into the fabric of the dress, he spread out, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, one ankle resting over his knee.
I didn’t know what to do now.
Should I eat? Wait for him to tell me to eat? Serve him?
I swallowed hard, staring at the untouched dishes between us. My fingers twitched with hesitancy.
“Go on, Dolcezza.” His voice was velvet and steel. “Eat.”
I picked up a fork, my hand shaking slightly as I lifted the lid off one of the plates. The scent of something warm and rich filled the air. My stomach grumbled, part with nausea and part with hunger.
I took a decent portion on one plate and took a small bite. All while he watched me. That made me cautious and insecure.
It made me swallow the bite, almost choking.
“Relax.” He chuckled again. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to take another bite. But the smirk on his face told me one thing. This wasn’t just about dinner.
This was about control.
And he had all of it.