He pinned me against the wall, his hand on my throat and his lips on my neck. 'Run, ' he said. 'I'll just drag you back.' I should hate him. I'm terrified of him. So why does my body betray me every time he whispers my name? He warned me once: This city protects me, not you. Now I believe him. When I went to the police to escape Aleksandr Markov's relentless obsession, my sister was framed and locked up. When I tried to run, he bought my workplace and became my boss. When I begged him to let me go, he whispered in my ear with his lips pressed to my neck: You're mine, My little dove. Struggle all you want-I'll keep you until you stop fighting... or until you break. But the scariest part? The longer I'm trapped in his cage, the less I want to leave. A billionaire villain. A powerless heroine. A game of power, obsession, and desire where losing means surrendering everything-including your heart.
The bell above the café door jingled just as I flipped the sign to CLOSED.
Sorry, we're-The words froze in my throat when I saw him.
Tall. Handsome. Impeccably dressed in a black tailored suit. Tattoos crept from under his cuffs, ink trailing over the backs of his hands. His dark hair slicked back just enough to make him look untouchable. His eyes- cold, sharp, the color of storm clouds-locked on mine like a predator who had already decided I was his prey.
I swallowed hard. We're closed.
He didn't answer. He stepped inside anyway, the door clicking shut behind him. The small café suddenly felt smaller, suffocating, like the walls were inching closer with every one of his slow, deliberate strides.
I'll make it quick, he said finally, his voice deep, accented, smooth as velvet but edged like a blade.
Something about him screamed danger-not loud and obvious, but quiet and insidious, like poison in a glass of wine.
I backed toward the counter. I-I can't. The register's closed. I'm about to lock up.
You're afraid.
It wasn't a question. His mouth curved, a cruel little twist at the corner.
No, I said, though my voice betrayed me, small and tight.
He tilted his head, eyes scanning me in a way that made my skin crawl. His gaze wasn't casual. It was hungry. Assessing. Memorizing.
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