Adam's pov
She fainted right in front of me, her body finally succumbing to the torture I had inflicted. I stood there for a moment, my gaze locked onto her motionless form. Her chest rose and fell faintly, her pale skin glistening with sweat, water, and tears—a perfect canvas of fear and submission. I tilted my head, studying her. Even broken, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on.
A slow smirk twisted my lips as I turned toward the where the snake slithered restlessly. I grabbed it with steady hands, ignoring its harmless wriggling, and placed it back into its cage. A harmless snakelet—so innocent it wouldn’t dare bite—but she didn’t know that.
The terror in her eyes earlier, the way she screamed, shook, pleaded—fuck. My blood still roared with the memory of it. My dick hardened, straining painfully against my pants. Just the thought of that fear made me want to wake her up and start over. She had turned into my personal obsession, and I couldn’t get enough of her. But for now, I needed to calm the fuck down.
I left the room, my back pressed against the cold wooden door as I forced slow, measured breaths into my lungs. Control. I had to control myself, at least for now. My erection throbbed, a dark reminder of how much I wanted her—how much I owned her.
Once I managed to quiet the storm raging inside me, I walked back into the room, my eyes settling on her limp form. I grabbed a bowl of lukewarm water and a few towels from the bathroom. Setting the items on the nearby table, I undid her restraints, carefully removing the cuffs from her wrists and ankles, along with the collar that had bitten into her skin. I let her stilettos drop to the floor with a dull thud.
My gaze swept over her body, spread out before me like a work of art. The light reflected off her skin—slick with sweat, cum, and melted ice—highlighting the handprints I’d left on her hips, neck, and breasts. Her hair fanned out around her in chaotic waves, a dark halo against the red room. She was perfection. My perfection.
I cleaned her up methodically, my hands steady but my mind still swirling with thoughts of what I’d do next. Every swipe of the towel against her soft skin was a reminder of what I owned—every mark, every breath, every inch of her belonged to me. Once she was clean, I draped a blanket over her and stood, throwing one last lingering look at her sleeping form before leaving the room.
This wasn’t the night I had planned.
I entered our bedroom and paused. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers and vanilla candles. Soft petals scattered across the bed, leading to a bathtub prepared with rose water and bath salts—everything had been set perfectly.
It was supposed to be a dream wedding for her. For us. She had talked about this day endlessly, filling my ears with fantasies of love, candlelit baths, and a tender first night together. And for a brief moment—*brief*—I had considered giving her that.
But then… she betrayed me.
The security team’s call came yesterday afternoon. Alice was acting strange. I didn’t need much to put the pieces together. Bella’s plan to escape was predictable—pathetic, even. I had been angry, but I was willing to wait until after the ceremony, after the vows. But the gun, her stalling, her attempts to lay motionless in bed this morning to avoid me—all of it pushed me too far.
I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, twisting the knob to the coldest setting. The icy water bit at my skin, attempting to douse the fire raging inside me. My fingers curled into fists as I stared at the bathtub, petals floating serenely on the surface. This was for her. A soft night of passion, something I would’ve let her have—until she crossed me.
And then she dared to stand in front of me earlier, defiant even in her pain, throwing out ultimatums. “Forgive me tomorrow, punish me today.”
I let out a low, humorless chuckle, the sound echoing in the empty bathroom. Forgiveness? No. Not yet. If tonight was punishment for her, then tomorrow would be her turn to forgive me.
Snapping the water off, I grabbed a towel, wrapping it around my waist as I stalked back into the red room. The glow of the red lights bathed her sleeping body in an eerie haze. Red had always been a color of power—of lust and violence—and tonight, it amplified every dark emotion churning inside me.
I dropped the towel to the floor, the cold air doing nothing to soothe the heat simmering under my skin. My eyes never left her as I crossed the room, yanking the blanket off her with a flick of my wrist. Her body lay still, vulnerable, and utterly mine.
I climbed onto the bed, mounting her, my weight pressing her into the mattress. My hands planted firmly on either side of her head as I leaned in, my breath hot against her cheek. Slowly, I brushed my lips along the curve of her ear, then down her neck.
Her breathing changed.
I felt her stir beneath me, her body tensing as she began to wake.
Good.
I leaned back just enough to watch her eyes flutter open. Confusion painted her features first, then fear—a delicious, primal fear that I had come to crave. Before she could speak, before she could even process, I crushed my mouth against hers.
Her muffled scream sent a jolt through me, igniting something feral and dark. I pushed deeper into her, claiming her entirely. My hands tightened around her wrists, pinning her as she thrashed weakly beneath me.
Her body was mine. Her screams were mine. Her soul—her very existence—belonged to me.
“You wanted punishment,” I growled against her lips, my voice low and venomous. “And you’ll have it.”
She whimpered into my mouth, a sound that only drove me further, deeper into madness.
I pulled back just enough to look into her wide, terrified eyes. “Tomorrow, Bella,” I murmured darkly, my fingers brushing along her cheek. “Tomorrow, you can forgive me. But tonight… tonight, you’re mine to break.”
And I would break her.
Again.
And again.
Until she accepted the truth: she was mine forever.
I was a man possessed, driven by a fire I could no longer control. I took her again and again, in every possible way—her body was mine to explore, to claim. I had her on her front, her face pressed into the sheets, then on her back, where her eyes met mine, her lips trembling with conflicting cries to stop and to continue. On all fours, she arched for me, her form surrendering completely, and when I laid her sideways, I pulled her close as though I might devour her whole.
Her voice echoed in the room, screaming in pleasure, in protest, and in submission, until her thoughts seemed to blur and vanish. I had to rouse her more than once, coaxing her back to me, as hours passed like fleeting moments. By the time the session ended, her body was limp, trembling, yet her lips whispered my name like a prayer—soft, reverent, and unending. I made certain she would not rise without my help when the sun returned, for every inch of her had been marked, claimed, and conquered.
She was mine—utterly, irrevocably mine—and she would remain so for all eternity.
As the first rays of the sun crept through the small window at the corner of the room, I sat beside her, watching the peaceful rise and fall of her chest. Her lashes fluttered softly against her cheeks as she slept, utterly spent from the night before. Leaning down, I brushed my lips close to her ear, whispering, “You’re forgiven, baby girl.”
But my words were wasted—she was far too deep under the influence of exhaustion to hear me. I lingered for a moment longer, letting my eyes trace her delicate features before I carefully scooped her up in a bridal style. Her small body felt light in my arms, her weightless surrender reminding me how powerless she truly was.
I carried her out of the dim corner and back to our room, where I laid her gently on the bed. I cleaned her up again, making sure she was comfortable before pulling the sheets over her. Her sleeping face was serene, almost innocent. I let out a quiet scoff before leaving the room, knowing that innocence was long gone.
In the bathroom, the scalding water of a quick shower washed away the sweat, and our orgasms residue, and memories of the night. By the time I walked into my office, dressed simply in a black t-shirt and tracks, I had regained my composure. But I wasn’t alone.
To my surprise, Ryan was already there. He had made himself comfortable in the large leather chair across from my desk, one leg lazily crossed over the other. The thick scent of cigar smoke hung in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of whiskey. A half-empty glass sat on the desk beside him, the amber liquid catching the sunlight.
“Ryan,” I growled, narrowing my eyes.
He tilted his head slightly, taking a slow drag from his cigar before exhaling. His smirk was infuriating—calm, smug, and infested with dark amusement. “You were pretty rough on her,” he taunted, his voice low and smooth. “I could hear her screams echoing from all the way down here. Thought you wouldn’t stop.”
“Shut up,” I snapped, moving to my seat behind the desk and sitting down. My chair creaked as I leaned back, fixing him with a cold glare. “Alice, she’ll live? Should I be worried?”
Ryan’s smile widened as he leaned back in his chair, looking like the devil himself. He rolled the cigar between his fingers, his expression unreadable but filled with quiet menace. “She’ll live,” he replied casually, his voice dripping with cruel indifference. “Not that she’ll want to wake up anytime soon.”
“Poor girl,” he muttered mockingly. “Got caught in the crosshairs of the wrong monsters.”
I inhaled from my own cigar, letting the smoke settle in my lungs before exhaling a slow stream.
Ryan chuckled darkly, the sound low and unsettling. “And what now? Postpone the honeymoon and torment your little wife until she breaks?”
I shot him a sharp glare. “Mind your own business, Ryan.”
He raised his hands mockingly, that same smug look on his face. “Whatever you say.”
I inhaled again, the smoke curling around my face like a shroud. “The honeymoon’s postponed for a few days,” I admitted, my tone turning serious. “I have a gut feeling about Mr Moreau. Something doesn’t add up. I won’t let that bastard ruin my plans—or my honeymoon in Paris.”
Ryan tilted his head, flicking ash from his cigar onto the marble floor. “So what’s the plan until then?” he asked with a smirk. “More nights like last night? You’ve probably got her too broken to wake up before evening.”
“Shut it,” I warned, my voice dropping a note lower.
His expression stayed smug, but he didn’t push further. I let the silence hang for a moment before speaking, my voice ice-cold. “I’m going to make her family pay. Her father had the audacity to let her think she could fight back. I gave him everything. I funded his rise, supported his company—and now I’ll take it all back. Piece by piece. I’ll watch him crawl.”
Ryan’s smile faltered slightly, and his voice hardened. “What about Alice? I’m not going to let you ruin her.”
I leaned forward slightly, enjoying his sudden discomfort. “Alice is yours, isn’t she? She’ll be your problem soon enough.”
Ryan’s face darkened, but he didn’t respond immediately. “She won’t move in with me before the wedding,” he finally muttered. “And that’s still three months away.”
I arched a brow, the amusement evident in my tone. “Does she even know about the wedding?”
His silence answered me. That sly, unreadable smirk returned.
"Are you going to let her know before, during or after the wedding?" He shrugged unconcerned, "I have a plan" he answered.
"And Jordan?” I pressed, my voice sharp.
Ryan shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “Jordan can play his games with her, but at the end of the day, Alice is mine. She knows it. He knows it.”
“Possessive,” I said mockingly, a small smirk of my own curling my lips. “Fine. Do what I say—start pulling deals out from under Mr Thorpe. I want him desperate, suffocated. Using this situation pressurize Alice into a marriage with you. Mr Thorpe would comply, seeing he has no alternative options. Once the papers are signed, do what needs to be done.”
Ryan met my gaze, his expression colder now. “Understood,” he muttered.
I crushed my cigar into the ashtray, the ember sputtering and dying. Standing, I fixed him with my full authority. “I don’t want any disturbances from you or the men until tomorrow evening. You’re in charge. I’ll meet you for dinner to discuss Moreau. I expect every single missing detail by then—because the day after, I’m leaving for Paris.”
Ryan’s lips curled into a faint, menacing grin. “Consider it done.”
I turned to leave, but paused at the door, my hand on the frame. Without looking back, I said quietly, “Tell security at the gate—no one enters this property until tomorrow evening except for you. If they try, their heads will be served for my dinner.”
Ryan chuckled behind me, his voice low and sadistic. “They’ll learn.”
I walked out, leaving behind the faint scent of smoke and the lingering promise of chaos. Tonight, the mansion would be quiet.
I turned back toward the bedroom, the soft creak of the wooden floor under my feet echoing faintly in the quiet mansion. Pushing open the door, I was greeted by the sight of Bella sleeping soundly on my bed, curled up beneath my duvet. Her small figure was barely visible, save for a few strands of hair that had slipped over her face.
I stepped closer, the faint sunlight streaming through the window illuminating her delicate features. Gently, I brushed the strands of hair away, revealing her round, chubby cheeks and that adorable button nose. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. My Bella. Even in sleep, she looked so innocent, so untouched by the darkness of this world.
Silently, I removed my clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the chair. Lifting the edge of the duvet, I slipped in beside her, the warmth of her body immediately seeping into mine. I took her into my arms, and like a good girl—my good girl—she snuggled into me as though it were a habit. Her head found its place on my chest, her soft breaths fanning against my skin. I buried my face into her hair, inhaling deeply, letting her scent calm the restless storm in my mind. As I idly played with her silky strands, my thoughts wandered back to the first time I truly saw her.
It was amusing how I had let her believe that our first meeting was at that club. That night was calculated, planned—but our real meeting? That was something far more significant. A memory burned into my soul.
She was five, and I was nine. It was the day of my first kill. My father, the ruthless leader of the mafia, had been training me since I could walk—steeling me for this violent world. Up until that moment, I’d done everything he asked: theft, extortion, things no child should ever be forced to do. But murder… murder was different. The blood wouldn’t come off, no matter how hard I scrubbed. That day broke something in me, and I fled to the city streets to hide from the man I was becoming.
I remembered crouching under an old, forgotten bench, shivering, my mind a chaos of guilt and confusion. Hours passed, and the daylight began to fade. That’s when she appeared—small, scared, and out of place. Bella.
She wandered over to me, her eyes wide and curious. Most would have run from the boy with dead eyes and blood-streaked hands, but not her. Without a word, she sat beside me, her tiny fingers wrapping around my hand. I froze, unsure of what to do, but the moment her hand tightened around mine, I realized we were both trembling—her from fear, me from something I couldn’t yet name.
We stayed that way for hours, two children finding comfort in each other’s silence. When the sky turned black and the rain began to pour, I reluctantly broke away, stepping out into the storm to retrieve a plastic sheet. I covered the bench as best as I could, then crawled back to my spot beside her. Her small arms wrapped around me this time, and for the first time in my life, I felt responsible for someone.
It was the middle of the night when her family found us. Her mother’s cries of relief filled the air as they scooped her up into their arms, but not before her father glanced down at me—shivering, soaked to the bone, and sitting where his daughter had been. Mistaking me for some homeless child, they brought me home that night. It was the first and only time I ever felt what a family’s warmth could be like.
They fed me, gave me dry clothes, even tucked me into a warm bed—things I didn’t realize I craved until then. But kindness is dangerous. Letting a mafia leader’s son into their home was a mistake, one they couldn’t have known. The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, they dropped me off at the police station. I escaped the moment I saw my chance and found my way back to the house I could never truly call home.
Still, something had changed that night. I never forgot her. I became a shadow in her life, always lurking, always watching. I found ways to see her secretly, sneaking moments to play with her—brief pockets of light in my otherwise dark world. But as I grew older, responsibilities piled onto my shoulders, and so did enemies. For her safety, I forced myself to stay away.
Yet I couldn’t truly let her go. I kept tabs on her and her family, ensuring her father’s struggling business grew. He knew the true source of his success, how the wealth flowing into his projects was my doing. All of it—every deal, every opportunity—was to ensure that my Bella had everything she ever wanted. He knew the reason for his initial success was Bella.
But my love… my affection… it eventually grew into obsession.
At first, I resisted. I tried to cut myself off completely, stopping the constant reports about her life. But three years later, on a cold, empty night, something in me snapped. I needed to know about her again.
What I learned drove me mad. She was dating someone. That bastard. And worse—she had given herself to him. The thought of anyone else having a claim on her, touching her, made my blood boil. That was the moment my patience ran out.
I called Jordan and arranged that meeting. From the second I laid eyes on her again, I knew she would be mine. I would take back what was mine. And now… now, no one else would ever touch her again.
The memory faded as I came back to the present. Bella shifted in her sleep, snuggling deeper into my chest. I tightened my hold on her, pressing my face into the curve of her neck. Her scent—soft, warm, and intoxicating—calmed the storm inside me. I pulled her closer, impossibly close, as if to fuse her to me.
“You’re mine,” I whispered against her skin, my voice barely audible.
With a satisfied breath, I closed my eyes, the faint rhythm of her heartbeat soothing me. A rare smile touched my lips as I drifted off to sleep, holding her like the lifeline she was.
For now, she was safe in my arms. And I would burn the world to keep it that way. Breathing her scent in I fall asleep.
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