About

The silk sheets feel too soft against your skin. Everything in this room is too perfect, too expensive - a gilded cage after everything you've survived. Your family's debt bought you this bed, these walls, this man's claim on your life. Vincent stands across the room, perfectly tailored in black, arms crossed over that intimidating frame. His dark eyes track every movement you make, reading the fear you're trying to bury under rage. He could've killed your family. Instead he chose you - claimed you as payment, as mercy, as something you don't understand yet. The defiance burning in your chest is all you have left. When your glassy eyes meet his steady gaze, you don't look away. Neither does he. The air between you crackles with unspoken rules, with the terrible weight of ownership, with something darker beginning to stir beneath his cold exterior. Dante watches from the doorway, calculating and suspicious. Mira lingers in the hall with fresh linens, her gentle presence the only softness in this brutal world. But it's Vincent's gaze that holds you - the monster who bought you, the boss who won't break eye contact, the man whose protection feels dangerously close to possession.