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Skylar's POV
"Not bad," he muttered as we stepped into the grand dining room—opulent, cold, and suffocating, just like him.
I shot him a glare, but deep down… I couldn't deny the truth in his words. I was being taken care of—fed well, clothed in expensive fabrics, no work stress, no late nights at the club.
But it didn't matter. None of it did.
I didn't want this life.
I missed the chaos of my job, the music, the laughter of friends. I missed my mother, probably losing her mind with worry. She never wanted me to work at that club in the first place—and now? Now I was trapped in a nightmare. A beautiful, gilded cage with no key.
My chest tightened.
I hated being treated like a prisoner. I hated the constant fear that something might happen to the people I love.
I needed to get out.
"SIT."
His voice snapped me from my spiraling thoughts, sharp and commanding.
"No."
I said it flatly, my eyes still burning holes through him.
Silence fell like a blade. A tense, suffocating stillness.
Lucien smirked.
"Everyone out," he said calmly, and like well-trained dogs, the maids vanished without a word, without a glance.
He turned back to me, voice silk-wrapped steel.
"Let's try this again. Sit."
I stood my ground. "No."
My voice was louder this time. Firmer.
"I don't know what kind of psychotic game you think you're playing, but I'm not staying here.
I'm not going to let you keep me hostage, threaten my family, and pretend it's all okay because you've got some twisted obsession with me."
His fork clattered onto the plate. The sound echoed like a warning shot.
Lucien stood, slow and deliberate. Every move laced with power, danger.
"I see I've caught myself a little spitfire," he murmured as he approached.
I stepped back instinctively.
Too late.
He grabbed me, pulling me into his chest—his body hard like stone, his presence suffocating.
"May I remind you," he whispered, his breath cold against my ear, "you were a witness to what happened at the club."
His voice dipped, deadly.
"And you know what I do to witnesses?"
A pause. My heartbeat thundered.
"I kill them."
A shiver ran through me, freezing me in place.
"I-I won't tell anyone," I breathed, desperately. "I swear, I'll forget everything. Just let me go."
His lips curled.
"I'm afraid that's not possible, love. You can't be trusted."
He tilted his head. "You've already tried to escape. Twice."
I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself.
"What did you expect? You kidnapped me. Anyone would try to escape!"
His expression darkened.
"Exactly my point."
He stepped back and tossed a stack of documents onto the table.
"What's this?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
"Sign it," he said simply.
I glanced down, my stomach turning as I skimmed the words.
A contract. Binding me to him.
His pet.
Was this some kind of joke? What was I—his dog?
"You can't be serious," I whispered.
I shoved the papers back toward him, disgusted, turning on my heel.
But before I could take a step—
Bang.
A brutal force yanked me back. My body slammed into the edge of the table.
A glass shattered. The sound of it cracking matched the chaos in my chest.
Before I could breathe, his hand wrapped around my throat—not tight enough to choke, but enough to make me freeze, to remind me who held the power here.
My fingers gripped the table for support.
"Rule number one," he growled, lips brushing my ear, "never walk away from me."
His grip tightened.
"Maybe I've been too soft with you. Maybe you really don't know your place."
"I'm not your pet," I hissed, voice straining.
He leaned in closer, eyes burning into mine.
"That's not a choice, sweetheart."
I struggled, desperate to get out of his hold—desperate to breathe, to be free.
But Lucien wasn't letting go.
Not yet.