Chapter 2

2

Silas’s version of “confinement” wasn't what I imagined.

I lived in the most private suite on the top floor. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire city skyline. The walk-in closet was filled with the latest designer fashion, all with the tags still on.

The fridge was stocked. Fresh fruit was delivered every single morning.

But I couldn't leave. The elevator required a fingerprint. Two guards stood at the stairwell twenty-four hours a day.

On the third day, I tried to slip out through the fire exit. As soon as I pushed the door, a guard appeared at the end of the hall. He gave me a polite nod.

“Miss Vance, please return to your room.”

“I want to go out.”

“Mr. Sterling gave strict orders. You are not permitted to leave yet.”

“This is kidnapping!” I snapped.

The guard’s expression didn't flicker. “You can call the police, Miss Vance. There are seven precincts in this city. Mr. Sterling has had dinner with five of their chiefs.”

I slammed the door in his face.

Silas showed up for the first time that weekend. He walked in while I was in the living room, peeling an apple with a small knife. The way I held it seemed to catch his interest.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching me. A ghost of a smile touched his lips.

“You’re holding that knife wrong.”

“None of your business,” I shot back.

He didn’t get angry. He walked over, took the knife from my hand, and grabbed my wrist. He repositioned my fingers on the handle.

“Apply pressure with your palm. Keep your wrist loose. Always keep the point facing outward.” His hand completely engulfed mine. His palm was calloused, the kind of skin you get from years of handling a weapon.

“You’re just cutting an apple now. But if you ever have to cut something else―”

He let go and stepped back. The warmth in his eyes vanished instantly.

“Don’t think about running,” he said as he turned to leave. “The people outside won't be nearly as polite as I am.”

I stood there, clutching the knife. I could still feel the heat from his hand on mine.

The following week, I tried to run again.

I waited for the shift change and climbed out of the laundry room window. The Sterling building had spiked fencing to prevent climbers. I tore my sleeve and sliced my palm open getting over it.

I ran barefoot for three blocks and hid in a bus station restroom.

I sat there for twenty minutes, heart hammering. Then, the bathroom door was kicked off its hinges.

It wasn't a bodyguard.

It was Silas himself.

He stood in the doorway, his black shirt unbuttoned at the top. The dragon’s claw was visible on his chest, looking like it was growing straight out of his heart. He was breathing hard, clearly having run from his car.

“Mia.”

“What are you going to do to me?” I whispered.

He knelt down, just like he had the night my father sold me. But this time, he didn't grab my chin. He took my injured hand and inspected the cut.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

He pulled a black silk handkerchief from his pocket. It had a dragon embroidered in the corner. He wrapped it around my palm and tied a neat knot.

“Go back.”

“I’m not going back.”

“If you don’t, I’ll have your father’s other hand broken. He already owes the Sterling family 4.7 million. I only cleared three million of it. For every time you run, I’m adding another million to his debt.”

I looked into his eyes. They were a deep, bottomless brown.

“You’re insane.”

He stood up, towering over me. The wind caught his shirt, making the dragon tattoo ripple beneath the fabric.

“Maybe,” he said softly. “And you’re the only cure.”