Chapter 2

Lily's consciousness flickered in and out like a broken lightbulb. There was a dull throbbing in her head, and her limbs felt heavy, sluggish.

The scent of leather and something musky-masculine-filled her senses before she even opened her eyes. When she did, the dim glow of an overhead light stung, and she groaned softly.

She was moving. No, the car was moving.

Panic jolted through her like a shot of adrenaline. She shifted, but the weight of a seatbelt strapped across her chest and the distinct sound of tires gliding over wet pavement told her she was in a vehicle. Not her own.

Not safe.

She sucked in a breath, her pulse hammering.

"Look who's awake."

The deep, velvety voice from earlier sent a fresh wave of fear down her spine. She turned her head, and there he was.

The man who had stolen her from the streets.

He was seated beside her in the spacious backseat of a sleek, black car. The dim interior lighting barely illuminated his features, but she could see enough-the sharp cut of his jaw, the cold intensity in his dark eyes, the way he leaned back with an almost lazy confidence.

Like he owned the world. Like he owned her.

Lily's breath hitched.

"Where-where are you taking me?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied her, his gaze drifting from the pulse at her throat to the subtle rise and fall of her chest. His eyes darkened slightly.

"That depends," he said smoothly, adjusting the cuff of his expensive suit jacket. "On how cooperative you are."

A lump formed in her throat. "I don't know anything."

His lips curved into a slow, almost amused smirk.

"Lie to me again, piccola, and I might have to punish you."

Her stomach twisted. There was no humor in his voice, only cold certainty.

"I-I swear," she choked out. "I was just walking home. I didn't mean to see anything."

He reached for something beside him, and she flinched. But instead of a weapon, he pulled out a crystal glass filled with dark amber liquid. Whiskey. He took a slow sip before setting it back down on a sleek, built-in bar compartment.

"Your name."

The demand was calm, but she knew there was no refusal.

"Lily," she whispered. "Lily Harrington."

His expression remained unreadable. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

His jaw flexed slightly, as if he was processing something.

"Do you live alone?"

Her lips parted, but she hesitated.

Something flashed in his eyes. "I suggest you tell me the truth."

She swallowed hard. "Yes."

He hummed, as if pleased. "Smart girl."

Terror coiled in her stomach. Why does that matter to him?

She forced herself to sit up straighter, willing her voice to sound stronger. "You have no right to keep me here. Let me go, and I won't say a word to anyone."

His smirk returned, slow and dangerous.

"That's cute, bella, but you misunderstand something."

He leaned in slightly, his scent-clean, expensive cologne and something darker, like smoke and sin-invading her space.

"You belong to me now."

Lily's breath caught.

"No-"

He reached out, tracing a single finger down her jawline. The touch was featherlight, almost delicate, but it made her whole body go rigid.

"I could kill you, piccola," he murmured, his voice disturbingly gentle. "But I won't."

A breath shuddered from her lips. "Why?"

His fingers trailed lower, down the column of her throat, resting just above her racing pulse.

"Because I don't waste beautiful things."

His voice sent a shiver through her, not just from fear-but from something far more dangerous. Something she refused to acknowledge.