Camila Reyes' POV
I didn't sleep.
The note burned holes in my thoughts even after I'd crumpled it and tossed it across the room. I wasn't stupid—whatever game this was, I'd been thrown in without the rulebook. And Lucien... he hadn't denied it. Not with words. Not with a single glance.
I stood near the window, arms crossed, watching the city blink and breathe beneath a velvet sky. Somewhere out there was freedom. My old life—flawed, messy, real—existed somewhere beyond the towering gates of this mansion.
But I wasn't that girl anymore, was I?
A knock pulled me out of my thoughts. I turned, already expecting one of his guards. Instead, it was a woman. Mid-thirties. Sharp cheekbones. Elegant posture. Dressed in all black like the others.
"Miss Reyes," she said with a polite nod. "I'm here to prepare you for tonight."
"Tonight?"
Her eyes didn't waver. "Mr. Valentini has summoned you."
Summoned.
What was I—some tribute?
I wanted to protest, to refuse, but something told me that kind of rebellion didn't end well in this house. So I nodded stiffly and followed her into a different room—one with clothes far too expensive for someone like me, spread across a velvet chaise. Silks. Black lace. A pair of blood-red heels that looked like they'd kill me before I took ten steps.
The woman—who introduced herself as Mirella—began helping me change. She was silent, efficient, and completely unfazed by my discomfort.
"Is this supposed to impress him?" I muttered, tugging the tight dress over my hips.
"No," she said smoothly. "It's to remind everyone else that he owns you."
My stomach turned.
---
An hour later, I stood outside a pair of grand doors. My heart hammered against my ribs. I hadn't even seen Lucien since yesterday, and now I was being paraded like a doll dressed in secrets.
The doors opened.
He was inside, alone. Seated at the end of a long dining table like a king with no court.
His eyes lifted when he saw me.
Something dark passed over them. Something hungry.
"Camila."
Just my name—but it landed like a command.
I took a breath and stepped inside, my heels clicking against the marble like gunshots.
If I was going to survive this world, I had to stop waiting to be rescued.
I had to become dangerous too.
The silence stretched like a blade between us.
Lucien's silver fork scraped softly against his plate, and each sound made my skin twitch. He ate like a man in control of everything—even this moment. No guards inside, no distractions. Just him. And me. Sitting across from a devil in a tailored suit.
I hadn't touched my food.
"Camila," he said suddenly, his voice smooth and slow like velvet dipped in poison. "You should eat. It's a very expensive meal. And I don't like waste."
I picked up the fork with trembling fingers, managing one small bite. The flavors barely registered.
"What do you want from me?"
Lucien smiled. Not cruelly. Not kindly. Just… knowingly. "That's a dangerous question. Are you sure you want the answer?"
I met his gaze and held it. "Yes."
He sipped his wine, then set the glass down, eyes locked on mine. "I want loyalty. I want silence. I want you exactly where I can see you." His eyes flicked down and back up again. "And maybe… I want to see what happens when someone like you is forced to play by my rules."
My stomach turned. I pushed the plate away.
Lucien rose from his seat, slowly. He came around the table, his shoes silent on the floor, and stopped beside me. My breath hitched as he leaned down, his hand brushing a lock of hair behind my ear.
"I don't care about your past, Camila Reyes. Not yet. But I will. I'll learn everything eventually." He straightened. "You have two choices—fight me… or survive me."
And then he left.
I sat frozen, heart pounding, the taste of fear thick in my mouth.
But something in his words clung to me—survive me. Like he expected me to bend. Break.
Not yet, Lucien Valentini. Not yet.
She had no idea.
No idea how long he'd been watching her, waiting—hungry for something he couldn't name. Camila Reyes wasn't the first woman brought to his feet. But she was the first who didn't lower her eyes in submission, even with fear thick in her veins. He liked that. It stirred something dangerous.
Lucien leaned back in the leather chair of his private lounge, fingers steepled under his chin. The security footage played silently across the screen—Camila, wandering the hallways like a caged bird testing the wires. Still too proud to beg, still too innocent to know what it meant to belong to someone like him.
She didn't yet understand what belonging would feel like.
"She's different," said Angelo, his right hand, setting a glass of scotch in front of him. "More mouth on her than the others."
Lucien's jaw tensed. "I'm aware."
Camila had fire, but fire could be tamed. Turned into something useful. Controlled. But not extinguished. No, he didn't want to crush her spirit—he wanted to own it.
"She'll run," Angelo warned. "You know the type."
Lucien smirked, dark and cold. "Let her. I'll enjoy catching her."
Outside, the rain bled against the glass. A storm was building, and he was the one who had summoned it the moment he laid a million down for her.
That money was nothing. But she—she was becoming everything.
He had other women. Mistresses who threw themselves at his feet. Bodies willing, eyes desperate. But none of them were Camila. None of them made him want to lock a girl in silk chains and see how long she'd resist the inevitable.
Lucien stood, straightening his cuffs. "Send the tailor to her room," he said. "And remove any mistress that looks at her wrong."
Angelo raised a brow. "You want her comfortable or terrified?"
Lucien paused. "Both."
He turned and walked down the hall toward her wing of the estate, pulse steady, thoughts coiled like smoke. This wasn't about love. Love was weakness. This was something else.
Obsession. Power. Control.
Camila Reyes would come to understand what it meant to be his