Chapter 3 THE FIRST LESSON

The ringing of the bell wasn't just a sound; it was a physical assault, a vibration that seemed to pulse through the silver collar and straight into Elara's bone marrow. Each chime felt like a lash of a whip, a reminder of the fifty million dollars that sat between her and the life she once knew.

She had two minutes left.

Elara stared at the handwritten note in her hand-the mysterious message from "M." Her mind screamed at her to stay, to tear up the floorboards and find whatever secret was hidden there. But then she pictured Julian's face-the way his eyes turned to shards of ice when he was denied. If she was late, the "punishment" wouldn't just be a tighter collar. It would be a dismantling of the tiny shred of hope she had left.

With a shaking hand, she shoved the note into the waistband of her crimson lace slip and bolted for the door.

The hallways of the Blackwood estate were a labyrinth of shadows at this hour. The velvet curtains drank the light, making the distance between her room and Julian's study feel like miles. She ran, her bare feet silent on the cold marble, the silk of her dress fluttering against her thighs like the wings of a trapped moth.

Two minutes.

She reached the grand staircase, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The silver collar felt like it was heating up, a phantom sensation born of her own panic. She reached the heavy oak doors of the study just as the final echo of the third bell faded into the silence.

She didn't knock. She couldn't afford to. She pushed the doors open and stumbled inside.

The study was bathed in the amber glow of a dying fire. The walls were lined with thousands of leather-bound books, their gold-leaf spines gleaming like teeth in the dark. Julian was sitting behind a massive desk of petrified wood, a crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand. He didn't look up. He was staring at a stopwatch on his desk.

"Two minutes and fifty-eight seconds," he murmured. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "You're learning, Elara. Barely."

He finally looked at her, and Elara felt the air leave her lungs. He had removed his jacket and tie. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair. He looked less like a businessman and more like a predator who had finally cornered his prey.

His gaze raked over her, from the messy tangle of her hair down to her bare, trembling feet, and finally settling on the crimson lace that barely covered her curves. A slow, dark heat flickered in his eyes-a look of pure, unadulterated possession.

"Come here," he commanded.

Elara took a step forward, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I'm here, Julian. What do you want?"

"Closer."

She moved until she was standing directly in front of his desk. The scent of him-sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and something primal-swirled around her, making her head swim.

Julian stood up, moving with a fluid grace that made him seem even larger than he was. He walked around the desk, stopping so close that she had to tilt her head back to look at him. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of the silver collar, his touch feather-light yet heavy with intent.

"Lesson one was about time," he said, his voice dropping to a seductive silk. "Lesson two is about focus. In this house, there is only one sun, Elara. Only one source of light, heat, and life. Do you know who that is?"

Elara clenched her teeth, her pride fighting against the magnetic pull of his presence. "You want me to say it's you."

"I want you to know it's me," he corrected. He moved his hand from the collar to her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. "You spent your whole life looking at your father for approval. You looked at the world for your identity. That ends tonight. From now on, your world begins and ends with me."

He leaned down, his lips inches from hers. Elara could feel the heat of his breath. Every instinct she had told her to run, but her body felt rooted to the floor. The intensity of his gaze was a drug, a dizzying mix of terror and a dark, forbidden attraction she refused to name.

"Tell me," he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. "Who do you belong to?"

"I belong to myself," she breathed, her voice a fragile defiance.

Julian's eyes darkened, a flash of something ancient and hungry crossing his features. He didn't pull away. Instead, he moved his hand to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, forcing her closer until their lips were almost touching.

"Incorrect," he murmured. "But I admire the fire. It will be so much more satisfying when I finally put it out."

He didn't kiss her. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at her with a terrifyingly clinical gaze. "You think you can hate me and survive. But hate is just another form of obsession, Elara. And obsession is exactly what I want from you."

He turned away, walking back to the fire. "There is a guest arriving tomorrow. A woman named Isabella Rossi. She is the daughter of my father's greatest rival, and she believes she has a claim to this house-and to me."

Elara felt a strange, sharp pang in her chest. Isabella. The woman from the auction rumors.

"She will try to provoke you," Julian continued, staring into the flames. "She will try to remind you of what you used to be. Your job is to show her exactly what you are now. You will wear the collar. You will sit at my feet. You will be the perfect, silent pet."

"I won't do it," Elara snapped. "I won't let you humiliate me in front of her."

Julian turned, his face a mask of cold iron. "You will do exactly as you are told, or I will send the bailiffs back to your father's hiding spot in Marseille. Do you think he'll last a day without the money I gave him?"

The threat hit her like a physical blow. Her father was a coward, but he was all the family she had left. Julian knew exactly where to twist the knife.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "What did I ever do to you before tonight?"

Julian's expression shifted for a fraction of a second-a flicker of pain, of something raw and wounded-before the ice slammed back into place. He walked back to her, his hand reaching out to grip her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body.

"You think this is about hate?" he growled, his voice thick with emotion. "You think I spent fifty million dollars because I hate you? You have no idea what you've cost me, Elara. You have no idea how long I've waited to have you exactly where you are right now."

He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers. The tension between them was a physical thing, a wire stretched to the breaking point. Elara's breath hitched. For a moment, she saw a different man behind the mask-a man who was just as trapped as she was.

But then, the fire in the hearth hissed and died, plunging the room into shadow.

Julian released her, stepping back into the darkness. "Go. Prepare yourself. Isabella arrives at noon. If you fail me, Elara, the gilded cage will become a very cold place."

Elara fled the room, her heart racing so fast she thought it might burst. She didn't stop until she was back in her bedroom, the door locked and the lights turned up to their highest setting.

She stripped off the crimson lace, throwing it across the room as if it were poisoned. She stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at her reflection. The silver collar caught the light, a brilliant, mocking circle of diamonds.

Property of J.B.

She reached into her waistband and pulled out the note from "M."

Look under the third floorboard in the library.

The library was on the third floor, a place she hadn't yet explored. If she could find whatever "M" had hidden, maybe she could find a way to break Julian's hold on her. Maybe she could find the leverage she needed to win her freedom.

But as she looked at the collar in the mirror, she realized something that terrified her more than Julian's threats.

When he had held her, when his breath had been on her lips and his hands had been on her waist... she hadn't wanted to pull away.

She wasn't just his pet. She was becoming his victim in a way that had nothing to do with money or contracts. She was falling for the monster.

Elara sat on the edge of the bed, the black silk cold against her skin. She looked at the clock. It was 3:00 AM. The house was silent, save for the distant, rhythmic crashing of the waves against the cliffs.

She had nine hours until Isabella arrived. Nine hours to find the secret in the library.

She stood up, her jaw set with a new, dangerous resolve. She wouldn't be the perfect pet. She wouldn't sit at his feet and let Isabella Rossi mock her.

She was going to find the keys to the cage.

Elara dressed in a simple black robe and slipped out into the hallway. The estate felt different at night-the shadows seemed to move, the air thick with the weight of a hundred years of Blackwood secrets.

She made her way to the third floor, her heart in her throat. The library doors were even larger than the ones in the study, carved with intricate scenes of hunt and harvest. She pushed them open, the hinges silent.

The library was a forest of books, the scent of old paper and cedar overwhelming. She moved to the center of the room, counting the floorboards from the edge of the great mahogany reading table.

One... two... three.

She knelt, her fingers searching for a gap in the wood. It took her several minutes of frantic clawing before her nail caught on a small, recessed latch. She pulled, and a section of the floorboard popped up with a soft creak.

Inside the small, velvet-lined compartment was a leather-bound journal and a small, silver key.

Elara grabbed them both, her hands shaking. She opened the journal to the first page. The handwriting was elegant, feminine, and hauntingly familiar.

My name is Madeline Blackwood. If you are reading this, then my son has finally done it. He has finally brought you home. But you must understand the truth, Elara. Julian isn't protecting you from the world. He's protecting you from himself.

The sound of a heavy footstep echoed from the hallway outside.

Elara froze. The light of a flashlight swept across the library doors.

"Who's there?" a voice called out. It wasn't Julian. It was the head of security.

Elara shoved the journal and the key into her robe and scrambled behind a tall bookshelf. She held her breath, her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it.

The footsteps came closer. The beam of the flashlight danced over the rows of books, inches from where she was hiding.

"I know I heard something," the guard muttered.

Just as he was about to turn the corner into her row, a loud crash echoed from the foyer downstairs-the sound of glass shattering.

The guard swore and ran back toward the stairs.

Elara didn't wait. She bolted from the library, her feet flying over the carpet. She reached her room and locked the door, leaning against it as her lungs burned.

She pulled the journal out, her eyes scanning the pages. It was filled with entries about a "blood debt," an ancient agreement between the Vances and the Blackwoods that had started long before her father's gambling.

But it was the last entry that made her blood run cold.

He thinks the auction was the beginning. He doesn't know that I saw him in the garden that night ten years ago. He doesn't know that he was the one who started the fire.

The fire. The fire that had killed her mother.

Elara dropped the journal as if it had turned into a snake. Julian? Julian had killed her mother?

Before she could process the thought, the intercom on her wall buzzed.

"Elara," Julian's voice said, sounding strangely strained. "Change of plans. Isabella is here early. And she's brought company. Get to the drawing room. Now."

Elara looked at the journal on the floor, then at the silver collar in the mirror.

The game had just changed. It wasn't about survival anymore. It was about revenge.

She picked up the journal, hid it deep within her mattress, and reached for the crimson lace. As she fastened the silver collar around her neck, her eyes were no longer filled with fear. They were filled with a cold, glittering promise.

She walked out of the room, her head held high.

The Young Master wanted a pet? Fine. She would give him exactly what he wanted.

And then, she would burn his world to the ground.