Chapter 2 The Devil's Territory

Elara woke to silence.

Not the gentle kind that came before dawn, or the familiar hush of a house settling in the night-but a thick, unnatural stillness that pressed against her ears and made her heart pound faster.

She lay completely still, eyes closed, breath shallow.

The air smelled expensive. Clean. Faintly masculine.

That alone was enough to send panic slicing through her chest.

Her memories came back in fragments-the rain, the black SUVs, the man with eyes like carved stone. The way his voice had wrapped around her name as if he'd known her forever.

Nikolai Volkov.

Her lashes fluttered open.

She wasn't in a car anymore.

She lay on a massive bed dressed in charcoal-gray sheets, the mattress firm beneath her, the pillows plush and foreign. The ceiling above her was high and modern, lined with soft recessed lighting that glowed faintly, as if even the room knew not to be too bright.

Elara pushed herself upright in a rush, the sheets slipping down to reveal that her wedding dress was gone.

She froze.

Her breath hitched as she looked down at herself.

She wore a simple black silk nightdress, the fabric cool against her skin. It wasn't revealing. It wasn't tight. But it wasn't hers.

Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.

Someone had changed her clothes.

The realization made her stomach twist violently. She scrambled out of bed, bare feet hitting polished marble floors that reflected the dim light. The room was enormous-floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a glittering city skyline, rain still streaking faintly down the glass.

A penthouse.

Of course it was a penthouse.

Her gaze darted around wildly. No visible cameras. No guards inside the room. One door to her left, likely a bathroom. Another straight ahead-thicker, reinforced.

Locked, probably.

Elara crossed the room quickly, ignoring the way her legs trembled, and tried the handle.

It didn't budge.

"Of course," she whispered bitterly.

She turned away, fighting the tightness in her throat. Panic would not help her. She had survived worse than this. She had grown up in rooms where words were weapons and silence was punishment.

She could survive one more cage.

Still, fear coiled in her chest as she moved back toward the bed. A glass of water sat on the nightstand beside it, untouched. Next to it-her phone.

Her breath caught.

She grabbed it instantly and pressed the power button.

Nothing.

Dead.

She swallowed hard, anger flaring. They had taken everything-her freedom, her clothes, even her connection to the outside world.

"You're awake."

The voice came from behind her.

Elara spun around with a gasp.

Nikolai Volkov stood near the doorway she hadn't noticed opening. He leaned casually against the frame, dark suit immaculate, as if he hadn't dragged her from the rain hours earlier. His presence filled the room instantly, heavy and inescapable.

"How long were you watching me?" she snapped.

"Long enough to know you weren't going back to sleep."

Her jaw tightened. "You had no right to bring me here."

"This is my home," he replied calmly. "That gives me every right."

Her fingers curled into fists. "You kidnapped me."

"I saved you."

She let out a harsh laugh. "From what? A marriage you had no business interfering with?"

His eyes darkened. "You didn't want that marriage."

"That doesn't mean I belong to you."

A flicker of something crossed his face-annoyance, perhaps. Or amusement.

"You don't belong to anyone," he said. "Yet."

The word sent a chill down her spine.

Elara squared her shoulders. "Why am I here?"

Nikolai pushed off the doorway and stepped into the room. Each measured step felt deliberate, controlled. Like a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to go.

"Your father owes me," he said. "A debt that has been accumulating interest for years."

"I'm not currency," she shot back.

"No," he agreed quietly. "You're leverage."

The honesty stunned her more than any lie could have.

"So that's it?" she demanded. "You lock me up until he pays?"

"For now."

Her chest burned. "And if he doesn't?"

Nikolai stopped a few feet away from her. Close enough that she could smell him now-clean, sharp, dangerous.

"Then you stay."

Her breath caught. "For how long?"

His gaze held hers steadily. "As long as necessary."

Rage surged through her fear. "You think you can just keep me here and I'll accept it?"

"No," he said. "I think you'll fight."

Her pulse spiked.

"And when I do?"

His lips curved slightly. "Then I'll be entertained."

She shoved past him.

He let her.

That alone unsettled her more than resistance would have.

Elara crossed the room and turned back to face him, her heart hammering. "I want to speak to my father."

"No."

"I want my phone charged."

"No."

"I want to leave."

Nikolai's eyes hardened. "Absolutely not."

She laughed again, sharp and hollow. "You're afraid."

His brow lifted. "Of what?"

"That if I walk out that door, I won't come back."

Something flickered behind his eyes. Not fear-but interest.

"You won't walk out," he said. "Not tonight."

She took a step toward him. "You don't get to decide my life."

"I decide many lives," he replied calmly. "Yours is simply... closer now."

Her hands shook, but she refused to let him see it.

"Why me?" she demanded. "If this is about my father, why drag me into it?"

Nikolai studied her for a long moment. "Because you ran."

"That's not an answer."

"It is to me."

He turned toward the door. "Food will be brought up. Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You will be."

The door closed behind him with a soft, final click.

Elara stood frozen in the center of the room, chest heaving, mind racing.

She had expected cruelty.

She hadn't expected restraint.

And that terrified her more.

Later, alone in the quiet again, Elara sat on the edge of the bed, staring out at the city lights. Somewhere far below, life went on. People laughed. Cars moved. Choices were made freely.

Here, in the Devil King's territory, freedom was an illusion.

A knock sounded at the door.

She stiffened. "Yes?"

A woman entered pushing a small cart. She avoided Elara's eyes as she set down covered dishes.

"You can leave," Elara said softly.

The woman nodded and disappeared quickly.

Elara uncovered the food-perfectly prepared, fragrant, still warm. Her stomach betrayed her with a growl.

She ate slowly, mechanically, her thoughts spiraling.

Nikolai Volkov wasn't what she had imagined.

He wasn't loud. He wasn't cruel.

He was controlled.

And men like that were the most dangerous of all.

She didn't know it yet, but somewhere in the city below, lines were already shifting.

And tonight-

The Devil King had claimed more than just a hostage.