Chapter 4

The SUV glided through the chaotic New York traffic. Inside the cabin, the silence was deafening.

The thick glass blocked out the sirens and honking horns. The only sound was the soft hiss of the climate control and Jocelyn's shallow, panicked breathing.

Elam sat with his long legs crossed. He stared straight ahead at the partition. He treated Jocelyn like a piece of invisible trash.

Jocelyn hugged her canvas bag to her chest. She pressed her shoulder hard against the door panel, trying to put as much physical space between them as the leather seat allowed.

A pedestrian darted into the crosswalk. Leland slammed on the brakes.

The SUV jerked violently. Jocelyn pitched forward.

Her canvas bag slipped from her grasp and hit the floorboard. The contents spilled out across the floor mats.

A notebook, a pen, and a small, expensive box of French stomach medicine rolled directly against the toe of Elam's polished shoe.

Elam's gaze dropped to the floor.

His eyes locked onto the medicine box. The air in the car turned toxic. He recognized the packaging. It was the exact box the boy had shoved into her hands on campus.

He leaned forward. His long fingers picked up the box. He rubbed his thumb over the French lettering. A cruel, vicious smirk twisted his lips.

Jocelyn's heart stopped. She lunged forward, her hand reaching out to grab the box back.

Elam's hand shot out. He clamped his fingers around her delicate wrist. He squeezed.

Jocelyn gasped. The pressure on her bones was agonizing.

"Do you think," Elam sneered, his voice dripping with venom, "that this cheap little display of affection is going to save you from me?"

Tears of pain pricked the corners of Jocelyn's eyes. She shook her head frantically. "It's just medicine. He's just a classmate."

Elam ignored her. He pressed a button on the armrest. The tinted window rolled down.

The SUV was stopped at a red light next to a public trash can.

Without breaking eye contact with her, Elam tossed the expensive medicine out the window. It clattered into the garbage.

The window rolled back up, sealing the cabin.

Jocelyn stared at the glass. A sharp pain sliced through her chest. It wasn't just medicine. It was the only piece of human kindness she had received all day.

Elam yanked her wrist, pulling her hard across the seat until her face was inches from his.

"Listen to me very carefully," Elam growled. "You do not have the right to socialize. You do not date. You do not look at other men."

His breath hit her skin. "Your only identity is the sinner of the Turner family. Love and marriage are forbidden to you. Forever."

Jocelyn forgot to breathe. The absolute madness and obsession in his eyes paralyzed her. Despair wrapped around her throat like a thick rope, choking the life out of her.

The SUV turned through the massive iron gates of the Turner Mansion. It stopped in front of the main steps.

Leland opened the door.

Elam threw her wrist away in disgust. He adjusted his suit jacket and stepped out into the cold air.

"Get inside," he commanded without looking back.

Jocelyn scrambled to pick up her notebook and pen. She stumbled out of the car, her knees shaking. She followed him into the grand foyer like a broken puppet.

Sterling and the maids stood by the walls. They kept their heads bowed, terrified of the lethal tension radiating from the master of the house.

Elam walked to the base of the grand staircase. He stopped. He turned his head and looked at Jocelyn shivering by the front door.

"Go upstairs," Elam ordered. His voice was loud enough for every servant to hear. "Go to my master suite and wait for me. I have some rules to teach you."

The words hit the marble floor like a bomb.

Two maids exchanged a horrified glance before quickly dropping their eyes.

Jocelyn's pupils dilated. Her fingernails dug into her palms, breaking the skin. The master suite. The absolute forbidden zone.

"Please," Jocelyn whispered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "I have a paper to write. Please, not tonight."

The ice in Elam's eyes froze over completely. He didn't argue. He didn't yell.

"Walk," he said.

The sheer, crushing weight of his authority broke her.

Jocelyn ground her teeth together. She dragged her heavy legs toward the stairs. She gripped the banister and climbed the wooden steps, feeling the eyes of the staff burning into her back.

Elam watched her submit. A dark, twisted satisfaction flared in his chest. He turned to Sterling and snapped a few orders about upgrading the estate's security perimeter.

Jocelyn reached the second floor. She stood in front of the heavy, double walnut doors of the master suite. It felt like standing at the gates of hell.

She raised her trembling hand. She grabbed the cold brass handle. She took a shallow breath and pushed the door open.

The hinges made a soft, frictionless sound. The heavy, masculine scent of Elam's private sanctuary rushed out and swallowed her whole.