Chapter 5

The door clicked shut behind Jocelyn, locking automatically.

The master suite was massive. The lights were dimmed to a low, amber glow. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the glittering skyline of New York. The heavy blackout curtains were pulled halfway. The air smelled of expensive whiskey and cedar.

Jocelyn stood rigidly at the edge of a priceless Persian rug. She didn't dare step further. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her stomach, waiting for the executioner.

The frosted glass door of the en-suite bathroom swung open.

Elam walked out. He wore a black silk bathrobe. Water dripped from his wet hair, trailing down his sharp collarbones and disappearing into the V-neck of the robe.

He held a crystal glass of whiskey. The ice cubes clinked against the glass.

Clink. Clink.

Jocelyn dropped her gaze to the floor instantly. Her cheeks burned with a sudden, humiliating heat.

Elam walked to the center of the room and sat on a dark leather sofa. He crossed his long legs. His dark eyes cut through the dim light, raking over her trembling figure with blatant, aggressive hunger.

He took a slow sip of the whiskey.

"Are you afraid of me?" Elam asked. His voice was husky, roughened by the alcohol.

Jocelyn's spine went rigid. She bit the inside of her cheek, terrified that answering would trigger his rage.

Elam let out a cold scoff. He set the glass down on the glass coffee table. He patted the leather cushion right next to his thigh.

"Sit," he commanded.

Jocelyn's legs felt like concrete. She forced herself to walk forward. She perched on the absolute furthest edge of the sofa cushion, leaving three feet of space between them.

Elam's jaw clenched at her obvious revulsion.

He lunged.

His long arm shot out, wrapping around her waist. He yanked her hard across the leather.

Jocelyn let out a sharp gasp as she crashed into his solid chest. Her nose hit his hard muscle. The overwhelming scent of his body wash and cedar cologne suffocated her.

She pushed her hands frantically against his chest, trying to scramble away.

Elam's arm tightened like a steel band. He crushed her against him, burying his face in the top of her hair. He inhaled the cheap, floral scent of her shampoo like a starving man.

"Who are you trying to seduce looking so pathetic?" Elam whispered against her hair. His tone was psychotic-halfway between a caress and a vicious insult.

Jocelyn felt her sanity slipping. Tears welled in her eyes. "Let me go. Please."

Before Elam could react, his cell phone on the coffee table vibrated violently. The screen lit up with his executive assistant's name.

Elam's body stiffened. The businessman's ruthless logic overrode the primal obsession.

He released his grip on Jocelyn's waist. He sat up straight and snatched the phone.

"Speak," Elam barked.

Jocelyn scrambled to the far end of the sofa, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Mr. Turner, the London M&A deal is collapsing. The board needs you on the ground immediately. The jet is prepped," the assistant's voice filtered through the quiet room.

Elam fired off three rapid, brutal instructions. He hung up the phone.

He stood up. He looked down at Jocelyn, who was shaking like a leaf on his sofa.

"You're lucky," Elam said coldly. "I have to fly to London. But you better behave while I'm gone. Do not let me catch you stepping out of line."

He turned and strode into the massive walk-in closet, leaving her alone in the sitting area.

Jocelyn didn't wait. She bolted. She ran out of the master suite, sprinted down the stairs, and threw herself into her own bedroom.

She locked the door and collapsed onto the mattress.

Ten minutes later, the heavy thwack-thwack of a helicopter's rotors shook the windowpanes. The sound faded into the distance. He was gone.

Jocelyn let out a long, shuddering breath. The tension drained from her muscles, leaving her entirely exhausted.

She rolled over. Her eyes landed on the small desk calendar on her nightstand.

Next week, a specific date was circled in red ink. Her nineteenth birthday.

She pulled her phone from her pocket. She opened the text thread with Karson. He had replied to her thank-you text with a simple smiley face emoji.

Jocelyn stared at the screen. The emoji confirmed it in her mind. Karson had paid the tuition.

A wave of profound gratitude washed over her. She swore to herself she would paint, win the art competition, and pay Karson back every single cent. She would buy her freedom from the Turner family.

Holding onto that false hope, Jocelyn closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

Thirty thousand feet in the air, inside the luxurious cabin of a Gulfstream G650, Elam sat in a leather recliner.

He held an iPad. The screen displayed the live security feed of Jocelyn's bedroom.

He watched her sleep. His eyes were dark, obsessive, and terrifyingly calm. He was already calculating exactly how many hours it would take to finish the London deal and get back to her.