Chapter 5 Every breath Alana took felt like inhaling the thick scent

The night stretched long and suffocating. Sleep was impossible. Every breath Alana took felt like inhaling the thick scent of her captivity-the crisp linen sheets, the faint hint of Adrian's cologne lingering in the master bedroom, the sheer weight of the silence pressing down on her.

She lay in the vast, empty bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. The mansion was quiet, but it was the kind of quiet that concealed monsters in the shadows. Somewhere, Adrian was likely drinking, watching, waiting. The way he had touched her earlier-so controlled, so deliberate-was not that of a man who wanted to break her in an instant. No, Adrian Carlisle was a predator who enjoyed watching his prey struggle before tightening his grip.

Alana turned onto her side, curling in on herself. She would not be his prey.

She had been forced into this marriage, but that didn't mean she had to accept it. There had to be a way out.

The thought barely had time to settle before the door creaked open.

Alana shot up, her pulse hammering. Her breath caught when she saw him.

Adrian stood in the doorway, his presence dominating the dimly lit room. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, sleeves still rolled to his forearms, the epitome of controlled power. He looked completely at ease-like a king surveying the empire he had just conquered.

Her stomach twisted.

He didn't speak right away, simply watching her from where he stood. Then, after a moment, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Alana forced her voice to remain steady. "What do you want?"

Adrian's lips curved slightly, as if amused by her defiance. "My wife in my bed. Isn't that what's expected?"

Her fingers dug into the sheets. "This isn't a marriage. It's a contract."

He tilted his head, considering her. "And yet, here you are. Wearing my ring. Sleeping in my house. Whether you accept it or not, Alana, you belong to me now."

She swallowed the rage bubbling in her throat. "You don't own me."

Adrian exhaled a quiet chuckle, then moved closer. The air in the room grew thinner with each step he took.

He stopped at the foot of the bed, his gaze unwavering. "Then prove it."

Her brows furrowed. "What?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice a dark whisper. "Walk away."

Alana's breath caught.

The challenge in his eyes was infuriating. He was taunting her, daring her to leave, knowing full well that she had nowhere to go.

Her family had sold her off like a bargaining chip. The world outside this mansion wasn't a refuge-it was just another battlefield where Adrian held all the power.

She could storm past him, throw open the door, run blindly into the night. But then what? There were no allies waiting for her. No escape that didn't end in her being dragged back to this gilded prison.

And Adrian knew it.

Her silence only made his smirk deepen. "That's what I thought."

Fury burned in her chest.

"Go to hell," she spat.

Adrian reached out, and before she could move, his fingers brushed against her cheek-light, deliberate, a caress meant to remind her that no matter how much she fought, he was always in control.

"I'm already there, sweetheart," he murmured. "And now, so are you."

With that, he straightened, stepping back as if he had already won.

Alana refused to let him see how shaken she was. She forced herself to meet his gaze, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her.

"If you think I'll ever submit to you, you're mistaken."

Adrian studied her for a long moment, then smirked. "We'll see."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the dark.

Alana sat frozen long after he was gone, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Adrian Carlisle wanted her submission.

But if he thought she would break easily, he had no idea who he was dealing with.