Chapter 4 His price

Avery I didn't cry. Not once. I told myself if I could just stay calm, keep breathing, and obey the rules-whatever they were-I'd get through this. I just needed to buy time. Time for Dad to do whatever it took to pay Zamian back and come for me. I had to believe that. The room they gave me was bigger than my entire house. Velvet drapes. Gilded mirrors. A bed that looked too perfect to touch. The sheets smelled like roses and power. And yet, it felt nothing like home. It felt like a gilded cage. A very expensive prison.

Every morning, someone brought in clothes-simple, elegant, black or red-and food I barely touched. There were guards posted at my door, two of them, silent and armed. Watching. Always watching. I wasn't alone, but I was never truly seen. Except by him. Zamian. He didn't show up for two days after my dad left. Two days of silence, pacing, tension crawling over my skin like a rash. I spent those days mapping out the room, memorizing the way the hall outside sounded when someone walked past. The click of heels. The thunder of boots. I counted every second, tried every window. All sealed. Bulletproof. Escape-proof. But I didn't panic. Because I wasn't staying. I'd survive this. I'd play the game. And when Dad brought the money, I'd walk out. Simple. Except... it wasn't simple at all. Not with Zamian. When he finally entered, it was without warning. The door opened, the guards stepped back, and there he was-black-on-black tailored suit, shirt open just enough to show the ink on his chest. His presence stole the oxygen from the room. "You look well," he said, scanning me from head to toe. I folded my arms. "You have a weird definition of well." He smirked. "Still got that mouth, I see." "And I still don't belong here." His eyes darkened, but not with anger. Something else. Something worse. Possession. "That's where you're wrong." I hated the way my stomach twisted when he looked at me like that. Like I was something rare. Something already his. "I agreed to stay," I said, my voice firm. "Until my dad pays you back." He stepped closer. "Avery, you really don't understand how this works." "Then explain it to me." He studied me for a long beat. "You're not here as collateral. You're not here to wait. You're here because you're mine now." The words hung heavy in the room. "I'm not property," I snapped. "No," he said quietly, "but you were offered like one. And I accepted. You belong to me because your father gave you to me. And I don't plan on giving you back." I felt the blood drain from my face. "That wasn't the deal." Zamian leaned in. "There was no deal, Avery. There was only an exchange. And you've already crossed the threshold." My breath came in short, sharp bursts. I wanted to slap him. Scream. Break something. Instead, I asked, "Then why keep up the show? Why feed me? Dress me? Why pretend this isn't a prison?" He smiled. "Because I don't want to break you. I want you to understand where you belong. I want you to choose to stay." I laughed, bitter. "That will never happen." "We'll see." He turned toward the door. "Come. There's someone I want you to meet." I didn't move. "Why?" "Because you're going to be around for a long time. And it's time you learned the rules." Something in the way he said that made me realize... he wasn't going to wait for my dad. He had already decided. I followed him, barefoot and hesitant, down the hallway. We took turns through corridors I hadn't seen before-ones that were darker, colder, until we came to a wide room with a long glass table and men already seated around it. Big men. Dangerous men. Eyes like knives. Ink creeping up their necks. They all looked at me like they'd smelled something foreign. Or delicious. Zamian placed a firm hand at the small of my back. "Gentlemen," he said, voice cool, "this is Avery. She's not your concern. She's mine." They nodded, one by one, some grudgingly, some curious. "This is the inner ring," he said, leaning closer to me. "My syndicate. You will never speak to them unless I tell you to. You will never look at them like you look at me. You will never leave the upper floor without permission. You will not make calls. You will not write letters. You will not attempt to run." I kept my face blank, but every rule was a chain wrapping tighter around me. "What happens if I do?" I asked. His lips curved. "I punish disobedience." He said it so softly, so matter-of-fact, that my skin broke into chills. We stayed in that room for less than ten minutes. Enough for me to see the way power worked here. Zamian didn't command respect with volume. He did it with presence. With the weight of silence. Everyone in that room answered to him. And I was now the girl under his command. Back in my room, he paused at the doorway. "You'll find I'm a fair man," he said. "I don't hurt what's mine... unless it disrespects me." "I'm not scared of you," I whispered. He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. "Not yet," he murmured. "But you will be." He left me with that. A thousand thoughts spiraled in my head, crashing into each other, but one rose above the rest-sharp and cruel. He never planned to let me go. Not in a week. Not in a month. Not ever. And I'd walked straight into the trap with my head held high. Now I had to decide- Would I keep playing the game and hope for a miracle? Or would I find a way to break his rules... before he broke me?