Chapter 3 Rules and Chains

Sophia could feel the weight of Ethan's gaze even before he spoke. It was heavy a storm trapped in ocean blue, cold enough to make her pull the blanket tighter around her body.

Outside the floor to ceiling windows, dawn was just breaking over the hills, painting the city skyline in shades of bruised lavender and gold. But here, in this room his room, she guessed now it felt like midnight. Still, suffocating, and far too intimate.

He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there with his arms folded over his broad chest, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, veins visible under tanned skin. She noticed the gun holstered under his arm this time, the gleam of metal a harsh reminder that this was no fairy tale rescue.

Finally, when the silence grew too loud, Sophia found her voice.

"You don't have to chain me up," she whispered, her tone careful. "I'm not going to run."

Ethan's lips twitched not in a smile, but something colder. "Lie to someone else."

Her fingers tightened around the blanket. "You don't know me."

A bitter laugh slipped from his mouth a sound that made her stomach twist. "You think I don't know girls like you? You run at the first chance. You lie. You beg. And then you run again."

Sophia flinched. The words weren't loud, but they cracked something inside her anyway.

"I didn't lie"

"Didn't you?" He moved closer, each step deliberate, the scent of his cologne expensive, dark filling her lungs. He stopped just close enough for her to see the faint scar near his jawline. "You told that bastard you loved him, didn't you? John."

Her heart dropped. "How do you?"

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "I know everything about the people I protect. Or own." His voice softened on the last word, but it felt like a blade brushing her skin. "And that spineless snake sold you out for a cut of your soul. So tell me, Sophia what makes you think I should trust you?"

She wanted to scream that she didn't belong to him, that she'd never asked for his twisted version of protection. But the words caught in her throat when he reached for her wrist.

Slowly, he undid the strap binding her to the bed. His fingers brushed the raw, red mark on her skin, and for a second just a second she swore she saw regret flicker across his eyes. But it was gone before she could believe in it.

"You're free," he said, standing tall again. "But listen closely."

Sophia rubbed her wrist, trying to hide her trembling hands.

Ethan leaned down, bracing his palms on either side of her hips, caging her against the headboard. She could see the faint stubble on his chin, the hard line of his mouth, the storm in his eyes.

"You will not leave this estate," he said, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "You will not contact anyone. You will not step outside that door without one of my men at your side. You will eat when you're told, sleep when you're told, and keep that mouth of yours shut unless you're spoken to."

Her spine stiffened. "Or what?"

His lips brushed her ear as he murmured, "Or I'll find new ways to keep you chained. And I won't be gentle about it."

Sophia sucked in a shaky breath. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension crackling between them like live wire. She hated him. She hated the way her body reacted - the way her pulse betrayed her, pounding in places it shouldn't.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

Ethan pulled back just enough to look at her. The distance did nothing to soften the ferocity in his gaze.

"Because," he said, almost too quietly, "someone has to protect what's mine."

Sophia didn't see Ethan for the rest of that day. Instead, she met the house or more accurately, the fortress that was now her gilded prison.

Lucas became her shadow. He'd appeared at her door after Ethan left, a tray balanced in his arms with scrambled eggs, toast, and a mountain of strawberries.

"I told you," he said brightly, pushing into her room before she could protest. "I make killer scrambled eggs."

Sophia eyed the food suspiciously. "I'm not hungry."

Lucas raised a single brow, giving her the full effect of his puppy dog eyes. "Red, if you starve to death, Ethan will put me on dishwashing duty for the rest of my life. Do you really want that on your conscience?"

Despite herself, a laugh slipped out dry, but real. Lucas beamed like he'd just won the lottery.

"See?" he said, setting the tray on her lap and plopping down beside her. "I'm good for you. You should keep me."

Sophia nibbled on a piece of toast, her eyes flicking to him. "Do you always joke this much?"

"Only when I'm trying to charm beautiful, stolen butterflies out of their cages," he teased. His grin faded a fraction when he saw the flicker of pain cross her face. "Hey. I'm sorry. That was... probably too soon."

Sophia shrugged. "I've been called worse."

Lucas's expression darkened. "Not anymore, you won't be."

They ate in silence for a while - or rather, Sophia ate and Lucas talked. He told her about his last film, the director who kept trying to get him to strip on screen ("Not that I mind but Ethan threatened to pull the funding. He's so uptight."). He told her about his dogs, two giant golden retrievers that apparently hated Ethan but loved to sneak into his study to pee on his custom rugs.

Sophia found herself smiling more than once. It felt alien on her face, but Lucas made it impossible not to.

When she finished eating, he took the tray, balancing it with one hand as he leaned down close enough for her to see the faint freckles dusting his nose.

"If you ever want to escape," he whispered conspiratorially, "just let me know. I'm a sucker for damsels in distress."

She snorted. "And then what? Ethan kills you?"

Lucas winked. "Probably. But it'd be worth it."

Hours later, Sophia wandered the halls of the estate under Lucas's watchful eye. The place was huge too huge. Endless corridors lined with expensive art, black marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, and windows so large they made her feel even smaller.

She found a sunroom overlooking a rose garden. Lucas plopped onto a chaise, tossing her a knowing look when she sat cross legged by the window, hugging her knees.

"You know," he said, his voice softer now, "he's not the monster you think he is."

Sophia didn't look at him. She traced the shape of a rose petal on the glass, watching it quiver in the wind. "And what is he, then?"

Lucas's sigh filled the silence. "Someone who's lost more than you know. Someone who'd burn the world to keep it from happening again."

Sophia turned, meeting his eyes. For the first time, she saw a shadow behind Lucas's usual sunny warmth something raw, protective, almost sad.

"He's keeping me prisoner," she said.

"He's keeping you alive."

Sophia wanted to scream that she didn't need saving. That she'd been saving herself for years, even when no one else would. But the words felt hollow now like a lie she'd told herself too many times.

Night fell slowly, the sky bleeding from lavender to indigo. Lucas finally left her alone, promising she could lock her door if it made her feel safer.

She didn't bother. The locks here didn't belong to her. They never would.

Hours later, a soft knock broke her restless thoughts. She looked up from the sketchbook Lucas had found for her a blank page already smudged with tentative pencil lines. She hadn't drawn in months. It felt like breathing for the first time in years.

The door creaked open. Ethan stood in the doorway, his shirt sleeves rolled down now, dark hair damp like he'd just come from a shower. He looked... almost human. Almost.

"You're awake," he said.

Sophia closed the sketchbook, hugging it to her chest like a shield. "Is that not allowed either?"

He ignored her bite, stepping inside. He held a small box in his hand, polished wood with a silver clasp.

"What's that?" she asked warily.

Ethan crossed the room, sitting on the armchair across from her. He set the box on the table between them, flipping it open.

Inside lay a delicate silver bracelet simple, beautiful, but wrong somehow. Sophia's eyes narrowed when she saw the faint glint of embedded tech near the clasp.

"A tracker," she said flatly.

"A precaution," Ethan corrected. "You wear this. You don't run."

She flinched when he reached for her wrist. He paused, waiting for her to pull back but she didn't. She let him slip the cold metal over her skin, let him close the clasp with a soft click that sounded like the door to her freedom slamming shut.

When he was done, he didn't move away. His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist lingering, almost tender. It made her throat tighten, rage and something far more dangerous mixing in her chest.

"I hate you," she whispered, voice shaking.

His eyes met hers, unflinching. "Good. Hate keeps you alive."

Sophia didn't look away. She let him see it the spark that hadn't died yet, no matter how many cages she'd been locked in.

"Then you should know something too," she said, her voice soft, deadly calm.

"What's that?"

She leaned closer, their faces inches apart, her breath brushing his lips. For a heartbeat, she saw something flicker in his eyes want, need, regret. Then she smiled, sweet as poison.

"One day, I'll run. And you'll never catch me again."