He wanted 1,095 days to claim me

The weight pressing me into the mattress felt terrifyingly, brutally real.

"Look at me, princess," Raze's voice drawled. It was a dark, velvety growl that made the marrow in my bones ache, vibrating straight through the sheets. His eyes didn't just look at me; they bore holes straight through my soul, claiming every inch of my exposed skin like I was his property all over again.

This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not in the quiet, safe suburban bedroom I had spent the last three years building. Not on the rug I had picked out with my fiancé.

"I-I have a life now, Raze. Get out," I stammered. I tried to sound fierce, tried to channel the independent woman I pretended to be during the day, but the words had no edge. They came out as a breathless plea.

Raze saw right through me. He always did. A slow, lazy smirk curled his lips, promising nothing but beautiful destruction. "This isn't a life, Nyra. It's a cage. And you've always loved being mine. You just forgot."

Before I could inhale enough air to scream, his hand fisted in my hair. He tilted my head back with a sharp, unforgiving tug that made my eyes water. With his other hand, he pinned both of my wrists above my head in a single, bruising grip, pinning me completely. His remaining hand disappeared beneath the hem of my shirt, his fingers rough, demanding, and entirely devoid of gentleness as they found my skin.

I let out a broken, shameful moan against his lips. My traitorous body didn't care that this man had broken my heart and ruined my life before I fled my father's house 1,095 days ago. It didn't care about the scars, the lies, or the danger. It only wanted the wreckage of him.

"Look at you, all wet and ready for me," Raze whispered against my ear, his breath hot and laced with the scent of rain and expensive tobacco. He shoved his fingers deep inside me, a brutal, possessive stretch that made me cry out. "You may say you don't want me, but this fucking clit has missed me, hasn't she? Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to ruin you."

"I can't... Marcus..." I whimpered, my fiancé's name feeling like a sin on my tongue.

"Fuck Marcus," Raze hissed, his tone dripping with venom as he drove his fingers faster, demanding my complete submission.

My resolve shattered like glass. "Yes," I sobbed, arching my hips off the sheets in a desperate, frantic quest for more. "Please-please fuck me, Raze."

He didn't waste another second. With one violent movement, he tore my shirt down the center, exposing me to his starving gaze. He freed his heavy, thick cock-the one I used to crave, the one that used to anchor me to reality. When he sank into me, it wasn't a reunion; it was an execution. He drove into me with a punishing, relentless pace that tore the air straight from my lungs.

"Oh God, Raze..." I screamed into the quiet room, completely blind to the fact that I was destroying my own future. I hated how much I missed the violence of his touch. I hated that I was screaming his name into the dark.

*"Raze-don't stop, please!"*

Just as the white-hot peak of a shattering orgasm fractured my vision and pulled a final, jagged cry from my throat...

My eyes snapped wide open.

The suffocating scent of Raze's smoke and rain instantly vanished. The bedroom was completely still, bathed in the soft, ambient glow of the streetlights outside. The air smelled of expensive sandalwood and lavender body wash. The heavy, physical pulses racking my body were very real, but the weight between my legs wasn't a ghost.

It was Marcus.

My fiancé was buried between my thighs, his head dipped low, working with a patient, rhythmic devotion. He was trying to love me. Trying to please me. And it felt like a physical slap across my face.

A wave of crushing, suffocating shame washed over me, immediately followed by something far worse, something truly monstrous: a hollow, bitter disappointment that it wasn't Raze. I was a traitor. I was a broken, twisted thing, dreaming about a predator who had hunted me, while a good, gentle man worshipped my body.

Marcus finally pulled away, his face flushed with genuine affection. He slumped onto the mattress beside me, breathless and smiling as he pulled me against his chest. "I love you, Nyra," he whispered, kissing my forehead.

"I love you too," I lied. The words tasted like ash and poison.

My skin was crawling, my heart still hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against my ribs. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't lie in the bed we shared while Raze's phantom touch still burned between my thighs. Sliding out from under Marcus heavy arm, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, shivering as my feet hit the cold hardwood floor.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, desperate for a distraction, desperate to pull myself out of the nightmare. But when the screen illuminated the dark, my breath caught entirely in my throat.

1 Missed Call.

My eyes locked onto the string of numbers. My vision blurred. It was a number I hadn't seen in exactly 1,095 days. The private, encrypted line belonging to the man who had raised me in a world of blood, mafia politics, and brutality.

My father.

Three years ago, I had cut all ties. I had run away from the empire, changed my name, and sworn I would never look back. I thought I was safe. I thought the silence meant I was forgotten.

My fingers shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone onto the floor before I could force my thumb to hit redial. I pressed the receiver to my ear, counting the agonizing seconds of silence.

The line clicked open with a sharp burst of static.

"Father?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "Father, why are you calling me?"

"Nyra."

The voice that answered wasn't my father's deep, booming baritone. It was lower. Colder. It sent a shockwave of pure ice straight through my veins, freezing the blood in my tracks. It was Silas-my father's lethal, second-in-command.

"Silas?" I gasped, gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. "Why do you have his phone? What's going on?"

"He's gone, Nyra," Silas said, his voice completely hollow, devoid of any comfort. "Your father was ambushed tonight. He is dead."

The world tilted violently beneath my feet. The walls of my safe, perfect bedroom felt like they were collapsing inward. My father was dead. The barrier protecting me from the criminal underworld was gone.

"No..." I breathed, tears finally pricking my eyes. "No, that's not possible. He's-"

"Listen to me very carefully," Silas interrupted, his tone urgent, clipping my words. "The syndicate is fracturing. The captains are already moving to seize the throne, and they know you are the sole heir to the empire. They are coming for you, Nyra. To kill you."

My hand went entirely numb. The phone slipped from my paralyzed palm, hitting the floor with a dull, final thud.

The moment the plane touched down in Denver, a suffocating weight settled over my chest.

It wasn't loud, and it wasn't sudden. It was just a cold, crushing reality that made it impossible to breathe properly.

I sat completely paralyzed in my leather seat.

My mind was trapped in a loop, echoing the words Silas had delivered through the phone right before my world shattered: "He's gone. Your father is dead. They're coming for the throne."

I swallowed hard, my fingernails digging into my palms until the skin nearly split. The official story sent out by the family's inner circle was clean, sanitized, and perfectly legal. "A sudden heart attack."

That is what Ronald, my father's oldest advisor, had told the press.

But it didn't sit right with me. It was a blatant lie.

My father wasn't the kind of man who just died quietly in his sleep. He lived in a world where death always carried a receipt. He had too many enemies, too many blood debts, and a throne that everyone coveted. Men like him didn't get taken out by a failing heart. They were betrayed. They were ambushed.

A wave of nausea hit me as another thought clawed its way to the surface: the missed call on my phone from the night before. The one I had ignored while lost in a phantom nightmare of my ex. My father had tried to reach me right before the ambush. What if he had been trying to warn me? What if he needed me, and I had simply let the phone ring? Guilt settled heavily in my gut, hot and agonizing. I should have answered.

"Nyra."

Marcus voice broke through the fog. His hand slid over mine, warm, steady, and grounding. "We're here, formatting the transition. I've got you."

I forced a tight nod, wrapping my trembling fingers around his. He had spent the entire flight trying to comfort me, whispering sweet promises of safety. But there was a vast, dangerous ocean of secrets between us. Magnus didn't know who my father really was. He didn't know that the "import-export business" was a front for a ruthless syndicate. He thought he was accompanying his grieving, civilian fiancée to a normal family funeral.

He didn't know I was dragging him straight into a den of wolves. And he certainly didn't know that this was a world you don't just walk away from.

The heavy iron gates of the family compound loomed ahead, looking exactly as they had 1,095 days ago. The same towering stone walls, the same blacked-out SUVs, and that unmistakable, heavy tension in the air that forced your spine to straighten.

The moment I stepped out of the car, something inside me violently shifted. Three years of trying to be normal evaporated in a single breath. My childhood training took over before I could stop it. I scanned the perimeter without even trying. I clocked the placement of the guards. I noted the subtle twitch of their hands resting near their jackets, hiding concealed weapons.

I wasn't just raised in this world; I was built by it. My father had ensured I knew how to fight, how to read a room, and how to spot a threat before it struck. Standing on the gravel driveway, a chilling realization washed over me: I hadn't forgotten a single thing.And the syndicate knew it.

The moment I walked through the heavy double doors of the main house, the ambient noise dropped. People didn't completely stop talking, but their eyes shifted. I could feel the weight of a hundred stares tracking my movement, measuring me, calculating what the return of the sole heir meant for their own survival.

Marcus placed a protective hand on the small of my back, leaning down to whisper, "Stay close to me."

A bitter, dark urge to laugh bubbled up in my throat. "If only he knew."

When we entered the main viewing room and I saw the massive, polished mahogany casket, everything slowed to a crawl. The finality of it hit me like a physical blow. My steps felt like lead as I approached the altar, where Ronald stood. He looked ten years older, his face etched with exhaustion, carrying the weight of a collapsing empire.

For a second, Ronald just stared at me, his eyes glassy. Then, his professional stoicism broke. "Nyra..."

That was all it took. The armor I had built over the last three years cracked wide open. I threw my arms around his neck, and the tears came fast and violent.

I had left them. I had run away to escape the blood and the crime, but the terrifying truth was that I had never stopped loving my father. Now, he was gone, and the last shield protecting me had died with him.

The actual burial service passed in a surreal blur. Elegies were spoken, prayers were whispered, but I couldn't process any of it. My attention was entirely locked onto the crowd gathered around the open grave.

As people began clinking glasses of expensive scotch, low conversations turned into hushed chuckles. I saw genuine, relaxed smiles on the faces of several prominent captains. My stomach turned completely over. It wasn't grief filling the courtyard-it was relief. They were glad he was dead. And the moment the dirt settled, their eyes turned back to me. I wasn't a grieving daughter to them; I was a target.

Marcus leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to my temple, but the comfort was instantly shattered by a familiar, violent shift in the air.

My body reacted before my eyes even found him. A sudden, electric heat flared deep within my core. I looked across the manicured lawn, and my breath caught in my throat.

Raze.

He was standing beneath the shadow of a sprawling oak tree, completely detached from the rest of the mourners. He wasn't looking at the casket. He wasn't looking at the priest. His piercing, predatory gaze was locked entirely on me, exactly like the visceral nightmare I had experienced in my bed. The memory of it made my skin flush. He was looking at me like I was still his property. Like I had never left.

This wasn't a dream. He was actually here, and he was walking toward me.

Every survival instinct screamed at me to turn, but my feet remained rooted to the grass. Raze closed the distance with a slow, deliberate stride until he stopped a mere breath away. The air between us practically crackled with heavy, suffocating possessiveness.

"Nyra," he murmured. The way his dark, velvety cadence of his voice dragged over my name made something dangerous twist in my chest.

I forced my expression into a mask of pure ice, desperately trying to steady my racing pulse. "Raze," I replied.

Marcus immediately shifted beside me, stepping slightly forward to block Raze's path.

The air grew dangerously cold as their eyes met. A silent, lethal promise of violence passed between the two men in a fraction of a second.

Raze glanced at Marcus briefly, his eyes dismissive, before flicking right back to me. "Who's this?"

"This is Marcus," I said, deliberately stepping into Marcus space to anchor myself. "My fiancé."

I watched for the reaction. It was microscopic, but it was there. Raze's jaw tightened so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek, and his dark eyes turned pitch black. But then, a slow, terrifying smile spread across his face-the look of a man who welcomed a challenge.

"Raze Calder," he said, extending a hand.

Marcus took it, his grip visibly firm, his knuckles turning white. "Marcus."

Neither man let go immediately. The silent power struggle was dizzying, and the entire time, Raze's eyes never left mine. He wasn't sizing up Marcus; he was issuing a warning directly to me.

"We grew up together," I added quickly, my voice sounding small, as if I could minimize the history between us with a simple sentence. But what Raze and I had shared wasn't simple. It was an obsessive, chaotic fire-nights of reckless passion where he claimed me until the sun came up.

A flash of pure, unadulterated anger sparked in Raze's eyes at my dismissal, but he kept his composure perfectly. The look he gave me spoke volumes: "You can play this game, princess, but you belong to me."

"I'm sorry about your dad, Nyra," Raze finally said, releasing Marcus hand and stepping back just an inch. "It's a dangerous world out there. Shadows have a way of catching up to you."

I nodded, unable to find my voice. As I looked past him toward the fresh dirt covering my father's grave, an old memory flashed unbidden in my mind. I was seven years old, struggling to balance on a bicycle that was far too large for me. My father had been standing behind me, holding the seat steady.

"I'm going to fall, Papa," I cried.

"You won't," he replied calmly.

"Promise you won't let go?"

He hadn't promised. He had simply whispered, "Keep moving forward, Nyra. Never look back." And then, without warning, he had let go. I hadn't realized it until I turned around to look for him, lost my balance, and crashed into the concrete.

I blinked, the memory fading as the cold Colorado wind whipped against my face. My father was gone. He had let go of the world, and I was entirely on my own.

By the time the burial ended, the family compound no longer felt heavy with the suffocating weight of grief. It felt entirely empty and quiet.

People began to leave slowly, their conversation quieter now, their movements were relaxed, like whatever they had come for was already done.

The thick tension that had filled the air earlier didn't disappear completely; it just morphed into something colder, sharper, and far more sinister.

I stood near the edge of the freshly turned earth, my eyes scanning the retreating crowd by pure survival reflex. I turned to look at Marcus, expecting to find his warm, steady presence anchoring me.

But he wasn't beside me.

My chest tightened instantly. I turned completely around, my eyes frantically searching the sea of black suits and veils. He had been standing right there just a few minutes ago, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. Now, he is entirely gone. Where could he have gone?

A strange feeling settled low in my stomach. It wasn't full panic yet, but a deep, protective instinct flared inside me. I didn't want anything to happen to him in a place as ruthless as this.

I moved slowly at first, stepping away from the grave as the dimming evening light crept across the estate. The compound grew quieter with every passing second, the shadows stretching longer across the stone pathways.

"Marcus?" I called out softly. My voice wasn't loud, swallowed instantly by the vastness of the courtyard. There was no response. My steps quickened into a frantic pace. It wasn't like him to just disappear without a word. And I didn't want him wandering alone-not in a den of vipers like this.

A terrifying thought slipped into my mind before I could stop it: "Raze." My jaw tightened so hard my teeth ached. No. He wouldn't dare touch Marcus... would he?

The possibility was enough to violently push me forward. I ran deeper into the compound, past the familiar hallways and corners that still felt too easy to navigate. Muscle memory instinct.

I didn't realize how far I had gone until a heavy hand suddenly clamped around my upper arm.

Before a scream could even form in my throat, I was violently yanked backward. My body collided hard with a solid, muscular chest as a heavy oak door slammed shut behind me with a dull, final thud.

The room was bathed in near-total darkness, save for a thin, sharp blade of moonlight illuminating the space from the barely closed velvet curtains. My heart slammed frantically against my ribs like a trapped bird. I shoved my hands against the force holding me.

"Raze-"

The name barely left my lips before his hand was on me again, stronger this time, pinning me firmly against the door.

The words in my throat died entirely as Raze's fingers fisted violently into my hair. He yanked my head back with a sharp, familiar cruelty that forced my chin upward, locking my gaze into his as he pinned me flat against the cold wood of the study door.

"Let go of me, Raze! What the hell are you doing?" I hissed, twisting frantically to free myself. My hands shook with a volatile mix of rage as he gathered both of my wrists, pinning them above my head with just one of his massive hands. "Where is he, Raze? What did you do to Marcus?"

I spat the words at him, but the anger died in my chest as he stepped closer, covering every remaining inch of space between us. His heavy, lethal frame crushed against mine. He didn't bother wasting time on words. Reaching down, his free hand bunched the silk of my black funeral skirt, dragging the fabric upward until the cool air of the room hit my bare thighs.

My breath completely hitched as he hooked his thumb into the lace of my panties, yanking them aside with a proprietary, brutal roughness. He didn't ask for permission. He never did. He simply took what he wanted, exactly the way he used to take me before I fled.

"You've been a very bad girl, princess," Raze growled, his rough fingers immediately tracing heavy, torturous lines against my clit.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted rust, desperately holding back the moan that threatened to shatter the silence. I refused to give him the satisfaction. I refused to let him see how easily he could undo me.

"Tell me," he whispered, his dark eyes flashing with pure malice in the moonlight. "That dimwit... is he good in bed? Does he make you cum with just his fingers? Or do you have to close your eyes and think about me before you can cum when he fucks you?"

My breath hitched violently. My heart stopped. How-how did he know? How could he possibly know about the phantom nightmare that had plagued my body just hours before?

Raze must have read the blinding shock paralyzing my features, because that familiar, arrogant smirk spread across his lips. "So you have been thinking of me while he fucks you."

I violently turned my face away, refusing to look at him, refusing to validate his toxic triumph.

In retaliation, two of his thick fingers dove brutally inside me, stretching me in a way that made my vision swim.

At the exact same moment, his thumb found my clit, grinding down with a heavy, rhythmic pressure that sent a devastating jolt of electricity straight to my core.

"Repeat what you said out there," he growled, his deep voice a low, vibrating rumble against my burning skin.

"Who is he, Nyra? Tell me again who that weak-looking bastard is."

"It's none... of your business, Raze. Please... stop..." I gasped out, my head thumping back helplessly against the hard wood of the door as he ruthlessly increased the pace of his fingers.

Raze didn't stop. Instead, he leaned in, his lips crashing down onto mine in a kiss that tasted of salt, hunger, and absolute possessiveness. It wasn't a request; it was a violent reclamation. While his tongue completely invaded my mouth, his fingers worked relentlessly inside me, slick and demanding. His hand tightened further in my hair, pulling just enough to keep my spine arched perfectly against his touch.

"1,095 days," he muttered against my lips, his breathing jagged and uneven. "I waited 1,095 days for you to come home, and you dare walk back onto my turf with another man's ring on your finger?"

"Raze, stop... this is wrong," I moaned helplessly into his mouth. Every word felt like a lie. My body was an absolute traitor, my pussy walls already slick, dripping, and pulsing frantically around his intrusive fingers. "We're childhood friends... sworn siblings..."

"Siblings don't do this," he mocked, his thumb grinding harder, crushing against my center until my knees literally shook. "I fucked you first, Nyra. Siblings don't own each other's souls. Friends don't make you scream the way I do. I asked you a question, and I want an answer. Does he even know how to touch you, Nyra? Does he make you wet just by looking at him? Does he know you like restraints and spanks, or does he fuck you like a boring gentleman? Does that pathetic excuse of a man satisfy you?"

I hated myself in that moment. I hated that I couldn't utter a single word to defend my fiancé. I hated that even as Magnus's face flashed in my mind, my entire body was convulsing with desperate, overwhelming need under Raze's cruel touch.

My moans dissolved into broken, jagged sobs as he drove his fingers deeper, his thumb never leaving my clit until the entire world fractured.

"Raze, please...!" I cried out, my back aching as a violent, blinding orgasm hit me like a tidal wave. I slammed my own hand over my mouth, desperately trying to suppress the scream of pleasure tearing from my throat.

Raze finally pulled his hand free, dragging his wet fingers across his lips as a low groan escaped his chest. "Still so fucking sweet," he breathed, his eyes tracking the tremors racking my thighs. "Look at you, preaching morality to me, and yet you still came just from me using my fingers. This proves it, Nyra."

He stepped in close again, his hand gripping my chin tightly, forcing my tear-stained face upward until I was staring directly into his dark, obsessive eyes. "You still belong to me. Whether you like it or not."

Pure anger and suffocating shame flared inside me, sharp and immediate. I slapped his hand away from my face. "I don't belong to you."

His eyes darkened to a terrifying shade of pitch black. "Say that again."

"I don't belong to you," I repeated, louder this time, forcing every ounce of remaining strength into my voice.

For a long, terrifying moment, neither of us moved. The heavy tension between us stretched so thick it felt completely suffocating, like a wire pulled tight enough to snap. And then, surprisingly, his grip loosened slightly.

It was all the opportunity I needed. I instantly stepped away from him, creating distance. I didn't wait for him to change his mind or trap me again. With trembling fingers, I quickly smoothed down my silk skirt and rearranged my tangled hair as best as I could. Raze just stood there in the shadows, silently watching my every move like a predator allowing its prey a temporary reprieve.

When I was done, I pushed past him and grabbed the brass door handle.

The cool, circulating air of the hallway hit my flushed face the moment I stepped out of the dark study. My heart was still racing a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but I forced my legs to keep moving, walking away from him and away from the wreckage of what had just happened.

"Nyra."

The sound of my name made me stop dead in my tracks. I turned around immediately.

Marcus was walking toward me from the far end of the dim corridor, his expression perfectly calm and composed.

A massive wave of relief hit me, washing away the lingering panic. "Where were you?" I asked, taking quick steps toward him. "I was looking everywhere for you."

He smiled faintly, his eyes serene. "I stepped out for a bit. I just needed some air."

Something about the sterile tone of his answer felt subtly off, a tiny instinct in the back of my mind whispering a warning. But I was too exhausted, too wrapped up in my own guilt to push it. The only thing that mattered was that he was safe. "I was so worried," I admitted.

His gaze softened completely as he reached out, wrapping his warm hand around mine. "I'm fine, honey."

I nodded, allowing him to lead me down the corridor back toward the safety of my bedroom.

Once inside, the door clicked shut, and I sat heavily on the edge of the mattress. My mind was still entirely occupied, a chaotic storm of thoughts centered on Raze's touch and his terrifying warnings about the syndicate.

I looked up at Marcus. He was the complete polar opposite of Raze. I watched him move across the room with a slow, elegant composure. He poured a drink from the crystal decanter as if nothing had happened, as if this were just another normal, quiet night in our old life.

"Nyra," he said gently, walking over and handing me the glass. "You don't have to tell me everything right now."

I looked up at him, momentarily confused.

Marcus smiled warmly, kneeling down slightly in front of me. "About your past. About your father. I know it's not simple. I can see how heavy this is on you."

A small part of my guarded defenses finally relaxed. He wasn't pushing me for information, and he wasn't demanding immediate answers. "I will tell you," I whispered quietly, looking into his eyes. "Just... not tonight."

"Take all the time you need," he replied softly.

A profound sense of gratitude flickered through me, followed instantly by a crushing, agonizing wave of guilt. I had just betrayed this man in the study down the hall.

I took the glass from his hand, my fingers brushing against his warm skin.

"Thank you, Marcus," I said softly.

He nodded slowly, that genuine, loving smile remaining fixed on his face. I lifted the glass to my lips and took a long, deep sip to calm my rattling nerves.

The taste of the liquor was incredibly sharp, far stronger and more bitter than I had expected from his usual stash. But in my altered state, I didn't think much of it.

Not until my vision suddenly blurred.

At first, the sensation was subtle-just a slight, strange heaviness settling behind my eyelids. But within seconds, it escalated with a terrifying speed.

My grip on the crystal glass loosened. I blinked rapidly, trying desperately to focus on Marcus's face, but his figure began to warp and distort before my eyes.

"Marcus...?" My voice came out terrifyingly unsteady.

He didn't move to catch me. He didn't reach out to grab the falling glass. He just stood there, perfectly still, watching me carefully with cold, analytical eyes, like a scientist waiting for a chemical reaction to finish.

A sudden, freezing wave of realization slid through my veins.

"What... did you-" My words slurred before I could finish the sentence.

The gentle, loving expression on his face vanished, morphing into a cold, detached mask I had never seen on him before. "I'm sorry, Nyra," he said quietly.

The words were empty, entirely devoid of any real emotion.

Pure, unadulterated panic surged through my chest, but my drugged body completely refused to respond to my brain's frantic commands. My legs buckled beneath me, turning to water. The room tilted violently on its axis, the darkness closing in around the edges of my sight.

And then, a heavily masked man stepped out from the shadows of my closet.

My breath caught in my throat, a silent scream dying in my chest as I realized I couldn't even draw enough air to make a sound. Everything was slipping away, the darkness swallowing me whole.

The very last thing my fading vision captured was Marcus standing over me, coldly watching me hit the floor before the blackness took me completely.