Innocent Silesia

"Next stop...Bellmere International."

The voice crackled over the bus speakers, and I jumped to my feet. I held the package on my lap tightly with my fingers, bending its corners because it was held too tightly.My lifeline. My future. My opportunity.

As the cityscape unfolded, I leaned my forehead against the window, my breath creating a misty film on the glass. Even with the grey overcast, the towering glass buildings and the neon signs still echoing from the night before, the crowds seemed to pulse together like a heartbeat, Bellmere radiated a vibrant energy.

"This is it," I whispered, nearly to myself.

Before she pulled her rolling luggage into the aisle, the woman beside me flashed a brief smile. I smoothed the wrinkles in my skirt and then stood up too. It was nothing out of the ordinary; a secondhand navy blue piece, slightly worn, paired with a light cardigan. humble. safe. Still, my knees trembled as if I were preparing for a global interview.

The moment the doors swung open, a cacophony of city sounds flooded in-horns blaring, voices overlapping, and the rhythmic thud of countless footsteps on concrete filled the air. I was utterly immersed when I stepped down.

Bellmere was filled with the aroma of roasted chestnuts, the freshness of recently fallen rain, and the lingering smell of automobile exhaust. Dragging my bag behind me, my shoes scraped against the damp pavement. All around, individuals moved with determination, their heels tapping rhythmically, their attire pristine, and the girl from Averna went unnoticed as she held a crumpled letter tightly, as if it were her very existence.

Although I had memorised the lines, I found myself reading them once more.

Miss Elton,

We are pleased to offer you a position with Bellmere Green House. Please report in person by September 10th, 9:00 a.m.

It was September 9th. I made it.

A small giggle caught in my throat as my chest rose. Even with their stiff, icy tone, the words on the page felt like a miracle after years of closed doors and broken promises. A position with Bellmere House. It sounded grand, important, too important for someone like me, maybe, but they had chosen me.They had picked me out of everyone.

I flattened the letter on my palm as though blinking too long may cause the ink to fade. That document was evidence that life may change, not just a job offer. Proof that the hard years behind me hadn't swallowed everything.

The noise of Bellmere Airport faded to a dull roar in my ears as I slowed down to read it again. For an instant, my future was neatly typed in black, and it was just me and the paper.

A man mumbled, "Keep moving, miss," as I paused in the middle of the walkway. As he went by, his shoulder rubbed against mine, annoyed.

My cheeks felt a flood of heat. I stepped swiftly to the side and hugged the letter tightly, whispering, "Sorry."

Waves of people rushed ahead around me, luggage wheels buzzing over glossy tiles, voices screaming into phones, and clacking heels. Nobody stopped. Nobody looked back. The city acted without delay.

My fingers resting on the letter for a final time, I delicately placed it back in my bag. I couldn't afford to remain still if I wanted to keep up with the world outside those glass walls, which was already spinning too quickly.

My luggage strap was changed, and I inhaled a coffee-and-jet-fuel-tasting breath. It was a blow to my heart. I started a new life tomorrow at precisely nine o'clock.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself as I dragged my bag towards the terminal doors. Everything will change here. No more empty cupboards. No more silent nights with no one to call. I was building something, finally.

Inside, Bellmere International pulsed like a living thing. Announcements echoed overhead in crisp voices. Children cried. The wheels of luggage clattered on marble flooring. Arrivals and departures flashed on screens, while slick executives whispered on phones.

Pushing a loose strand of golden hair behind my ear, I paused at a window to regain my breath. Too optimistic for this harsh city, my mirror gazed back with wide blue eyes.

I reassured her quietly that everything would be alright.

I turned as I heard a loud laugh rumbling behind me. A few steps away, two men in dark suits stood with their heads pressed together. Earpieces shining in the harsh light, sunglasses within. My stomach pinched. They looked like shadows in human form, out of place among the travelers.

One of them glanced up. For a brief moment, our gazes locked. He seemed to be measuring me with his icy, evaluating gaze. With my heart pounding in my throat, I swiftly turned aside.

Stop it, Silesia. Cities have men like that everywhere.

With my bag clanging behind me, I pulled my cardigan tighter and resumed my trek. I still had hours until I had to locate the address on my letter, and my bus had come earlier than I had anticipated. Maybe I could get coffee, gather myself, and breathe.

But the feeling of being watched clung to me like damp air.

"Excuse me, miss."

I was startled. A tall man blocked my path, suit fitted perfectly to his shoulders. His jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable. He held something in his hand, a photo?

"Yes?" My voice came out smaller than I meant.

He studied me, then the paper, then me again. His lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Come with me, please."

My grip on my suitcase tightened. "I think you've made a mistake."

"No mistake," he said smoothly. Another man appeared at my side, suit just as dark, hand brushing the air near my elbow. Not touching, yet. But the threat was there.

Panic sparked hot in my chest. "I, I have a job here," I stammered, thrusting the letter toward him like a shield. "See? Bellmere Green House. Tomorrow morning."

He didn't even glance at it. His voice dropped, low enough that only I could hear. "He's been looking for you."

The words punched the air from my lungs.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered, heart slamming so hard I thought my ribs might crack.

The man's jaw ticked once, a muscle jumping near his cheekbone. He gave a short nod.

Hands clamped around my arms before I could breathe, before I could scream. The grip was iron, unyielding. My suitcase toppled to the ground, spilling open. The letter, the one thing I couldn't lose, fluttered down like a wounded bird, its white edge trembling against the polished floor.

"Wait! Stop... please!" My voice tore from my throat, thin and useless.

The chaos of the terminal swallowed me whole. People brushed past in every direction-heels clicking, luggage wheels rattling, announcements echoing overhead. No one looked twice. No one stopped. It was as if I'd turned invisible.

I dug my heels into the marble, boots screeching against the floor. My nails clawed at the steel grip crushing my arms, but they didn't budge. The men dragged me toward a black door at the edge of the concourse. It swung open, and the roar of the airport cut off in an instant.

Silence.

An echoing, metallic silence that smelled of oil, damp concrete, and cold air.

"No... no, please.."

My suitcase lay just outside, abandoned. A scarf spilled across the floor, my notebook sliding on its spine, the edge of the letter peeking out. My future, scattered and trampled as if it meant nothing.

"Somebody!" My voice cracked, desperate. "Help me!"

The door slammed shut. The echo rattled through my bones.

They shoved me outside into the night. Rain slicked pavement gleamed beneath the jaundiced glow of streetlights. A taxi idled at the curb, the driver lighting a cigarette, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He didn't look at me. No one ever looked.

My boots scraped, slipping on wet stone as I tried to dig in, every muscle straining. My breath came in ragged bursts, the night air tasting of iron, smoke, and fear.

They pulled me toward a sleek black car, its engine humming low, the windows dark as obsidian. My heart slammed against my ribs, each beat screaming, run, run, run.

"Stop! Please, somebody help me!" My scream cut through the air, but the city swallowed it whole.

The car door yawned open, wide and waiting.

A hand shoved me inside. My shoulder cracked against leather seats, the breath knocked from me. I gasped, the sound smothered instantly by another hand clamping over my mouth. My eyes stung, tears blurring the glow of passing lights.

Through the blur, I caught one last glimpse. My suitcase is lying crooked on the pavement. My scarf soaks up rainwater. The letter, my one fragile chance. tossed loose in the wind.

The door slammed shut.

The locks clicked.

And then the car shot forward, carrying me into the night, the city lights trailing behind like dying stars.

Matteo Loki didn't believe in forgiveness.

Not for betrayal. Not for theft. And certainly not for Porsche Wolff, the woman who had slipped from his bed with his mother's necklace draped around her throat, smiling as though it had belonged to her all along.

The necklace wasn't just gold and diamonds. It was the last relic of his mother, a woman whose ghost still lingered in the halls of his mansion, in the lullabies Marta asked him to sing, in the soft scent of lavender that sometimes haunted his dreams. Porsche had stolen more than jewelry, she had stolen blood.

And for that, she would pay.

He stood at the edge of his office window, Bellmere stretched before him like a glittering beast, restless and hungry. Neon lights bled into the night, blinking against the gray wash of clouds. Beneath, the streets pulsed with noise, sirens screaming, engines roaring, the constant thrum of a city that never slept.

Inside, silence ruled. His office was carved from shadow and steel: glass desk, leather chairs, a half-finished glass of whiskey glinting amber on the table. Matteo adjusted his cuffs, the silk brushing over his wrist tattoo, a serpent devouring itself.

Endless. Like vengeance.

"Boss," Marco's voice cut into the stillness. His right-hand man stepped in, dark suit pressed, earpiece glinting. "The men have her."

Matteo didn't move. "Alive?"

"Yes.

"And the necklace?"

Marco hesitated. Just enough to make Matteo's jaw tighten.

"She didn't have it on her."

Of course she didn't. Porsche was bold, not stupid. She would have stashed it the moment she left his bed. He could still see her face that night, eyes lined in smoke, lips painted blood, laughter dripping poison. She had kissed him once more, soft as silk, before slipping into the dark.

He had hunted thieves before. They always bled the same in the end.

"Bring her to me.. I can't afford to lose that," Matteo said, voice like iron.

Marco gave a sharp nod and left.

Matteo poured the rest of the whiskey into his glass, but the taste turned sour on his tongue. He set it down untouched. Tonight wasn't about indulgence. Tonight was about corrections. Order. Retribution.

And Porsche Wolff was going to learn what happened to women who thought they could touch what belonged to him.

-

They shoved me out of the car, my knees nearly buckling against the polished stone steps of the estate. The mansion loomed over me, its cold and unforgiving presence felt in every shadow, with its tall windows gazing down like vigilant sentinels. All aspects of it hinted at peril.

Two men held my arms tightly, pulling me through a seemingly infinite series of hallways. The air carried a subtle scent of smoke and leather, thick and stifling. Each door we walked by was firmly shut, concealing mysteries I wasn't certain I wanted to uncover.When they finally pushed me into a room, the door slammed shut, sealing me inside.

The room was colder than I imagined a mansion could be. The marble floor bit into the soles of my bare feet, leeching away the last of my warmth. A chandelier glittered overhead, but its light didn't feel welcoming. It was sharp, cruel, as though it judged me for simply existing here.

My wrists ached from the ropes, the skin rubbed raw from struggling. They had dragged me here like a criminal, like a thief. Fear coiled in my stomach, tightening until I could barely breathe. And then, I felt him.

He stepped into the light.

Tall. Broad. Unstoppable. Power clung to him, wrapped around him like a second skin. The tailored suit fit his frame like armor, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. But it was his eyes that froze me, dark, piercing, unyielding. They weren't looking at me. They were looking *through* me, as though I was already guilty.

"Where is it?"

His voice was gravel, harsh and commanding, like it had been forged in fire.

My lips trembled as I forced words out. "I... I don't know what you're talking about." My throat was dry, my voice fragile, but I tried to hold my chin high. "I only just arrived in this city. You've made a mistake."

The corner of his mouth shifted, not with humor, but with fury. His anger vibrated in the air between us, restrained but suffocating.

"You stole from me." He moved closer, each step tightening the noose of fear around my chest. "My men saw your face. My bed still carries the scent of your perfume. And now..." his eyes narrowed, "you dare to play innocent?"

Perfume. Bed. The words struck me like blows. My heart hammered so hard I thought it would tear free. I wanted to scream that I'd never seen him before tonight, that he was wrong, that it wasn't me. But he didn't see me. He saw someone else. A thief. A ghost with my face.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.

His hand slammed against the table beside me, the crack of impact echoing like thunder in the hollow chamber. I jumped, tears stinging my eyes before I could stop them. He saw the tears, but he didn't see innocence,he saw guilt.

"Very well." His voice dropped lower, softer, but more dangerous than any shout. "If you won't return what you stole, then you'll pay in another way."

My stomach turned to ice.

Then his words cut deeper. "Do you know what that necklace meant? It was my mother's. The last thing she left in this world. And now you play dumb, as though you don't know where it is?" His eyes burned with fury, sharp enough to slice me open. "This new behavior of yoursthis little act of innocence, will get you killed if you don't give it back."

The necklace? My mind spun. I had no necklace. I had nothing. But how could I make him believe me when his conviction was unshakable?

The air thickened as he reached for me. Panic clawed at my chest, every muscle screaming to run, to fight, to escape, but the ropes held me fast. I was trapped.

He leaned closer, his breath brushing against my ear. Heat radiated from him, but all I felt was cold.

"Tonight," he whispered, his voice a blade against my skin, "you learn what it costs to cross me."

---

The ropes cut deeper into my wrists as he stepped closer, each sound of his polished shoes against the marble floor tightening the knot of dread in my chest. The room was too quiet, the kind of silence that made every breath loud, every heartbeat thunderous in my ears.

He smelled faintly of whiskey and cedar, sharp and intoxicating, but beneath it was something darker, violence, barely leashed. His shadow swallowed me whole when he stopped in front of me.

Then his hand shot out, wrapping around my neck.

The shock of his touch made me gasp, cold fingers squeezing just enough to remind me how easily he could end me. My pulse hammered against his grip, begging for air.

"You still remember how you held me in bed, right?" he said, voice low, thick with accusation.

My lungs burned. I clawed for words, my throat straining against his hold. "I've... never met you before," I cried, tears slipping hot down my cheeks. "I would never, I have never been in your bed!"

His gaze sharpened, the fury there slicing me open. His thumb pressed harder against the hollow of my throat. "You say that," he sneered, "because it's your usual job."

The words struck harder than his grip. Shame, anger, fear, everything collided inside me until my body moved before I could stop it. My hand shot up, palm connecting with his cheek in a sharp, resounding crack.

The sound echoed in the vast chamber. My own hand stung from the force.

"How dare you," I spat, my chest heaving. "How dare you call me that!" My tears blurred him into shadows, but my rage burned through the haze. "Are you drunk? Blind? You're mistaking me for someone else, and I will not stand here crying while you call me a slut!"

For a heartbeat, the world froze. His face didn't move. His dark eyes locked onto me, unreadable.

Then his jaw ticked.

"You dare..." His voice was a storm breaking, the warning crack before lightning strikes. Every inch of me trembled, though I forced myself to stay still, my chin lifted despite the terror crawling through me. If he wanted me to beg, he would have to kill me first.

But then, he did the strangest thing. He let out a slow breath, unclenching his jaw. His fingers loosened around my throat. And then he laughed.

It wasn't kind. It wasn't a relief. It was sharp, mocking, edged in danger.

"Ahh..." he drawled, shaking his head as though amused by a child's tantrum. "So. Let me ask, what's your new name?"

I blinked through the blur of tears. "That is not your concern," I snapped, though my voice cracked. "Let me go. Kidnapping is a very serious crime."

"Crime?" He tilted his head, his lips curving, but there was nothing warm in it. "You think the law protects women like you? Fine. Tell me your name, and I'll consider it."

The rope dug into my skin as I straightened, swallowing down the tremor in my chest. "Silesia," I whispered. Then louder: "My name is Silesia."

For a moment, silence stretched. His brows lifted. And then, he laughed again, louder this time. A deep, dangerous laugh that rolled through the room.

He covered his face with one hand, shoulders shaking. "So you didn't just change your personality but also your name overnight."

My heart sank. He thought I was mocking him.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded, my voice raw.

His hand fell away from his face. His eyes were darker than ever, fixed on me with a predator's hunger. "So you're saying you didn't sleep with me?"

"No!" My voice rang too loudly in the chamber, breaking on the edges of panic. "Like I said, this is the first time I've even been in this city."

"Ah, I see..." His voice shifted, low and smooth, like the edge of a blade drawn slowly. "I was going to give you a different punishment. But since you claim you haven't slept with me..." He leaned forward, his smile cruel. "Why not refresh your memory?"

The words sliced straight through me. My stomach churned cold. "Wh... what?" I barely breathed.

He stepped closer. One, two, three strides, until he towered over me again, his shadow swallowing the light. Fear clamped around my ribs, crushing me.

My chest rose and fell too fast, air scraping against my throat. The scent of him, rich whiskey and steel, smothered me. My back pressed against the table, nowhere left to retreat.

"You don't know what I'm talking about?" His tone mocked innocence. He leaned down until his breath was hot against my ear. "I'll remind you."

My body shook. "No...please..I'm not her! You have the wrong person!" My voice cracked, breaking into sobs.

But he didn't stop.

---

The ropes were ripped free, but not in mercy. His hands seized my wrists before I could even think of escape, slamming them into the silk sheets stretched across the massive bed. The fabric was cold, too smooth, burning against my skin as though it mocked me with its softness.

I kicked, twisted, thrashed like a wild thing caught in a hunter's snare. My sobs scraped raw against my throat.

"Please," I sobbed, my throat raw, scraped from fear and the desperate cries I'd made earlier. "it's not me."

His hand, iron on my wrists, tightened. "Do you think I'm a fool?" he hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl that vibrated through the mattress. "You played me once. You won't play me again."

The taste of my tears, salty and bitter, lingered on his lips. How could he know? How could he confuse me with her? Doubt, sharp and unwelcome, slid like a crack into his certainty, a fleeting flicker in the depths of his obsidian eyes. I saw it, a momentary hesitation, gone in a blink. Then he forced his lips onto mine, a brutal, punishing kiss. His mouth was hard, demanding, tasting of something metallic and dark. My stomach churned. I tried to pull away, to turn my head, but his grip was absolute. My mind screamed, but no sound escaped.

Then, a sudden, desperate surge of defiance. My teeth found purchase, closing down hard on his lower lip. A sharp gasp tore from his throat. I tasted blood, warm and coppery, mixing with my tears. His grip faltered, just for a second.

He pulled back, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His lip, split and bleeding, gleamed crimson against his pale skin. His eyes, still blazing with fury, now held a glint of surprise, of pain. He dragged his hand down, ripping the flimsy fabric of my dress. A tearing sound, loud in the sudden silence. The thin cotton gave way easily, exposing my shivering body to the cool air, to his burning gaze. He tore at my undergarments, the cheap lace shredding under his impatient fingers. My breasts, small and pale, were suddenly bare, nipples tightening in the chill. He stripped me bare, then himself, his hard self springing free from the confines of his trousers, thick and angry.

He pressed down, his weight crushing, pinning me. My legs were trapped between his, my body splayed beneath him. He grabbed my hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling me up, angling me. I squeezed my eyes shut, a silent plea.

Then, the first searing pain. A blinding, white-hot agony tore through me, ripping from me a cry I didn't know I was capable of. The sound clawed its way out of my chest, high and broken, shattering the cold air of the room. A raw, animalistic shriek. My body arched, spasming, not with pleasure, but with a tearing, burning pain that consumed my entire being. I felt a wet, hot gush, something warm and sticky between my legs.

For the first time, he stilled. His weight remained, but the frantic, brutal thrusting ceased. His gaze dropped to my face, confusion flickering in the depths of his fury. My tears weren't calculated. They streamed down my temples, soaking the silk pillow, hot and endless. My body trembled, not with guilt but with shock, with something too raw to fake.

"You..." His voice cracked, the iron faltering, replaced by a guttural sound of disbelief. He pulled back slightly, just enough to see. His eyes widened, fixing on my inner thighs, on the gush of blood that stained the white silk sheets beneath me, seeping into the fabric, a stark, undeniable crimson. "You're bleeding?"

I curled inward, arms flying up to cover myself, though it was useless. My body shivered like a wounded bird, every muscle trembling, every nerve screaming. The sobs wouldn't stop, spilling from me like a broken dam, ragged gasps for air.

His grip loosened. Slowly. Hesitantly. Matteo Loki, the man who broke others for sport, hesitated. I saw it. A flicker of doubt in those obsidian eyes, a crack in his cold facade. His chest rose and fell once, sharply, like something inside him had shifted, had been irrevocably altered. He told himself it didn't matter. I could see it in the tightening of his jaw, the hardening of his stare. Virgin or not, thief or not, he wanted me to pay. But beneath that steel, something gnawed at him. Something had fractured his certainty.

The door creaked, a soft, almost imperceptible sound that cut through the thick tension.