Owned by the Triplet

I stared at the bottom of my third tequila shot, the lime wedge looking as shriveled and pathetic as my love life.

The club was loud-bass thumping through the floorboards and the smell of alcohol clinging to everything-but I felt myself floating. Three years. I'd given Marcus three years of my life, my notes for his exams, and my heart, only to find him pressed against Emiliana in our shared apartment.

"Another one, Elena?" the bartender asked, leaning over the counter.

"Make it a double," I muttered, sliding my last twenty across the table. "I'm celebrating being a complete idiot."

I didn't want to think. I didn't want to feel. I just wanted to drown the image of Emiliana's blonde hair fanned out on my pillows. My body itched, fuck i just wish I got my hands on her, but I ignored the thought immediately, reaching for the fresh glass.

"Elena, baby, please. Just listen to me."

The voice made my stomach turn. I didn't even have to look up to know it was Marcus. I could smell his cheap cologne and the desperation rolling off him.

"Go away, Marcus," I said, my voice flat.

He grabbed my stool, spinning me around to face him. He looked like a mess-his shirt untucked, his eyes bloodshot. "It was a mistake. Emiliana meant nothing. She came on to me, you know how she is. You can't just throw away three years because of one bad night."

"One bad night?" I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "I saw you, Marcus. You didn't look like you were having a bad time. Get out of my face."

I turned back to my drink, but he wasn't having it. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. "Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you. I've done everything for you. You're a scholarship kid from the dirt, Elena. Who else is going to want you?"

"Let go of me," I snapped, trying to pull away. The bar was crowded, but everyone was minding their own business. "You're hurting me."

"I'll let go when you-"

"She told you to let go."

The voice didn't come from behind me; it seemed to come from the very air itself. It was deep, smooth, and carried a weight that made the hair on my arms stand up.l

Marcus froze. I looked up and felt my breath hitch.

A man was standing a few feet away. He was tall-tall enough that he made Marcus look like a child. He was wearing a dark charcoal suit that looked like it cost more than my entire tuition. His hair was dark, neatly pushed back, and his eyes... they were a piercing, icy blue that seemed to glow in the dim light of the bar.

"Mind your business, pal," Marcus spat, though his grip on my arm loosened.

The stranger didn't move. He just tilted his head. "I am making it my business. Take your hand off her, or I will take it off for you."

There was so much power in his voice, he looked like he always gets his way.

Marcus looked at the man's size, then back at me. He scoffed, trying to save face. "Fine. Whatever. She's a bitch anyway. Good luck with her." He shoved my arm back at me and scrambled toward the exit.

I trembled, the adrenaline finally hitting me. "Thank you," I whispered, reaching for my drink to steady my hands.

"You shouldn't be drinking that," the man said. He moved closer, stepping into my personal space. The scent of him hit me- woods, rain, and something intoxicating that made my heart race.

"I think I've earned it," I said, trying to regain my sharp tongue. "And who are you? My dad?"

He didn't smile. He reached out, his long fingers brushing the hair away from my face. His touch was electric. "I am the man who is going to take you home."

"I don't even know your name," I breathed. My head was spinning from the tequila, but my body was screaming for him to stay close.

"Names don't matter tonight, Elena."

My heart stopped. "How do you know my name?"

"I know things," he murmured. He leaned down, his lips inches from my ear. "I've been watching you all night. Watching you cry over a boy who isn't worth your breath. Why waste your tears when you could be screaming my name instead?" What the fuck?

Many girls would have moved away the instant a stranger says that to them but I stayed, feeling aroused immediately by his words. It must be the alcohol.

I should have run. I was a smart girl, a law student, a person with logic. But when he slid his hand down to the small of my back, pulling me closer to him, all my reasoning died. He felt like safety and danger all wrapped into one.

"My car is outside," he said, his voice a low vibration against my skin.

"Okay," I whispered.

We got the parking lot faster than I expected. He led me to a dark, sleek car, it looked fucking expensive. As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, he didn't wait.

He lunged for me, his mouth crashing onto mine. He placed his hand on my neck, giving me light squeeze while dominating the kiss, I groaned into his mouth, my hands tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer. I wanted to forget Marcus. I wanted to forget everything.

"So small," he growled against my throat, his hands roaming over my curves with a possessiveness that should have scared me. "So perfect."

He pushed my dress down, his eyes dark with a hunger that looked almost animalistic. I arched my back as his tongue found the sensitive skin of my neck.

"Fuck, I can't wait till we get to the hotel, I need a taste of you," his voice came out deep and soft.

He licked my neck immediately, I felt a sharp, sudden heat there-a pressure that built and built until I thought I would burst.

"Please," I begged, not even knowing what I was asking for.

"Look at me, Elena," he commanded.

I opened my eyes, staring into that icy blue. He looked possessed. He grabbed me and placed me on top of him, his hands gripped my shoulders, his fingers bruising, and then he leaned in.

I expected a kiss. Instead, I felt teeth.

A sharp, stinging pain flared in my neck as he bit down. I gasped, my vision shaking, but the pain was instantly replaced by a wave of pleasure that made my entire body go numb. It felt like wonderful, my eyes rolled back as I moaned loudly.

"You're mine," he whispered. "Don't forget it."

Everything went black

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my alarm blaring. My head throbbed, and my throat felt dry and stuffy.

"Ugh, never again," I groaned, rolling over to hit snooze.

Memories of the night before came back in flashes. Marcus. The tall stranger. The car. The hotel. Everything was not clear enough, the only thing that I truly remembered was his face.

I sat up fast, checking my clothes. I was in my pajamas. Had I walked home? I couldn't remember. I stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face.

As I patted my skin dry, I caught my reflection in the mirror. There, at the base of my neck, was a mark. It wasn't a purple bruise like a normal hickey. It was a deep, angry red circle with two distinct puncture marks in the center.

"Asshole bit me, but who the fuck bites someone like this, it's called a hickey not a wound" I muttered, touching it. "Ouch," It felt hot and painful as fuck.

I don't have time for this, I need to coverup now because I'm late with a splitting headache. I covered it with concealer and a turtleneck, grabbed my bag, and ran out the door. I was already late for my first Advanced Law seminar.

I slipped into the lecture hall, keeping my head down as I found a seat in the back row. The room was quiet.

"Glad you could join us, Miss Vance," a voice boomed from the front.

I froze. That voice.

All eyes turned to me, I hate when I'm the center of attention. I looked up. Standing at the podium, wearing a crisp white shirt and glasses that made him look terrifyingly intelligent, was the man from the bar.

"I am Professor Alaric Blackwood," he said, his eyes locking onto mine with zero recognition, only cold authority. "And in this classroom, there are no excuses for being late. See me after class."

My heart hammered against my ribs. It was him. He still looked as handsome as that night, but he looked at me like I was nothing but a smudge on his shoe. I am doomed

I gave a slow nod, looking down at my book, trying to disappear at that moment.

The ninety-minute lecture felt like it was deliberately dragged. I sat in the back row, my hands shaking so hard I couldn't even take notes. Every time Professor Blackwood spoke, that deep, velvet voice sent a spark straight to my body.

He spoke with so much authority, all the ladies in the classroom kept looking at him with lovey-dovey eyes, well I don't blame them. He paced the front of the room as he spoke, but he never looked at me. Not once. It was like the night in the car-the heat, the tension was nothing, I guess it's better this way, no one needs to know of my foolish mistake.

When the bell finally rang, I scrambled to pack my bag. I just needed to get out of the room. I needed to breathe.

"Miss Vance. A word."

The coldness in his tone stopped me mid-step. The rest of the students filed out, whispering and casting curious glances my way. I waited until the door clicked shut before I turned to face him.

He was sitting at his desk, looking through a folder. He didn't look up.

"Your performance today was pathetic, to say the least," he said, his voice clipped. "You didn't contribute to the discussion. You looked... distracted."

"Distracted?" I marched toward his desk, my temper finally flaring. "You're kidding me, right? You were there. Last night. You chased Marcus away. You took me to your car. You..." I stopped, my face heating up. "You know exactly why I'm distracted."

Alaric finally looked up. Behind his glasses, he gave me a cold stare. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I spent my evening reviewing case files at the estate. If you're having personal issues with any boy, keep them out of my lecture hall."

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. "You're lying. You're actually lying to my face. I have the bloody hickey on my neck to prove it!" I moved my clothe apart to give him a clear view

He stood up slowly. He was so much taller than I remembered. He walked around the desk, his presence filling the room until I felt tiny. He stopped just inches away, his cologne sticking out.

"I see a bruise, Elena," he murmured, his voice dropping low. "Perhaps you should be more careful with who you spend your nights with. It looks painful."

"You did this," I whispered, my heart beating against my ribs. "Why are you doing this? Why are you making everything difficult for me like I lost my mind, what do you have to gain?"

"I am doing my job," he said, his gaze dropping to my lips for a split second before snapping back to my eyes. " I don't know what you have stored up in your head, tell me Elena, what do you desire?"

My eyes widened at his question, I had no response immediately, my brain shut down because I don't understand what game he was playing now.

He reached out, his hand hovering near my neck. I froze, my eyes fluttering shut. I expected him to pull away, to keep up the act. Instead, his thumb brushed against the turtleneck I'd used to hide the hickey.

He pulled the fabric down just an inch, his skin making contact with the bruised, sensitive skin.

The contact sent a shiver down my spine, a moan slipped out of my mouth immediately, why is it so sensitive to his touch?

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against the shell of my ear.

"Does it still hurt, Elena?"

The question caught me off guard, the way he said it made me feel some kind of way, I looked at him staring at his eyes as they turned dark, he looked exactly like last night. Before I could even find my voice to answer, he pulled his hand away and straightened his suit jacket.

"We're done for tonight," he said, his voice suddenly ice-cold again as he turned toward the window. "Get out."

I didn't wait. I grabbed my bag and bolted, my skin still screaming from where he'd touched me

I spent the day walking around campus like a zombie. My neck wouldn't stop itching. Underneath the thick layer of concealer, the mark felt like a living thing, buzzing against my pulse.

Does it still hurt, Elena?

The way he'd said my name... it was driving me insane. I was a law student. I was supposed to be logical. He can say whatever the hell he wants to but I know it was him that night.

I was so deep in my own head that I didn't hear the hum of the engine.

I stepped off the curb near the university's main gate, my eyes glued to my textbook, when a screech of tires sliced through the air. I looked up, paralyzed, as a sleek, silver sports car-the kind that cost more than my life-swerved, missing my knees by a mere inch.

I fell back onto the pavement, my books scattering everywhere.

"Oh my god! I am so sorry!"

The car door swung open, and a man stepped out. For a second, my heart stopped. The height, the build, the sharp jawline-it was him.

But then he stepped into the sunlight, and the illusion shattered. This man didn't have Alaric's dark, brooding hair; his was a striking, silver, styled to perfection. He wasn't wearing a suit, but a designer sweater that looked soft enough to melt into. And his eyes-while they were that same haunting blue-were dancing with warmth and concern, not cold like Alaric's own.

"Are you hurt? Please tell me you're okay," he said, reaching down to help me up.

"I-I'm fine," I stammered, taking his hand. His grip was firm, but gentle.

"I'm Silas," he said, giving me a smile that could probably end wars. "And I'm a complete idiot for not watching the crosswalk. I was on a conference call and... well, that's no excuse for almost flattening the most beautiful woman on campus."

I felt my face flush. He was charming. Effortlessly charming. Unlike Alaric, who made me feel like a bug under a microscope, Silas made me feel like the only person in the world. I don't know why I'm already clinging onto the idea of Silas but it's not everyday a handsome rich man flirts with you.

"I'm Elena," I managed to say, brushing the dirt off my jeans.

"Elena," he repeated, his voice like honey. He looked at my books on the ground and then back at me. "Look, Elena, I feel terrible. Please, let me make it up to you. Let me take you to dinner tonight. Somewhere quiet, where I can properly apologize for my terrible driving."

I should have said no. I had a mountain of homework, and I was already emotionally exhausted. But I looked at his kind face and thought about Alaric's coldness. I needed a distraction. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn't into my professor.

"Okay," I said softly. "Dinner sounds nice." I hope I don't regret this decision with a total stranger.

Silas led me to his car, I sat inside, feeling the smoothness of the chair, Silas gave me a smirk before speeding off. He didn't turn on the radio; he just drove, occasionally glancing at me with a smirk that made me want to hide and lean closer all at the same time.

When we pulled up to the curb, a valet in a uniform scurried over. Silas didn't wait for him to open my door. He was already there, offering his hand to help me out of the low-slung seat.

"Relax, Elena," he whispered, his breath catching the stray hairs near my ear. "You're with me. No one here is looking at anything but how lucky I am."

The restaurant, The Golden Lily, was perched on the fiftieth floor. As we walked in, the head waiter bowed-actually bowed-to Silas.

"Sir. Your usual table?"

"The corner, Pierre. We'd like some privacy."

Silas led me to a table overlooking the entire city. Before I could even reach for the back of the chair, he was behind me. I felt the warmth of his body as he leaned in, his hands firmly holding the gold chair and sliding it forward as I sat. His fingers lingered on the wood near my shoulders for a second too long before he moved to his own seat.

"I... I feel like I should have changed," I said, smoothing my skirt. I was wearing my campus clothes-jeans and a decent blouse-but surrounded by women in fancy gowns and diamonds, I felt like a stray cat.

"You're the most interesting thing in this room," Silas said, dismissing my worry with a wave of his hand. He didn't even look at the menu. He just looked at me. "I've already taken the liberty of ordering the tasting menu for us. And the wine-a 1998 vintage. It's light, but it has a bit of a bite. You look like a girl who appreciates a bit of a bite."

My heart did a nervous little skip. A bite. Was he joking? Or was it just a coincidence?

"So, Silas," I said, trying to regain some control over the conversation. "What exactly do you do? Besides almost running over scholarship students?"

He grinned, showing off perfectly white teeth. "I run an Industries. We do a bit of everything-tech, real estate, private security. I spend most of my days in boardrooms listening to men in suits bore me to death. Which is why meeting someone like you is such a breath of fresh air."

"Someone like me? You mean a girl who can't cross the street properly?"

"I mean someone real," he said, his gaze turning intense. "Someone whose eyes tell a story. You're sad, Elena. And you're angry. Why?"

I froze. He was too observant. "My boyfriend-ex-boyfriend-cheated on me. With my best friend. I found them two days ago."

Silas's expression didn't change, but the air around the table felt heavier. "A man who lets a woman like you go is a fool. And a man who hurts you... well, he doesn't deserve to keep his tongue."

The waiter arrived then, placing small plates of seared scallops and truffle cream in front of us. Silas ate, gesturing to me to go ahead. I followed his move, his eyes watching me over the rim of his wine glass.

"Tell me about your studies," he prompted. "Law is a heavy burden for such a young woman."

"I like the order of it," I said, finally relaxing a little as the wine started to hum in my blood. "There are rules. If you break them, there are consequences. It makes sense."

"Rules are meant to be broken by the people who have the power to rewrite them," Silas countered. He reached across the table, his fingers tracing the rim of my glass. "Don't tell me you've never wanted to do something just because it felt good, even if the rules said no?"

I thought of the man in the bar. I thought of the way I'd let a stranger bite me. I thought of the way my body ached when Professor Blackwood looked at me.

"I try to be a good person," I whispered.

"Being good is boring, Elena," Silas murmured. He stood up, but instead of leaving, he walked around to my side of the table. "Walk with me to the balcony? The air is clearer out there."

I followed him out into the night air. The lights twinkled below us like fallen stars. Silas stood close behind me.

"You're shivering," he said. He didn't offer his jacket. Instead, he reached out, his hand sliding over mine where it gripped the railing.

The moment our skin touched, the mark on my neck didn't just itch-it erupted. A blinding heat shot from the puncture marks, down my spine, and straight to my core. It was the exact same feeling I'd had with Alaric.

I gasped, my legs feeling like jelly.

"Elena? Is something wrong?" Silas asked. His thumb began to stroke the back of my hand, He didn't let go. His grip tightened, and for a split second, that warm, charming billionaire mask slipped. His eyes went dark, the blue turning into a deep, stormy darkness.

He looked hungry. Not for food, but for me.

"I... I just got a chill," I lied, my voice trembling so hard I could barely get the words out.

I felt physically sick with confusion. How was this possible? I was pining for a professor who treated me like garbage, still dreaming about a stranger who had bitten me in a parking lot, and now I was standing on a balcony wanting a billionaire I'd known for three hours to push me against the glass and never let me go.

"You're a very good liar, Elena," Silas whispered, his lips brushing against my temple. "But your pulse is racing. I can feel it against my skin."

I pulled my hand away, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. "I have to go. Please. I just... I need to go home."

"What is wrong with me?" I whispered as I bolted out the door

The mark on my neck felt like a brand. A mark of shame.

I wasn't just a scholarship student anymore. I was a liar. I was a traitor to my own heart. Why do I feel this way because of Professor Alaric, someone who doesn't care