The city never slept, but tonight… it watched silently.

Aira ran.

Her feet slammed against cracked pavement, bare soles tearing on glass and gravel. Each breath was a knife in her ribs. The taste of copper flooded her mouth—she’d bitten her lip raw. Shadows lunged at her from every direction, the alley swallowing her whole.

*Faster. Faster.*

Behind her, laughter. Deep, guttural. *Close.*

“Little bird,” a voice crooned. “We’ll clip your wings soon.”

Her pulse roared in her ears. She skidded around a corner—

Dead end.

A concrete wall loomed, slick with rain and graffiti. *No. No no no—*

She spun just as they emerged from the darkness. Three men. Grins sharp as broken bottles.

“Nowhere left to run, huh?” The tallest one cracked his knuckles.

Aira pressed against the wall, arms wrapped around herself. Her knees trembled, but she lifted her chin. “What do you want?”

“You.” A leer. “Alive… mostly.”

One reached for her. She slapped his hand away—

*Crack.*

A gunshot split the air.

The man dropped. Blood pooled beneath his skull, his grin still etched in place.

Silence.

Then—two more shots. Two more bodies.

Aira didn’t scream. She couldn’t. Her lungs had turned to ice.

A fourth figure stepped over the corpses.

*Him.*

Black coat. Black gloves. A face carved from marble and menace. The streetlight caught the edge of his jaw, the scar beneath his eye, the way his gaze pinned her like a butterfly to corkboard.

“Run,” he said—not to her. To the last thug.

The man fled.

The stranger holstered his gun and turned to Aira. Up close, he was taller. Broader. His scent—sandalwood and gunmetal—wrapped around her throat.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

She was. A gash on her cheek, a wrist purpling with fingerprints. She hadn’t even noticed.

He reached into his coat. A handkerchief. Snow-white silk.

When he dabbed her cheek, his glove came away scarlet. His jaw tightened.

“Who—” Her voice shattered.

“Names are irrelevant.” His thumb brushed her chin, tilting it toward the light. Assessing. “You’re shaking.”

She was. Violently.

His coat settled around her shoulders before she realized he’d moved. *Warm.*

“Two choices,” he murmured. “Come with me. Or wait for the next pack of wolves.”

Aira’s fingers clutched the coat. It smelled like him. Like danger.

A black SUV slid to the curb, silent as a panther.

She should’ve run.

She didn’t.

---

**Inside the car**, leather seats cold against her skin, Aira counted her breaths to stay sane.

Ruhan (though she didn’t know his name yet) didn’t speak. Just watched the city blur past, his profile sharp enough to draw blood.

Then—

“You’re cold.”

A flick of his wrist. The AC died.

Aira stiffened as his gaze dropped to her bare feet, the bruises on her ankles. Something dark flashed in his eyes.

“Who sent them after you?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

A lie. Or the truth? She couldn’t tell anymore.

He leaned closer. Close enough that his breath ghosted over her lips. “Try again.”

The car hit a pothole. She swayed—

His hand caught her waist. Steel fingers. A touch that burned through fabric.

Aira’s heart stuttered.

*This man isn’t salvation.*

*He’s the storm.*

Aira woke to the scent of leather and bergamot.

Her eyelids fluttered open, the world swimming into focus—high ceilings, muted gold wallpaper, a chandelier dripping crystal like frozen tears. *Not my apartment.*

She bolted upright. Pain lanced through her skull.

“Easy.”

A voice. Low. Commanding.

She turned her head too fast, vision spotting.

*Him.*

The man from the alley sat in an armchair by the bed, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. The dim light carved shadows under his cheekbones, turned his eyes to polished onyx. He hadn’t changed—still in that black suit, the top button undone, a sliver of skin peeking through.

Aira’s fingers twisted in the sheets. Silk. *His sheets?*

“Where am I?” Her voice came out cracked, like dry earth.

“Safe.” He took a sip of his drink, watching her over the rim. “For now.”

She swallowed. The room was massive—all dark wood and cold elegance. A fireplace crackled somewhere to her left. No windows.

*Trapped.*

Her breath hitched. “I need to go home.”

“No.”

That single word, a guillotine drop.

Aira’s nails bit into her palms. “You can’t keep me here.”

A slow smirk. “Can’t I?”

He set the glass down and stood. Every movement was controlled, predatory. She stiffened as he approached, but he merely picked up a tray from the nightstand—water, pills, a bowl of sliced fruit.

“Eat.” He held it out. “You’ve been unconscious for twelve hours.”

*Twelve—?*

Her stomach lurched. She shoved the tray away. “I don’t want anything from you.”

The bowl clattered to the floor. Grapes rolled across hardwood.

Silence.

Then—

Ruhan’s hand snapped out, gripping her chin. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough that she couldn’t look away. His thumb brushed the cut on her cheekbone, a mockery of tenderness.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” he murmured. “You’re alive because I allow it. You’ll eat because I command it. And you’ll *thank me* before this is over.”

Her pulse thundered in her throat.

He released her and straightened. “The bathroom’s through that door. There are clothes. Be ready in twenty minutes.”

“For what?”

A cold smile. “To prove you’re worth the trouble.”

The clothes were *hers*.

Aira stared at the dress laid out on the bathroom counter—soft pink cotton, the hem slightly frayed. *Her favorite.* The one she’d worn last week to the bookstore.

*How?*

Her hands shook as she peeled off the oversized shirt someone had dressed her in (*Him? No. Please, no—*), stepping under the scalding shower spray until her skin turned red.

The mirror was fogged when she got out. She wiped it clean, staring at her reflection—dark circles under her eyes, the bruise on her collarbone in the shape of fingers.

*Run.*

But where? The door was unlocked, but she’d seen the men outside—hulking figures in black, earpieces coiled like snakes.

She slipped into the dress. It still smelled like her lavender detergent.

A knock.

“Time’s up.”

She opened the door.

Ruhan leaned against the frame, arms crossed. His gaze dragged down her body, lingering on the bruise. Something flickered in his eyes—dark, unreadable.

“Better,” he said.

She lifted her chin. “Why am I here?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember you killing three men.”

A smirk. “Then you remember enough.”

He turned, expecting her to follow.

She didn’t.

Ruhan glanced over his shoulder, one brow arched. “Do you need incentive?”

Aira’s fists clenched. “You could just *tell me* what you want.”

“I want you to walk out that door,” he said softly, “before I carry you.”

He led her to a study. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a mahogany desk, a single chair placed in the center like an offering.

*Or an interrogation.*

Aira sat, back rigid.

Ruhan prowled to the desk, pulling out a file. He tossed it in front of her.

“Open it.”

She did.

And froze.

Photos. Of her. Walking to class. Working at the bookstore. Sleeping on her apartment’s fire escape, face tilted toward the sun.

The last one made her blood ice over—a man in a black hoodie, watching her from a parked car. The same man from the alley.

“They’ve been tracking you for weeks,” Ruhan said.

Her throat closed. “Who?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He braced his hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. “Who would want to hurt a little sparrow like you?”

She recoiled. “I don’t know!”

“Liar.” His breath warmed her lips. “Think harder.”

Aira’s mind raced. Her father’s debts? Her stepmother’s venom? That night last year she’d rather forget—

Ruhan’s finger tapped the photo of the hooded man. “He works for Viktor Dravin.”

The name meant nothing to her.

But Ruhan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And Viktor works for *me*.”

Her heart stopped.

*Oh god.*

“You—” She shoved against his chest. “You *sent* them after me?”

He didn’t budge. “I sent them to watch you. They got… overzealous.”

She slapped him.

The crack echoed. His head barely turned, just a slow tilt, like a wolf considering its prey.

Then—

He laughed.

A dark, velvet sound that skittered down her spine.

“Good,” he purred. “I was hoping you’d fight.”

Before she could react, he hauled her up, pressing her against the bookshelf. Leather-bound volumes dug into her back.

“Here’s the truth,” he growled. “Someone paid Viktor to kidnap you. I intercepted. Now, you’re mine.”

*Mine.* The word vibrated between them.

Aira’s lips parted. “Why?”

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

“*Because,” he said simply, “I don’t like losing what’s *mine**.”

Aira’s breath came in sharp bursts, her back pressed against the bookshelf as Ruhan loomed over her. His grip on her wrists was iron, his body a cage of heat and restrained violence.

*Mine.*

The word still hung between them, vibrating in the air like a plucked wire.

She bared her teeth. “I don’t *belong* to you.”

Ruhan’s thumb stroked the frantic pulse in her wrist—once, twice. A mockery of comfort. “You do now.”

She twisted, trying to knee him. He dodged effortlessly, his laughter dark. “Try harder, little sparrow.”

A growl tore from her throat. She lunged forward, teeth sinking into the meat of his palm.

Blood bloomed on her tongue.

He didn’t flinch.

Instead, his free hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back. Their eyes locked—hers blazing, his glacial.

“Good,” he murmured. “I was starting to think you were all soft edges.”

Then his mouth crashed onto hers.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a *claim*.

Hot, brutal, all teeth and dominance. She bit down harder, and he groaned into her mouth, his grip tightening. The taste of copper mixed with the scent of his cologne, dizzying.

She shoved at his chest. He let her break away—but only far enough to see the fury in her eyes.

“*Bastard*,” she spat.

Ruhan wiped his bleeding lip with his thumb, then smeared it across her chin. “Now we match.”

**Thirty minutes later**, Aira sat stiffly in the back of another black SUV, her arms crossed. Ruhan had barely spoken since the study, only barking orders at his men before dragging her outside.

The car moved through the city like a shadow, tinted windows hiding her from the world.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.

Ruhan scrolled through his phone, indifferent. “Somewhere you can’t run.”

She glared. “I’ll find a way.”

That made him look up. A slow, dangerous smile curled his lips. “I’d love to see you try.”

The car turned into an underground garage, descending into darkness. Aira’s stomach tightened.

When the doors opened, they were met by four armed men.

Ruhan stepped out, straightening his cuffs. “Search her.”

Aira recoiled. “*What?*”

One of the men approached. She swung—but Ruhan caught her fist mid-air.

“If you’re hiding anything,” he said calmly, “now’s the time to confess.”

She wrenched free. “I’m not your prisoner.”

“Aren’t you?”

The guard patted her down, finding nothing but the clothes on her back. Ruhan watched, unreadable, until the man shook his head.

“Clean.”

Ruhan nodded. “Good.”

Then he grabbed Aira’s arm and hauled her toward an elevator.

**The penthouse was a gilded prison.**

Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city sprawled below, lights twinkling like trapped stars. The space was vast, minimalist—all cold marble and sharp edges.

Aira spun to face him. “What is this place?”

“Home.” Ruhan tossed his keys onto a table. “For now.”

She scoffed. “You expect me to just *live* here?”

“I expect you to stay alive.” He strode to a liquor cabinet, pouring himself a drink. “Unless you’d prefer the alternative?”

She didn’t answer.

He took a sip, then set the glass down with a *click*. “There’s a bedroom for you. Clothes. Food. Don’t leave.”

“Or what?”

He met her gaze. “Or I’ll tie you to the bed myself.”

Her breath hitched.

Ruhan smirked. “Your choice.”

Then he walked away, leaving her standing there, fists clenched, heart pounding.

**That night**, Aira tested every lock.

The windows were sealed. The doors needed a keycard. The balcony was twenty stories up.

*Trapped.*

She slumped onto the bed, exhaustion dragging at her bones. The room was lavish—king-sized bed, silk sheets, an en suite bathroom with a shower big enough for three.

All of it felt like a taunt.

A knock at the door.

She stiffened. “Go away.”

It opened anyway.

Ruhan stood in the doorway, now in a black sweater that hugged his broad frame. He held a tray—steaming soup, fresh bread, a glass of water.

“Eat,” he ordered.

She glared. “Not hungry.”

He set the tray on the nightstand. “Liar.”

Her stomach chose that moment to betray her with a loud growl.

Ruhan’s lips twitched. “You’ll need your strength.”

“For what?”

He leaned down, bracing a hand on the mattress beside her thigh. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“For whatever comes next.”

Then he left, the door locking behind him.

Aira stared at the food.

And for the first time, she wondered—

*What if I stopped fighting?*