The studio lights buzzed overhead as Lydia Roberts adjusted the mic on the news anchor’s blazer. Her fingers were steady, but her mind wasn’t. Deadlines, camera angles, scripts—everything swirled in her head like a quiet storm. She’d been working at the station for two years now. Behind the scenes. Invisible. Safe.

And she liked it that way.

“Lydia!” her manager barked from the hallway. “There’s someone here to see you. You’re holding up Studio B!”

She sighed and muttered an apology, quickly stepping into the hallway. Her boots clicked softly against the marble floor as she turned the corner—and stopped cold.

A tall man in an all-black suit leaned against the wall like he owned the place. His black button-down was open at the throat, revealing a glimpse of tattoos curling up his neck. His face was carved perfection—strong jaw, stormy eyes, lips that held a smirk like he knew every secret in the room. Dangerous. Beautiful. And utterly terrifying.

Jake William.

The name alone sent shivers down her spine. The infamous mafia boss. The most feared man in the city—and the most devastatingly handsome. She’d seen him in whispers and news headlines. Never up close. Never like this.

“Miss Roberts,” he greeted, his voice like dark velvet. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything... ordinary.”

She blinked. “What are you doing here?”

Jake’s smirk deepened. “I don’t waste time, Lydia. I’m here to offer you a contract.”

“A... what?”

He stepped closer. Too close. His scent—clean, masculine, expensive—wrapped around her like a noose. He reached into his coat and pulled out a folder.

“You’ll find the details inside. Four years. You belong to me. In every way that matters.”

Her stomach dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Physically. Intimately. Exclusively. You’ll live where I say. Eat what I provide. You’ll never have to worry about money again. I’ll handle everything.” His eyes darkened. “In return, you’ll give me what I want.”

She took a shaky breath. “Why me?”

Jake leaned down, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear like he had every right. “Because you’re the only woman I can’t stop thinking about. And when I want something, Lydia... I take it.”

Her heart thundered. “This is insane.”

“You’re right,” he said smoothly. “And yet, here I am. Offering you a deal that could solve every one of your problems.”

She hesitated. Her father’s medical bills were piling up. Their home was on the verge of being taken. She was drowning—and he knew it.

“I’m not for sale,” she whispered.

Jake’s voice dropped to a near-growl. “Then consider yourself claimed.”

She shoved the folder back at him, but he didn’t take it. He simply walked past her, brushing his fingers down her arm as he did.

“I’ll give you three days,” he said. “After that, the offer disappears—and so does any chance of saving your father.”

Her breath caught.

She turned to yell after him, to curse him—but he was already gone, like smoke.

All that remained was the contract in her hands… and the terrifying pull of a man she knew she should run from.

But couldn’t.

Lydia sat on the edge of her bed, the dim glow from her bedside lamp barely lighting the contract in her trembling hands. Pages filled with legal terms, expectations, and one chilling clause at the bottom:

> “Termination of contract is at Mr. William’s discretion only.”

She reread it for the fourth time, her chest tightening with each word. It wasn’t a contract—it was a prison.

Her phone buzzed beside her. A message from the hospital.

> Balance due: $38,250.00. Urgent. Payment required to continue treatment.

Her father’s heart surgery had drained everything. The insurance company had backed out. She’d maxed every card, borrowed from everyone she could, even sold her mother’s wedding ring.

Now she had nothing left but desperation.

Her fingers hovered over the folder again. Jake William didn’t come to her by chance. He knew. About her debt. Her father. Her life. Every word he’d said back at the studio wasn’t an offer—it was a trap laid with precision.

And the worst part?

It was working.

The next morning, Lydia walked into the studio like a ghost. No makeup. No smile. No coffee. Her eyes were red, her body heavy. When her coworker Anna waved, she didn’t even wave back.

She couldn’t. Her mind was locked on what she had done the night before.

She had signed it.

Half out of rage. Half out of fear. But she had signed it.

And sent the contract back.

Her phone buzzed again around noon. This time, a message from an unknown number:

> Your new driver is waiting. Pack your things. You now belong to me. —J

She stared at the message for a full minute, her fingers curling tight around the phone.

You now belong to me.

That evening, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb outside her apartment. The driver didn’t ask questions. Just opened the door and gestured for her to get in.

The car smelled like leather and silence. Lydia sat rigid in the backseat, staring out the window as the city disappeared behind her.

They passed through a private gate, then down a long driveway lined with lanterns. At the end of it stood a mansion. No—more like a fortress. Cold stone. Tall windows. Guards at every corner. A palace built for power and paranoia.

The driver opened her door, and she stepped out into the cool night air, heart pounding.

The front doors opened before she even reached them.

Jake stood waiting, dressed in black again, like sin in human form. His eyes roamed over her slowly, hungrily.

“You came,” he said softly.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

He smirked. “Everyone has a choice. You just made the right one.”

She followed him inside, jaw tight. The house was stunning—modern meets medieval. Clean lines. Marble floors. A giant fireplace roared in the center of the grand hall.

“I had a room prepared for you,” Jake said, leading her up the stairs. “You’ll find everything you need. Clothes. Toiletries. Whatever you want, you ask.”

“And what do you get?”

He stopped walking, turning to her.

“I get you, Lydia.”

His hand slid around her waist, pulling her close.

“I don’t want anyone else touching you. Seeing you. Even thinking about you.”

Her breath hitched.

“That’s not love,” she whispered. “That’s control.”

His lips brushed her ear. “No, sweetheart. That’s possession. And I warned you—when I want something, I keep it.”

She shivered.

He let her go, finally, and gestured toward the bedroom door.

“You start living here tonight. But I’ll give you one kindness,” he said. “I won’t touch you until you ask me to.”

Lydia blinked in shock, unsure if it was a threat, a promise, or a trap.

He smiled slowly. “You will. Sooner than you think.”

Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall—leaving Lydia alone, shaking, and one step deeper into the darkness she’d agreed to.

The first night in Jake William’s mansion was sleepless.

Lydia lay beneath silk sheets that smelled faintly of him. The room was too large. Too cold. Everything felt designed to swallow her whole—from the mirrored walls to the scent of roses that lingered in the air like a warning.

She was no longer just Lydia Roberts, the quiet girl working backstage at a TV station.

She was now the kept woman of a mafia king.

She wasn’t sure what was worse—the silence… or knowing he was somewhere in this house, watching. Waiting.

The next morning, a maid brought breakfast to her room without a word. Perfect presentation. Eggs, fruit, coffee. Lydia ignored it. She wasn’t hungry—she was trapped.

She dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt from the walk-in closet, ignoring the lace and silk that lined the shelves. Clothes meant to please him.

When she stepped out of her room, Jake was already waiting downstairs, seated at the massive dining table with a newspaper in one hand and coffee in the other.

He looked up and smirked.

“Sleep well, baby doll?”

“I’m not your baby doll.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, slow and unbothered. “You will be.”

Her fists clenched, but she didn’t speak. She had to choose her battles.

That afternoon, Jake took her to an event.

She hadn’t expected to leave the mansion. But now she was in a sleek car, dressed in a black fitted dress he’d chosen for her, being escorted to a high-profile charity gala hosted at a luxury hotel downtown.

People turned when they walked in—some in fear, others in awe.

Jake didn’t hide her.

In fact, he kept his hand on the small of her back all night, introducing her to politicians, celebrities, and business tycoons with a single word:

> “Mine.”

But while he controlled the room like a king, Lydia felt eyes burning into her from across the ballroom. Cold. Sharp. Curious.

When she finally turned to meet the stare, her breath hitched.

A tall man stood near the bar, dressed in a tailored dark grey suit. His jaw was sharp, his dark hair swept back, and his eyes—a piercing steel blue—were locked on her.

He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t flinch under Jake’s name. Didn’t fawn. Didn’t pretend.

And he didn’t look away.

Jake followed her gaze. When he saw the man, his body tensed, his hand tightening at her waist.

“Don’t look at him,” Jake muttered. “That’s Dylan Black. He’s not just dangerous—he’s a snake.”

“Then why is he here?” she whispered.

Jake’s voice dropped low and deadly. “Because even devils like to drink with each other before going to war.”

Later, while Jake stepped aside to take a call, Lydia slipped away to the balcony for air. Her chest felt too tight. Her world, too strange. This wasn’t her life.

It wasn’t supposed to be.

“You don’t belong in his world.”

The voice startled her.

She turned—and saw him again. Dylan.

Up close, he was even more intense. Something about him felt restrained, like power under pressure. But his eyes… his eyes were kind.

“I’m fine,” Lydia said carefully. “Please leave.”

“I won’t touch you,” he said gently. “I just wanted to see the girl who made Jake William give up control. You’re braver than you look.”

“I’m not brave,” she whispered.

“You are. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

He reached into his coat and handed her a white card.

“If you ever want out—really out—call me. I’ll get you far away from all this.”

Lydia stared at it. “Why would you help me?”

A soft smile curved his lips. “Because I don’t believe in cages. And I don’t like seeing women chained to monsters.”

Before she could answer, Jake’s voice rang out behind her.

“Lydia.”

She froze.

Dylan stepped back with a wink, disappearing into the shadows just as Jake strode toward her, fury simmering behind his calm expression.

“What did he say to you?” Jake growled.

“Nothing.”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “If he touches you again—”

“He didn’t.”

He stared at her, eyes dark with something far worse than jealousy.

Obsession.

“He’s trying to take what’s mine,” Jake said, voice low. “But I warned you, Lydia. You belong to me. And I don’t share.”