Lines Crossed

Two days passed.

Lydia didn’t see Dylan again, but she felt his presence like a phantom. Jake was tenser than ever—quiet, sharp-eyed, and coldly controlling. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, it was clipped and calculating.

Like a man preparing for war.

The only time he softened was when he looked at her. Touched her. Held her.

Even then, it wasn’t tenderness.

It was ownership.

---

Lydia spent most of the day in the mansion’s massive library, pretending to read while watching the rain smear down the tall windows. She hadn’t called Dylan. Not yet.

But she hadn’t thrown the card away either.

As she turned the page of her book without reading a word, footsteps echoed behind her. She didn’t need to look up. Jake.

But it wasn’t.

A soft voice spoke from the doorway.

“You look like a prisoner.”

Her eyes snapped up—shock pulsing through her chest.

Dylan Black stood in the doorway.

So calm. So bold. Like walking into the lion’s den was routine.

She jumped to her feet. “What are you doing here?!”

He raised his hands, a faint smirk on his lips. “Relax. I came in through the back. Your guards are loyal, but not very bright.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I had to see you. Couldn’t stop thinking about the look in your eyes that night on the balcony.”

He stepped closer, slowly.

“You don’t belong in Jake’s world, Lydia. You think you’re safe here, but you’re not. You’re just… his. Until he decides to break you.”

Her voice cracked. “And you think you’d be different?”

Dylan didn’t smile this time.

“I wouldn’t make you choose between freedom and love.”

She faltered.

Before she could respond, the heavy slam of a door downstairs echoed through the house.

Jake.

“Leave,” she hissed. “Now.”

Dylan didn’t move. He pulled something from his coat—a small black phone.

“Take this. Burn it after you use it. When you’re ready to leave, I’ll make sure no one ever finds you again.”

He pressed it into her hand and brushed her fingers—just barely.

Then he disappeared into the shadows.

A heartbeat later, Jake’s voice rang out from the hall:

“Lydia?”

She shoved the phone deep into the pocket of her dress, heart pounding.

Jake appeared in the doorway, rain dripping from his coat, dark hair damp, eyes like ice.

“You’re pale,” he said softly, approaching. “Something wrong?”

She swallowed. “No. Just tired.”

He cupped her face, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Then rest. I want you fresh for tomorrow night.”

“What’s tomorrow?”

He smiled faintly. “I’m throwing a party. A private one. Just a few men I trust.”

She studied his eyes. “A party for what?”

Jake’s smile vanished.

“To remind people who you belong to.”

---

Later that night...

Lydia locked her bedroom door.

She sat on the bed, clutching the burner phone Dylan had given her. Her fingers hovered over the keypad. It would be so easy. One call, one text—and she could vanish. Run far from Jake’s grip.

But where would she go? Could she really trust Dylan?

A message buzzed in.

> Dylan: You’re not safe. He knows I was there. Get out now.

She stared at the screen in horror.

Suddenly, her door handle rattled. Hard.

“Lydia,” Jake called softly. “Open the door.”

Her body went cold.

“Why is it locked?” he asked, still calm. Too calm.

“I just wanted privacy,” she said.

A long silence.

Then his voice dropped, ice and fire wrapped in velvet.

> “I told you, baby... there’s no such thing as private in my house.”