Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Jocelyn curled into a tight ball beneath the thin blanket. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her eyebrows twitched in the grip of a violent nightmare.

The dream dragged her back to the pouring rain of a funeral years ago.

A teenage Elam stood in a black suit. His eyes sliced through the rain, pinning her to the muddy ground.

"Your father is dead," the dream-Elam announced to the whispering crowd of the Turner family. He pointed directly at her face. "His sins, you will atone for." In her nightmare, his words twisted into something sharper, a life sentence she could never escape.

Camera flashes blinded her. The whispers turned into a deafening roar. Jocelyn opened her mouth to scream that her father was innocent, but her throat was sewn shut.

A massive crack of thunder shattered the sky.

Jocelyn's eyes snapped open. She bolted upright in bed, gasping for air as if she had been drowning.

She pressed her hand against her chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her pajamas clung to her skin, soaked in cold sweat. Her throat burned with a severe, scratching thirst.

She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand.

2:00 AM.

She stared at the locked door. Elam had forbidden her from leaving. But the thirst was a physical pain in her throat.

Jocelyn threw off the covers. Her bare feet hit the freezing hardwood floor. She turned the lock as quietly as possible and slipped into the hallway.

Dim wall sconces cast long, distorted shadows. She pressed her back against the wallpaper, creeping toward the open-concept kitchen at the end of the first floor.

The main lights were off. Only a warm, yellow pendant light hung over the massive marble kitchen island.

Jocelyn hurried to the stainless-steel refrigerator. She pulled out a bottle of water, twisted the cap off with shaking hands, and chugged it.

The cool liquid slid down her esophagus, soothing the burn. She let out a quiet sigh of relief.

She turned around.

A tall, dark figure sat on a barstool in the shadows of the island.

Jocelyn gasped. The plastic water bottle slipped from her wet fingers.

It hit the floor with a heavy thud. Water splashed across her bare feet.

A glowing red ember illuminated the dark. The man held a half-smoked cigar between his fingers. The brief flash of orange light revealed Elam's sharp, unforgiving jawline.

He wore a dark grey silk robe. The collar hung open, exposing his chest. He took a slow drag of the cigar, exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, and locked his predatory gaze on her.

Jocelyn's blood turned to ice.

"I... I was just thirsty," she stammered, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to disobey..."

Elam didn't say a word. He leaned forward and crushed the cigar into a crystal ashtray.

He stood up. His massive frame moved out of the shadows, stepping slowly toward her.

Jocelyn's survival instinct kicked in. She stepped back. Her spine hit the cold metal of the refrigerator door. She was trapped.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Elam stopped inches from her. He placed both hands flat against the refrigerator door, caging her completely between his body and the cold metal.

He lowered his head. His breath, heavy with the scent of tobacco and expensive whiskey, fanned across her neck. His eyes dragged down her trembling chest and the thin, sweat-dampened fabric of her pajamas.

"You can't even follow a simple rule," Elam growled. His voice was a low, dangerous vibration in the quiet kitchen.

Jocelyn bit down on her bottom lip. She bit hard enough to taste the sharp, metallic tang of blood. She refused to let the tears fall.

Elam saw her stubborn resistance. His eyes darkened to pitch black.

His hand shot out. He gripped the back of her neck, his large fingers wrapping around her nape. He forced her forward until her chest almost brushed his.

"In this house," he stated, enunciating every word, "you are a sinner. You do not negotiate. You do not play games."

The pain in her neck flared. The tears she fought so hard to hold back broke free.

A single, hot tear rolled down her cheek and dropped onto the back of Elam's hand.

The scalding heat of her tear hit his skin. Elam's fingers flinched.

He dropped his hand as if he had been burned. He masked the sudden panic in his chest with a sneer.

"Get out of my sight," he snapped, his voice harsher than before. "Go back to your room."

Jocelyn didn't wait. She ducked under his arm, leaving the spilled water on the floor, and ran blindly down the hall.

Elam stood frozen by the refrigerator. He stared at the wet spot on the back of his hand. It was already turning cold.

He cursed under his breath, yanking at the collar of his silk robe.

He walked to the island, poured a glass full of whiskey, and downed it in one swallow. The alcohol burned his throat, but it did nothing to extinguish the fire her proximity had ignited in his gut.

Jocelyn slammed her bedroom door and dove under the covers. She shivered violently until the sky outside turned a pale, bruised purple.

She packed her canvas bag. She had to get to campus. She had to escape.

The autumn sun cut through the red and gold maple leaves.

Jocelyn walked down the cobblestone path of the Ivy League campus. She gripped the straps of her canvas tote bag. The tight knot in her stomach finally began to loosen.

A hand slapped her shoulder.

"Hey!" Brodie Moon shouted. She shoved a warm bagel wrapped in paper into Jocelyn's hands. "Morning lectures are a crime against humanity."

Jocelyn took the bagel. She forced a weak smile onto her pale face.

Before she could reply, a warm, male voice interrupted them.

"Morning, Jocelyn."

Karson Cordova walked up to them. He wore a beige trench coat. He held a hot latte in one hand and a stack of printed notes in the other. His eyes were soft as they landed on Jocelyn.

He pressed the coffee, the notes, and a small, expensive box of French stomach medicine into her hands.

"You look freezing, and you mentioned your stomach was acting up. This might help," Karson said. He stepped sideways, physically blocking the cold wind coming off the quad. "Drink this."

"Thank you, Karson," Jocelyn said. A faint, embarrassed flush crept up her neck.

Brodie wiggled her eyebrows and let out a loud, exaggerated cough.

Across the street, a black SUV sat parked against the curb. The windows were tinted pitch black.

Inside the cabin, the air pressure dropped to freezing.

Elam Turner sat in the backseat. His eyes were locked on the three students. When Karson stepped in front of Jocelyn to block the wind, a lethal, murderous rage ignited in Elam's chest.

"Rocco," Elam said. His voice was a blade.

The bodyguard in the passenger seat turned around. "Sir?"

"Who is the boy?" Elam demanded.

Rocco tapped his tablet. "Karson Cordova. Youngest son of the Cordova family. He has been pursuing Miss Yang."

Elam let out a cold, hollow laugh. He pulled his phone from his suit pocket and dialed a private number.

The patriarch of the Cordova family answered on the second ring.

"Mr. Cordova," Elam said, his tone dripping with absolute authority. "I have a business proposition regarding your European division. It requires your son's immediate attention. Today."

On the campus path, Karson opened his mouth to ask Jocelyn to an art gallery.

His phone vibrated violently in his pocket.

Karson pulled it out. He answered it. The color drained from his face.

"Dad, what? No, I have midterms-" Karson argued.

Jocelyn could hear the faint, furious yelling through the receiver.

"Freeze my trust fund?" Karson gasped. "Dad, wait!"

The line went dead. Karson stared at his phone in horror. He looked up at Jocelyn, panic in his eyes.

"Jocelyn, I'm so sorry. A family emergency. My dad is forcing me on a flight to London right now. I have to go."

He didn't wait for her to respond. He turned and sprinted toward the parking lot.

Jocelyn watched him run. A heavy, sinking feeling settled in her gut. It happened too fast.

"Well, that was weird," Brodie said, patting Jocelyn's arm. "Don't forget, you need to hit the Financial Aid Office before your next class."

Jocelyn nodded. She waved goodbye to Brodie and walked alone toward the administration building. The anxiety of her unpaid tuition gnawed at her stomach.

She pushed open the glass doors and walked up to the counter.

"Hi, I'm here to check on my balance. Jocelyn Yang," she said.

The clerk typed on her keyboard. She looked up with a bright, professional smile. "You're all set, Miss Yang. Your balance is zero."

Jocelyn's eyes widened. "What? Who paid it?"

"It was wired this morning by a private blind trust," the clerk said. "The donor is anonymous."

Jocelyn walked out of the office clutching the printed receipt. Her mind raced. A blind trust. Anonymous.

Karson.

He was from a wealthy family. He had just rushed off to Europe. It had to be him.

She pulled out her phone and typed a quick text. Thank you for everything, Karson. Have a safe flight. She hit send.

She pushed open the heavy doors of the administration building and stepped out into the cold air.

She looked up. The blood vanished from her face.

The black SUV was parked directly at the bottom of the steps. It sat there like a waiting beast.

Leland Vance stepped out of the driver's seat. He opened the rear door and stood back, gesturing for her to enter.

In the dark cavern of the backseat, Elam sat perfectly still. He was flipping a custom silver lighter open and shut.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

The metallic sound hit Jocelyn's eardrums like a hammer.

Her legs turned to lead. Students walked past, staring at the luxury vehicle. The humiliation burned her cheeks.

Elam stopped flipping the lighter. He stared at her through the open door.

"Get in," he ordered.

Jocelyn squeezed her eyes shut. She gripped her canvas bag and walked down the steps. She climbed into the back of the SUV like a prisoner stepping into a cell.

The heavy door slammed shut behind her, cutting off the sunlight. The SUV pulled away from the curb, dragging her back into the abyss.

The SUV glided through the chaotic New York traffic. Inside the cabin, the silence was deafening.

The thick glass blocked out the sirens and honking horns. The only sound was the soft hiss of the climate control and Jocelyn's shallow, panicked breathing.

Elam sat with his long legs crossed. He stared straight ahead at the partition. He treated Jocelyn like a piece of invisible trash.

Jocelyn hugged her canvas bag to her chest. She pressed her shoulder hard against the door panel, trying to put as much physical space between them as the leather seat allowed.

A pedestrian darted into the crosswalk. Leland slammed on the brakes.

The SUV jerked violently. Jocelyn pitched forward.

Her canvas bag slipped from her grasp and hit the floorboard. The contents spilled out across the floor mats.

A notebook, a pen, and a small, expensive box of French stomach medicine rolled directly against the toe of Elam's polished shoe.

Elam's gaze dropped to the floor.

His eyes locked onto the medicine box. The air in the car turned toxic. He recognized the packaging. It was the exact box the boy had shoved into her hands on campus.

He leaned forward. His long fingers picked up the box. He rubbed his thumb over the French lettering. A cruel, vicious smirk twisted his lips.

Jocelyn's heart stopped. She lunged forward, her hand reaching out to grab the box back.

Elam's hand shot out. He clamped his fingers around her delicate wrist. He squeezed.

Jocelyn gasped. The pressure on her bones was agonizing.

"Do you think," Elam sneered, his voice dripping with venom, "that this cheap little display of affection is going to save you from me?"

Tears of pain pricked the corners of Jocelyn's eyes. She shook her head frantically. "It's just medicine. He's just a classmate."

Elam ignored her. He pressed a button on the armrest. The tinted window rolled down.

The SUV was stopped at a red light next to a public trash can.

Without breaking eye contact with her, Elam tossed the expensive medicine out the window. It clattered into the garbage.

The window rolled back up, sealing the cabin.

Jocelyn stared at the glass. A sharp pain sliced through her chest. It wasn't just medicine. It was the only piece of human kindness she had received all day.

Elam yanked her wrist, pulling her hard across the seat until her face was inches from his.

"Listen to me very carefully," Elam growled. "You do not have the right to socialize. You do not date. You do not look at other men."

His breath hit her skin. "Your only identity is the sinner of the Turner family. Love and marriage are forbidden to you. Forever."

Jocelyn forgot to breathe. The absolute madness and obsession in his eyes paralyzed her. Despair wrapped around her throat like a thick rope, choking the life out of her.

The SUV turned through the massive iron gates of the Turner Mansion. It stopped in front of the main steps.

Leland opened the door.

Elam threw her wrist away in disgust. He adjusted his suit jacket and stepped out into the cold air.

"Get inside," he commanded without looking back.

Jocelyn scrambled to pick up her notebook and pen. She stumbled out of the car, her knees shaking. She followed him into the grand foyer like a broken puppet.

Sterling and the maids stood by the walls. They kept their heads bowed, terrified of the lethal tension radiating from the master of the house.

Elam walked to the base of the grand staircase. He stopped. He turned his head and looked at Jocelyn shivering by the front door.

"Go upstairs," Elam ordered. His voice was loud enough for every servant to hear. "Go to my master suite and wait for me. I have some rules to teach you."

The words hit the marble floor like a bomb.

Two maids exchanged a horrified glance before quickly dropping their eyes.

Jocelyn's pupils dilated. Her fingernails dug into her palms, breaking the skin. The master suite. The absolute forbidden zone.

"Please," Jocelyn whispered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "I have a paper to write. Please, not tonight."

The ice in Elam's eyes froze over completely. He didn't argue. He didn't yell.

"Walk," he said.

The sheer, crushing weight of his authority broke her.

Jocelyn ground her teeth together. She dragged her heavy legs toward the stairs. She gripped the banister and climbed the wooden steps, feeling the eyes of the staff burning into her back.

Elam watched her submit. A dark, twisted satisfaction flared in his chest. He turned to Sterling and snapped a few orders about upgrading the estate's security perimeter.

Jocelyn reached the second floor. She stood in front of the heavy, double walnut doors of the master suite. It felt like standing at the gates of hell.

She raised her trembling hand. She grabbed the cold brass handle. She took a shallow breath and pushed the door open.

The hinges made a soft, frictionless sound. The heavy, masculine scent of Elam's private sanctuary rushed out and swallowed her whole.