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.

The door clicked shut behind Jocelyn, locking automatically.

The master suite was massive. The lights were dimmed to a low, amber glow. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the glittering skyline of New York. The heavy blackout curtains were pulled halfway. The air smelled of expensive whiskey and cedar.

Jocelyn stood rigidly at the edge of a priceless Persian rug. She didn't dare step further. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her stomach, waiting for the executioner.

The frosted glass door of the en-suite bathroom swung open.

Elam walked out. He wore a black silk bathrobe. Water dripped from his wet hair, trailing down his sharp collarbones and disappearing into the V-neck of the robe.

He held a crystal glass of whiskey. The ice cubes clinked against the glass.

Clink. Clink.

Jocelyn dropped her gaze to the floor instantly. Her cheeks burned with a sudden, humiliating heat.

Elam walked to the center of the room and sat on a dark leather sofa. He crossed his long legs. His dark eyes cut through the dim light, raking over her trembling figure with blatant, aggressive hunger.

He took a slow sip of the whiskey.

"Are you afraid of me?" Elam asked. His voice was husky, roughened by the alcohol.

Jocelyn's spine went rigid. She bit the inside of her cheek, terrified that answering would trigger his rage.

Elam let out a cold scoff. He set the glass down on the glass coffee table. He patted the leather cushion right next to his thigh.

"Sit," he commanded.

Jocelyn's legs felt like concrete. She forced herself to walk forward. She perched on the absolute furthest edge of the sofa cushion, leaving three feet of space between them.

Elam's jaw clenched at her obvious revulsion.

He lunged.

His long arm shot out, wrapping around her waist. He yanked her hard across the leather.

Jocelyn let out a sharp gasp as she crashed into his solid chest. Her nose hit his hard muscle. The overwhelming scent of his body wash and cedar cologne suffocated her.

She pushed her hands frantically against his chest, trying to scramble away.

Elam's arm tightened like a steel band. He crushed her against him, burying his face in the top of her hair. He inhaled the cheap, floral scent of her shampoo like a starving man.

"Who are you trying to seduce looking so pathetic?" Elam whispered against her hair. His tone was psychotic-halfway between a caress and a vicious insult.

Jocelyn felt her sanity slipping. Tears welled in her eyes. "Let me go. Please."

Before Elam could react, his cell phone on the coffee table vibrated violently. The screen lit up with his executive assistant's name.

Elam's body stiffened. The businessman's ruthless logic overrode the primal obsession.

He released his grip on Jocelyn's waist. He sat up straight and snatched the phone.

"Speak," Elam barked.

Jocelyn scrambled to the far end of the sofa, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Mr. Turner, the London M&A deal is collapsing. The board needs you on the ground immediately. The jet is prepped," the assistant's voice filtered through the quiet room.

Elam fired off three rapid, brutal instructions. He hung up the phone.

He stood up. He looked down at Jocelyn, who was shaking like a leaf on his sofa.

"You're lucky," Elam said coldly. "I have to fly to London. But you better behave while I'm gone. Do not let me catch you stepping out of line."

He turned and strode into the massive walk-in closet, leaving her alone in the sitting area.

Jocelyn didn't wait. She bolted. She ran out of the master suite, sprinted down the stairs, and threw herself into her own bedroom.

She locked the door and collapsed onto the mattress.

Ten minutes later, the heavy thwack-thwack of a helicopter's rotors shook the windowpanes. The sound faded into the distance. He was gone.

Jocelyn let out a long, shuddering breath. The tension drained from her muscles, leaving her entirely exhausted.

She rolled over. Her eyes landed on the small desk calendar on her nightstand.

Next week, a specific date was circled in red ink. Her nineteenth birthday.

She pulled her phone from her pocket. She opened the text thread with Karson. He had replied to her thank-you text with a simple smiley face emoji.

Jocelyn stared at the screen. The emoji confirmed it in her mind. Karson had paid the tuition.

A wave of profound gratitude washed over her. She swore to herself she would paint, win the art competition, and pay Karson back every single cent. She would buy her freedom from the Turner family.

Holding onto that false hope, Jocelyn closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

Thirty thousand feet in the air, inside the luxurious cabin of a Gulfstream G650, Elam sat in a leather recliner.

He held an iPad. The screen displayed the live security feed of Jocelyn's bedroom.

He watched her sleep. His eyes were dark, obsessive, and terrifyingly calm. He was already calculating exactly how many hours it would take to finish the London deal and get back to her.