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.

Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, warming Jocelyn's face.

She opened her eyes and stretched. It was the third day since Elam had left for London. It was also her nineteenth birthday.

The mansion was quiet. The suffocating pressure that usually crushed her chest was gone. She could breathe.

She got out of bed and put on a simple, white cotton dress. She tied her hair into a high ponytail. She looked in the mirror and saw a rare, genuine smile on her own face.

She walked downstairs to the dining room.

Earlean Medina walked out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of long-life noodles and a small, vanilla cupcake with a single lit candle.

"Happy birthday, Miss Jocelyn," Earlean smiled warmly.

"Thank you, Earlean," Jocelyn said. Her eyes pricked with happy tears. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands, and blew out the candle, wishing for independence.

The moment the flame died, her phone buzzed on the mahogany table.

It was an international number.

Jocelyn answered it. "Hello?"

"Happy birthday, Jocelyn," Karson's voice came through the speaker, slightly distorted by static but incredibly gentle.

Jocelyn smiled. "Thank you, Karson. How is Europe?"

They chatted for a few minutes about school and his sudden trip. The atmosphere was light and easy.

Karson took a deep breath. "Jocelyn, I really miss you. I wish I was there today."

Jocelyn's heart skipped a beat. Her fingers tightened around the phone. She didn't know what to say, but a warm blush spread across her cheeks.

"I sent you a gift," Karson continued quickly. "I tracked the international courier. It should be arriving at the mansion any minute now."

Jocelyn panicked. "Karson, you shouldn't have. If the butler sees it..."

"Don't worry, I paid for confidential delivery. Just grab it yourself," Karson reassured her.

They hung up. A minute later, the visual doorbell chimed in the hallway.

Sterling walked toward the front door.

Jocelyn jumped out of her chair. "I'll get it, Sterling! It's just some study materials I ordered."

Sterling paused and stepped back with a polite nod.

Jocelyn pulled the heavy door open. A courier in a crisp uniform handed her a sleek, square box. She signed the datapad and took the package.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She hugged the box to her chest, desperate to run upstairs and open it.

She turned around and placed her foot on the first step of the grand staircase.

A violent, ear-piercing screech of tires tore through the driveway.

Jocelyn froze.

The black Rolls-Royce Phantom slammed to a halt at the bottom of the steps. The rear door was shoved open with brutal force.

Elam Turner stepped out.

He brought the freezing London winter in with him. His face was a mask of thunderous, terrifying rage. He had worked three days straight, sleeping zero hours, and canceled a multi-million dollar gala just to be here for her birthday.

And he walked in to see this.

Jocelyn stood paralyzed on the first step. She clutched the box to her chest. The blood drained from her face, leaving her looking like a ghost.

Elam's eyes slashed across her face, then dropped to the box in her arms. The logo of a high-end European jewelry brand was stamped in gold foil on the lid.

The temperature in the grand hall plummeted below zero. Sterling and the maids instantly bowed their heads, wishing they could disappear into the walls.

Elam took a step forward. His leather shoes cracked against the marble.

Jocelyn's survival instinct kicked in. She subconsciously hid the box behind her back.

That single, protective gesture poured gasoline on the inferno inside Elam's chest.

He walked to the base of the stairs. He looked up at her. A smile that didn't reach his eyes twisted his mouth.

He held out his large hand, palm up.

"Give it to me," Elam commanded. His voice was dead calm. It was the calm before a catastrophic hurricane.

Jocelyn shook her head. Her whole body trembled. Tears welled in her eyes. If she gave it to him, he would destroy Karson's kindness.

Elam's patience snapped.

He lunged up the step. His hand shot out and clamped around her wrist like a vice. He violently yanked her arm forward, ripping the box from her grasp.

The box slipped from his fingers in the struggle. It hit the marble floor.

The lid popped off.

A delicate, diamond-encrusted necklace spilled out, glittering blindingly under the crystal chandelier.