Riley Collins's POV:

The rest of the day slipped by with me lying on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, searching for answers that never came. My mind chased itself in frantic loops—Emma's fate, Luca's power, and my own helplessness in this twisted house.

Simply asking for what I wanted wouldn't get me anywhere. Screaming would be useless, maybe even dangerous. Luca only paid attention when challenged, when something or someone broke through his armor.

If I needed anything from him, I'd have to beat him at his own game.

The thought of seducing Luca Black made my heart hammer in my chest. Trying to charm a man like him felt about as safe as putting my hand in a lion's mouth. Still, it was the only card I had left to play. If I could hold his interest, maybe I could finally fight for what truly mattered: getting to Emma.

As the sky faded to gray, someone knocked softly on my door. A woman entered, pushing a clothing rack lined with care, as though she carried priceless treasures.

"The boss asked me to deliver these for you, ma'am. Each outfit is labeled for a specific day." She spoke quietly, eyes averted, her tone as distant as the rest of the house.

So this was it—Luca's idea of control. Handpicking every dress, deciding how I would look, as if I were some living doll.

I stepped closer, running my hand along the designer fabrics, the pristine tailoring. Every dress was beautiful, elegant, impossibly expensive—and each one screamed restriction. No plunging necklines. No daring slits. Nothing but decorum and distance.

"Perfect. He wants a showpiece, not a partner," I muttered to myself, a cold smile tugging at my lips.

As I slid open the dresser drawer, my fingers paused. Nestled among the carefully folded fabrics was a scrap of black lace—tiny, barely there, unmistakably lingerie.

"What is this supposed to be?" I muttered, holding it up gingerly between two fingers.

I turned the fabric over, baffled by its shape, trying to figure out which end was which. That's when I heard the door creak behind me.

"Already planning your seduction, are you?" His voice, smooth and edged with sarcasm, sliced through the room.

I went rigid. Every muscle in my body clenched, the lace still dangling from my hand.

"I expected you to be cleverer than this. Pulling stunts like that won't work on me. I despise women who use tricks like that."

My mind scrambled for a response. I tossed the lingerie onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh and turned to face him, forcing nonchalance into my voice.

"Is that so, boss?" I retorted. "Because if your rules are anything to go by, there's nothing in this world you actually like. As for this— clearly not mine. Someone must've left it behind. I find it cheap, anyway."

He advanced, every step measured and quietly menacing. His stare was frigid, his jaw set like stone.

"That belonged to someone from my past," he replied flatly.

"Send her my best, then," I responded dryly, turning away and tossing the lace into the drawer as if I were throwing out a scrap of trash. "Anyone who'd wear something like that deserves a medal."

"What exactly are you after, Riley?"

I spun around slowly to face him.

"All I want is to see my sister. That's it. At least for now."

He watched me for a long moment, the air between us thick enough to cut. My own breath sounded too quick, betraying my nerves.

"I know I have nothing left that you haven't already claimed with this ridiculous marriage," I continued, forcing my pride down. "But if there's any decency left in you at all, let me visit her. Just one time. That's all I'm asking."

He stepped back, his expression unreadable.

"I don't have time for your pleas. My days are packed with meetings, contracts, sometimes dodging bullets or putting others in the ground," he said with a careless shrug. "But then again, maybe if you beg, I'll think about it."

Rage threatened to spill over, but the thought of Emma—hooked up to those machines—kept me in check.

"I'll do whatever you want."

His eyes gleamed with something like triumph, hungry to see just how much I would endure.

"Anything, huh? Perfect. I want you to sort, clean, and catalog the entire house archive. Five rooms filled with decades' worth of files and junk. Nobody's touched it since my father was alive. I expect it done by tomorrow night."

The air left my lungs. I took a step back, disbelief written all over my face.

"That's not even possible!"

"I thought you said 'anything.' Well, here's your chance." He gave a cold half-smile, already turning away. "Impress me."

I drew in a long, shaky breath, forcing myself to steady my nerves.

"Fine. But you'd better keep your promise."

He stopped and returned, closing the distance between us. His hand found my chin, tilting my face up, and I burned with resentment at his touch.

"Let's get this clear, sweetheart. In this house, I call the shots. I decide whether you get up or stay down, whether you open your legs or keep them closed. But you're lucky—I don't break my word. Finish what I asked, and you'll get your favor. Just one. Don't forget it."

He leaned in, aiming for a kiss, but I turned away before his lips could find mine. That flicker of rejection was all it took to sour his mood.

Without a word, he spun on his heel and strode out, leaving a chill in his wake. I had no idea what it would cost me, but I knew there'd be a price.

---

Hours later, I was buried in dust and paperwork in the heart of the library, sleeves rolled up and hair pulled back. Chalk and marker stained my hands as I sorted crumbling files, made notes on an old chalkboard, and stacked documents by color, date, and urgency.

The job unearthed a mess—contracts that didn't add up, records that repeated, even a signature that didn't look like his father's at all.

I forced myself to focus, trying not to think about Luca. If I finished before morning, maybe I'd have a chance to see Emma sooner.

Just then, steady footsteps echoed behind me. I turned, and there was Luca, framed in the doorway.

"I've cracked a filing system even your guards didn't know about," I said, not bothering to hide the pride in my voice. "There are odd papers in here. For instance, I just uncovered a contract with your father's name forged on it."

He stayed silent for a moment.

"You've read through all of it?"

"Not yet. But I've figured out exactly where people hide things they don't want found. Bring me a laptop— I'll scan and digitize everything. As for your assignment... consider it finished."

He ran a hand along his jaw, studying me with a mix of suspicion and something almost like reluctant admiration.

"Go. You can see your sister. Seven in the morning. There'll be a car waiting. I've got no patience for more of this."

I dropped what I was doing and faced him fully.

"Thank you..."

"Don't thank me. I still don't trust you."

"You don't have to. Just make sure Emma stays alive."

His eyes lingered on me for a second longer, then he turned away and strode out of the library.

I stood there, drenched in sweat and dust, muscles aching. But for the first time since being trapped in this house, a smile broke through— small, secret, meant only for myself. I'd actually won something, however small.

The victory vanished when I returned to my room.

Luca was already there, his back to me as he loosened his tie and stepped out of his shoes with infuriating ease, as if this was just another ordinary night.

Dread pooled in my stomach. What is he planning now?

Riley Collins POV:

Any hint of a smile vanished when I walked through the door and spotted Luca inside. He stood with his back to me, slipping off his shoes as if he belonged here—like this place was his private sanctuary instead of my gilded cage.

"Did you lose your way, or are you planning to redecorate my prison?" I stopped just inside the threshold, voice steady.

He didn't even bother to turn, loosening his tie with a slow indifference that set my nerves on edge.

Eventually, he glanced over, calm as ever. "I figured it was obvious. We're married, remember? Married couples share a room. If I ever grow bored, I can always spend the night elsewhere. But tonight, I'll be staying here."

A hollow laugh slipped out. "You call this marriage? That contract was signed with threats and loaded guns, Luca. You put one to my head and locked me up, don't pretend you've forgotten."

He shrugged, a careless motion. "Still counts. My signature's on the paperwork. And this bed's not exactly cramped."

Crossing my arms, I stepped further into the room.

"Then I'll take the floor," I responded, reaching for a blanket.

A quiet, derisive chuckle escaped him. He closed the distance at a lazy pace, the air around him thick with warning. I stayed rooted, but my pulse hammered when he gently pulled the blanket away.

He moved in until there was nowhere left for me to retreat, the wall pressing cold against my back. One hand braced near my head, the other hidden away in his pocket, and I found myself distracted by the warmth of his cologne.

Why did he always have to smell so damn good?

"Are you going to swing at me if I move any closer?" he said in a low voice, leaning in until his breath warmed my cheek. He took his time staring at my mouth and the clean lines of my jaw. He didn't look young. He carried the kind of age that settled around forty. "Or are you going to start begging when I'm inside you again?"

My throat tightened. I despised how easily he could take control with a single look. His body hovered near mine. T he smell of expensive cigarettes, leather, and some cologne he probably knew could get under my skin wrapped around me.

"I liked the way you looked down there. Even with that terrible hood and that awful outfit. Your pussy holds tight around me. Maybe I'll taste your lips next." His whisper brushed my ear as my hand searched for something steady and found the wall.

Nothing stung worse than knowing I actually wanted him. Some reckless urge in me wanted his lips against mine. That would put an end to this twisted back-and-forth. That would let me feel anything besides this fear that had clung to me all day, after everything we'd survived.

He just laughed. The sound cut through the tension. He drew back a step and looked at me with the kind of scorn that made my skin crawl.

"Calm down, princess. Tonight isn't the night."

My fists tightened at my sides. I forced myself to inhale and steady my nerves.

"If you're desperate for my attention, you're going to have to step up your game. My lovers have some sense of style. Right now, you look like you escaped from a church retreat."

The heat of embarrassment and anger flushed through me.

"Oh, I thought you had a thing for meek little brides. Maybe that's why you have to drag the bride to the altar and rob your own brother at the wedding."

He went rigid. The look in his eyes shifted, something raw and dangerous surfacing.

"What's the matter? Did I hit a nerve?" I asked, the sarcasm heavy in my voice. "Don't worry, 'boss.' You're not the only one who's not in the mood tonight."

I half-expected him to shove me away or storm off. But instead, he stepped closer. In one quick motion, he seized my wrist and yanked me forward. Before I could even catch my breath, he tore my coat off with a rough tug.

"Luca!" I shouted, struggling to break free, but he was already fumbling with the zipper of my pants, his anger boiling over.

"You really know how to wind me up, and now you want to back out? Sorry, but I'm not letting you walk away."

"Stop it!" I screamed, my voice breaking through the room. Fear hammered in my chest, sharp and relentless. "I'm telling you, I don't want this. Just stop!"

For a brief moment, he went still. His jaw tightened. His eyes bored into me, cold and unflinching.

"I said no," I repeated, standing my ground. "You don't get to decide when you touch me."

Neither of us moved. The air crackled, heavy with all the things neither world should have ever shared.

Holding back his anger, Luca let out a slow breath. He snatched my coat from the chair and tossed it in my direction.

"Put this on."

"Are you walking out?" I asked, my hands shaking as I caught the coat.

"I'm staying. We'll deal with this tomorrow," he said, his back turned. "Trust me, darling, when I'm interested, I make it worth your while. All it takes is the right outfit, the right attitude... You'll be begging for it again. A stack of cash makes anyone eager."

"You're an idiot. I'm not some thing you can buy."

"You only offered yourself because you thought he was the one, didn't you?" he said as his fingers tightened around my cheeks, forcing me to meet his stare. "Go on. Let your mind wander to that fool again, and you'll learn exactly who you're dealing with. If I ever catch you dreaming about Jackson, Riley, I'll end you."

"Relax. I can't stand either of you. Whether it's you or him, it makes no difference. The feeling is the same. I lost a year of my life because of him, locked away. And I got dragged into a marriage with a gun pointed at my head. You have no idea how much that broke me."

He went quiet after that. His eyes drifted over me once, slow and unreadable, before he dismissed me altogether.

"Get some rest, Riley. Your little speech tired me out." He removed his clothes until he was standing in nothing but his underwear. Then he fell into bed without a care.

"You've got a good body," he added. His toned stomach flexed as he shifted, and I hated myself for noticing.

I stayed rooted to the spot. My breath came too fast. My coat hung uselessly in my arms, and my pants were still ripped open around my ankles.

I should have been terrified.

Yet what rose inside me wasn't fear. Hatred spread through me like fire.

Some twisted urge in me wanted to stare at Luca while he lounged in his underwear, hoping for the kind of comfort he'd never offer. I wished he would reach out, wrap his arms around me, press his lips to mine, and promise me that things would turn out fine. That fantasy faded as quickly as it appeared. He wasn't the type to offer kindness, and there was nobody else waiting to pick up the pieces.

That's fine. I'll figure it all out on my own.

Riley Collins's POV:

Sleep found me somehow, though I couldn't say how or why.

The sheets were cool and the mattress inviting, but what truly dragged me under was pure emotional exhaustion.

Luca spent the night lying next to me. He never reached for me or said a word. His breath came steady and close, and every so often, he'd shoot me a look, like he had something to get off his chest but never let it out. I kept my distance, staying right on the mattress's edge, barely daring to breathe.

By the time morning arrived, he was gone. He left no message, not even the scent of fresh coffee lingering in the air. The only sign he'd ever been there was the lingering warmth on his side of the bed, proof he'd left not long ago.

After a long breath, I got dressed in the outfit he'd picked out. There was a neat label: Monday, closet. I made my way out to the living room, where the driver stood waiting, face unreadable behind dark glasses.

"The boss wants you at St. James Hospital."

Without a word, I slid into the back seat. At last, I thought. Maybe today I'd finally see my little sister.

---

The car eased up to the curb at the hospital, nerves winding tight in my stomach. A security guard held the door as I stepped inside, the atmosphere heavier than usual.

Down the hall, a nurse darted past, guiding a stretcher shrouded in a bloodied sheet.

Pushing away my unease, I went straight to the front desk.

"Excuse me... Emma Collins. Can you tell me which room she's in?"

The receptionist tapped at the keyboard for a moment, then paused and shook his head.

"We don't have anyone registered under that name. Not in the patient list and not in the emergency room."

"Check again. Emma Collins. My sister was brought here over a year ago. She was in an accident..." My voice wavered toward the end.

"Miss, there's nothing in the system. Are you sure this is the right hospital?"

"Yes. I filled out the paperwork myself. This can't be happening. I called here yesterday."

"I only started a few days ago. My shift just began, so I don't recognize every name."

"My sister is eighteen. Fair skin. Brown hair." Each word pushed up against my rising panic.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. If you'd like, I can get the supervisor—"

"Get them. Now!" I yelled, shaking uncontrollably.

The driver stepped forward and tried to steady me, his voice low and even. "Mrs. Riley, please don't raise your voice. Let's sort this out calmly—"

"You knew!" I shouted, tearing away from his grip. "Tell me what you did to her!"

My hands shook so badly I could barely keep them at my sides. Every breath seemed thinner than the last. I turned in frantic circles, searching the hallways for any sign of Emma. Each glance turned up nothing— just strangers and empty corridors.

A cold dread settled in my stomach.

I staggered away from the desk, lightheaded and adrift, every step making the hospital feel less familiar.

None of this made sense. Jackson had promised to handle everything. He said she'd be here. They all did.

What if this had been a setup from the very start?

Shallow breaths came faster. The room began to tilt, the floor shifting under my feet.

"Get a grip," I whispered to myself. "Breathe. You can do this. Just focus."

A sudden uproar snapped me out of my daze.

Doctors raced down the corridor. A nurse rushed past, guiding a stretcher draped in a blood-soaked sheet.

I spun toward the source of the chaos, trying to make sense of it all.

"Major accident just outside the entrance!" someone shouted. The staff scrambled, tension crackling in the air.

Near the reception desk, a figure caught my eye. He sat off to the side, gaze fixed on me with unsettling intensity.

His hair stuck up in uneven strands, his eyes narrowed like the lights were too bright, and his shirt clung neatly to his frame.

"Luca?" I murmured, inching toward him.

But then the scent hit me—harsh cigarettes, garlic clinging to his clothes. No tattoo on his neck. And that stare... it wasn't Luca's familiar mix of hunger and fury. It was flat, sharp, dripping pure disdain.

My steps froze as if the floor had turned to glue.

"Hello...?" I whispered.

He lifted his chin, offering a twisted, exhausted smile. Yet something flickered in his gaze— something dark, something wrong.

This wasn't my husband.

A cold shiver crawled down my spine.

And not the kind that came from desire.

"Jackson," I whispered, already easing back, pulse hammering in my ears.

He arched a brow, clearly pleased I'd recognized him.

"You're... bleeding," I said quietly, attempting to steady my voice. I couldn't provoke him. Not here.

"Nothing serious enough to stop me from keeping my promises," he replied with a mocking curl of his lip. "I don't vanish that easily, Riley."

Fear pounded through me. Anger, too.

Because here he was.

The man who shoved a pen into my hand and forced me to sign away my life, only to abandon me at the altar for another woman.

The man who dragged me into a world I never chose.

"Where is my sister?"

A sly, mocking grin stretched across Jackson's face. He looked around like this was some casual chat in a cafe.

"There's no file on her here. You were supposed to keep track of that, not me. I did everything you asked. You know that."

"Did you really think I'd just hand you the one thing you cared about most?"

"Jackson..." My throat tightened on his name.

"Emma isn't here anymore," he said, stepping closer. "Maybe she got transferred. Maybe she's under watch somewhere else. Or maybe... she's just another chip in the game. You ever think of that?"

My knees buckled. The driver reached out, trying to hold me up, but I shook him off.

"You're sick! You put me through hell. Locked away for a year because of you. Forced into a marriage with a stranger—humiliated in front of everyone. Isn't that enough?"

"Look at you. The moment things got tough, you went running to my brother. You think I didn't see that? If you want your precious sister back, you'll do exactly what I say."

"He was going to kill me! You almost ended up dead yourself. And now you're threatening me?"

"Whether I step in or not makes no difference to me. You know what's on the line. If you want your sister to live, you'll do exactly as I say. If not, I'll deal with it my own way—and you'll be planning her funeral."

Emma was the only thing that mattered now.

If I wanted any hope of bringing her back, I had to rely on myself. I needed to find a way out, to play along just long enough to turn the tables on Jackson.

No matter the cost, I would see this through. Even if it was the last fight I ever won.

"Tell me what you want, Jackson." He jerked his chin toward the door, a silent order for Luca's driver to give us privacy.