The air in the hallway was thick with the scent of expensive floor wax and something more metallic.

 I didn't have a name for it but what I did have for it was a feeling.

 A terrible reminder I was now a part of this monster's world.

 Bane Valak.

 My feet felt heavy as I followed him, the plush carpet beneath my toes doing nothing to soften the blow of my new reality.

 Two weeks ago I was getting my hair curled in a high end salon, surrounded by girls who hated me but stuck around because our fathers were rich.

 I wonder what I would have done back then if I knew that in such short time I could go from being sold to stolen to being turned into........ a possession.

 A toy.

 A 'princess'.

 Bane stopped abruptly in front of a pair of towering mahogany doors.

 He didn't turn to look at me, but I could feel the weight of his presence.

 It was like a physical pressure against my body.

"Listen closely, Princess," he said, his voice a low, rasp that sent a shiver of pure dread down my spine. "My house is not a prison, provided you understand that it is also not a playground. There are rules."

 He turned to face me then, "If you violate them, and you'll find out exactly why your husband is currently a memory."

 I swallowed hard, my fingers twisting into the hem of the dress he'd had someone leave for me.

 "I..I understand."

 He turned then, his dark eyes tracking the movement of my hands before settling on my face.

 He stepped closer into my personal space, forcing me to tilt my head back just to keep him in view.

 He was so huge.

 "First," he began, ticking a finger off. "You do not leave the premises. Not the gates, not the garden walls. To the world, you died with your husband, Raul. If you step outside, I cannot guarantee you will see the light of day"

I nodded once, my brain unable to search for the right words to respond with.

"Second," he continued, leaning in until I could smell the faint hint of bourbon and cold air on his skin.

"You do as you are told. If I send a maid to dress you, you dress. If I tell you to move, you move. My word is absolute. Do you understand me, Princess?"

"Yes"

 "Third," he said, his hand reaching out to catch a stray lock of my hair, tucking it behind my ear.

His touch was almost but not quite gentle. He looked me in the eye as he continued speaking.

"You will always appear presentable. You are a reflection of this house and me now. I will not have you looking like a victim, even if you may feel like one."

His fingers lingered on the shell of my ear, and I felt my breath hitch.

He was toying with me.

"Fourth," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second.

"No phones. No internet. No tethers to the life that you used to have. However, I am not a savage. You have full access to the library. Read. Learn. Occupy your mind so it doesn't rot with useless hope."

Useless hope?

I realized that I was in someway I was holding on to useless hope.

Hope that someone would come find me and get me out of here.

He paused, his grip suddenly tightened on my arm , forcing me to look up directly into the abyss of his eyes.

"And fifth, Amaya. The most important rule of all."

He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered the final command.

"You belong to me. To me, and me alone. Not to your dead husband's ghost. If another man touches you, I will kill him. If you seek out another man, I will make you watch while I do it. Do you understand?"

 "Yes," I whispered, the word barely a breath.

 My heart was beating so fast that I wouldn't be shocked if he could hear it all the way from where he stood.

"Good." He released my arm, turned and pushed the heavy mahogany doors open.

What I saw next was a library that was staggering.

Even that had to be an understatement.

The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with leather-bound books, a rolling ladder tucked into a corner, and a massive velvet chaise lounge sitting in the center of the room.

Even better, it was right under a crystal chandelier.

 It was a sanctuary made of gold and paper, like the most beautiful cell in the world.

 He stepped back, gesturing for me to enter.

I walked in, the silence of the room swallowing the sound of my footsteps.

I waited for him to say something else.

 Maybe a parting threat, some form of mockery, but when I turned around, he was already leaving.

He quietly pulled the doors shut.

The click of the lock echoing through the room was the final blow.

 I stood in the center of the room, alone, surrounded by the wisdom of centuries and the stories of a thousand lives.

I should have been glad.

But I felt my knees finally give out.

 I collapsed onto the thick Persian rug, the weight of the last twenty-four hours crashing over me like a tidal wave.

I didn't look at the books, I couldn't bring myself to think of them mattered.

I just buried my face in my hands and let out a jagged, broken sob.

I sat there and cried.

I cried for the girl who thought her wedding day would be the start of a life, even if it was going to be a miserable one.

 I cried for the husband I hadn't loved but who had been slaughtered before my eyes.

I cried because I had looked into Bane Valak's eyes and seen a man who wanted to break me and own the every single piece.

I cried because I'm so scared.

The leather of my chair creaked as I leaned back and let out a long sigh.

 The silence of my study feeling like a terrible weight against my chest.

 My knuckles were still stained with the faint, metallic scent of blood despite the proper soap scrubbing I'd given them.

 They also hurt a bit but that's what the whiskey and the pain killers were for.

 Getting rid of the pain that stayed with me after I inflicted it on others.

 This time it was rival I had inflicted pain on.

 He was some arrogant prick from the Moretti line but now he was gone.

 I had personally watched the life flicker out of his eyes, a hollow victory that left nothing but a bitter aftertaste.

 It was always the same.

The adrenaline of the kill would spike, and then the drop would follow, leaving me in this gray, depressing head space where my heart felt like an empty cavern.

I was thirty-eight years old, the head of my very own empire, and I felt like a ghost haunting my own life.

 There was no release for this, no way for me to ease the pressure building behind my ribs.

Just the cold, empty reality that is my life.

 I pressed my fingers to my temples, the flickering fire in the hearth doing little to warm the chill in my bones.

Then, a thought flickered through my head.

A pale face with big, terrified eyes the color of a stormy sea.

'The princess.'

How did I forget about her? I reached for the intercom on my desk.

 A guard on the other side connected and answered.

"Yes, boss?"

 "Bring her to me," I commanded, my tired voice sounding foreign even to my own ears.

 Minutes later, the heavy doors groaned open.

Amaya stepped inside, flanked by two of my men.

She looked small. Even more so In the vastness of the room.

She was wearing a simple, dark dress that clung to her curves, her pale skin practically glowing against the fabric.

 It's hard to explain what I felt seeing her.

It was a sharp, sudden jolt in my gut that I hadn't felt in years.

It wasn't just desire; it was an unexpected pull, a magnetic shift that centered my entire focus on the woman trembling ten feet away from me.

My pulse, usually a steady, icy rhythm, hammered once against my throat.

What was this?

Why was I feeling this way?

Should I be feeling this way?

I kept my expression cold and distant.

 I didn't let a single muscle in my face betray the chaos she was causing in my blood.

 "Leave us" I said to the guards and they obeyed.

 It was just Amaya and I.

We both said nothing while I simply stared, cataloging her every detail.

The way her collarbones looked like fragile glass. The slight tremor in her lower lip.

The way her hair caught the firelight.

 So beautiful.

"You're shaking, princess," I said, my voice dropping an octave.

She didn't answer, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

"Look at me." I commanded.

She lifted her head, and the raw vulnerability there almost made me reach out.

 I considered it but Instead, I stood up and walked toward the grand piano sitting in the shadowed corner of the room.

 It was a masterpiece of ebony and ivory, a relic of a mother who had loved music more than she loved her son.

"Sit," I gestured to the bench. "Play."

She blinked, confusion momentarily overriding her fear.

"What?"

 "My people tell me you used to play the Piano"

 "Yes," She replied and added, "I... I haven't played in a long time"

 "I didn't ask for a history of your hobbies. I told you to play."

She slid onto the bench, her movements stiff.

She hovered her hands over the keys for a long moment before she began. It wasn't a happy song.

It was something melancholic, a classical piece that wept through the room.

It sounded like she was crying through it. I leaned against the mahogany pillar, watching her.

 From this angle, I could see the graceful curve of her neck and the way her lashes cast long, feathered shadows against her cheeks.

 She looked like peace, and I was a man of war.

 Her fingers danced over the ivory, and for the first time that night, the hollow ache in my chest began to recede, replaced by a dark, possessive heat.

 I wanted to see that skin flushed.

 I wanted to hear her make sounds that had nothing to do with music and everything to do with me.

 But I remained still.

 I've always been a man that valued his self control, I was not about to lose that now because of this strange girl.

 The final note of the piano echoed into the rafters, fading into a silence that felt intimate in an odd way.

 Amaya kept her head bowed, her chest heaving slightly as she waited for my judgment.

 I felt the urge to go to her, to tilt her head back and taste the fear and the music on her lips.

 The hunger was so sudden, so sharp, it disgusted me.

 I wasn't going to let my loins dictate my movements.

 I pushed off the pillar, my face returning to the mask of cold indifference that had kept me alive for nearly four decades.

 "Adequate," I said finally.

 She looked up, her eyes searching mine for something but whatever it was, she didn't find it. She looked away then.

 "Go back to your room," I said comfy, turning my back to her. "I have work to do. Do not let me see you again tonight."

 I heard the soft rustle of her dress as she stood, then her frantic footsteps as she hurried toward the door.

 Only when the click of the lock signaled her departure did I let out the breath I had been holding.

 I looked at the piano keys she had touched, then at my own hands. They were shaking.

The isolation of the past two weeks had been a slow, agonizing erosion of my spirit.

The guest unit, that's if you could even call it that, was nothing but a reinforced, luxury suite with bolted windows.

This so called "guest unit" had become my entire world.

I had memorized every grain in the oak flooring and every shadow that crawled across the ceiling at night.

Boring activity but there was very little to do.

I wasn't even allowed to interact with anyone else who wasn't Bane and I HATED interacting with Bane.

The guards had come for me that morning with a set of orders from their boss.

I was being moved to the main house.

 Why? I had no idea.

 As they walked by me across the meticulously manicured grounds of the Valak estate, the sheer scale of Bane's world finally hit me.

The main house dominated the very space it occupied.

 It was a fortress of marble and glass, a monument to a man who didn't just want to live.

 He was a king and he wanted everyone to remember his reign.

My heart hammered. Moving to the main house meant I was no longer a prisoner being "vetted."

 I was being integrated into this monster's world.

I was being branded as his.

The doors to the main foyer swung open, and I was greeted by a blast of chilled air and the scent of expensive lilies.

"This way, Miss Vancouver," one of the men muttered.

I followed him up a sweeping staircase that felt like it belonged in a palace.

My legs felt weak, the silk of my dress rustling against my legs with every trembling step.

We stopped in front of a double-door suite in the east wing.

 When the guard pushed them open, I gasped.

 It was beautiful. Unbelievably so.

The room was bathed in soft creams and golds, with a balcony that overlooked the Roman skyline in the distance.

It was a room designed for a princess, just like Bane had labeled me.

This was just another fancy prison.

"Your staff are waiting over here for you," the guard said, stepping aside.

Three women stood in a neat row near the walk-in closet.

They looked up as I entered, their expressions a mixture of professional neutrality and guarded curiosity.

"Good day, Miss Amaya. I am Elena," the oldest of the three said, stepping forward.

She had grey hair pulled into a bun so tight it seemed to pull the skin of her forehead smooth.

"I am the head of your domestic staff. These," she gestured to two younger staff members, "are Maria and Sofia. They will handle your wardrobe, your meals, and your personal needs."

I stood there, unsure of what to say.

 "I... I don't need all this," I whispered, my voice sounding thin.

 "Mr. Valak insists," Elena replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"He has reached out to several designers. Your wardrobe will be updated weekly. You are to be ready for dinner by seven each evening. Mr. Valak does not like to be kept waiting."

 I remembered rule number three in that moment.

Always appear presentable.

 "Understood," I said, my throat dry.

The women began to move with a practiced efficiency that I had only seen back in my father's mansion.

Maria began unpacking the few things I had brought from the isolation unit, while Sofia started drawing a bath in the ensuite, the sound of rushing water echoing off the marble walls.

 They didn't talk to me; they had more important things to handle and all I had to do was get out of their way.

  I sat on the edge of the massive bed, the velvet duvet feeling unnervingly soft.

I was settling into a routine that wasn't mine.

 I was not meant to be here.Even now, my mind kept thinking of ways I could escape.

 An hour passed in a blur of steam, scented oils, and the silent, judging eyes of my new attendants.

 They had dressed me in a tea-length dress of pale lavender, the fabric so light it felt like a second skin.

 They had brushed my hair until it shone like spun silver and applied just enough makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes.

 When they finally left I walked over to the window, looking out at the gardens.

 I could see guards patrolling the perimeter, their weapons glinting in the Italian sun.

 Bane's voice echoed in my head; "No leaving the premises."

 I turned away from the window, feeling the familiar prickle of tears.

 I couldn't do this.

 I couldn't just sit here and wait to be summoned like a pet.

 Suddenly, the heavy door to my suite creaked open.

 I stiffened, expecting Elena or perhaps Bane himself.

 I stood up, my hands clasping together in front of my stomach, bracing for whatever command was coming next.

 But it wasn't Bane.

A woman walked in, and for a moment, the air in the room seemed to move in her direction.

 She was a striking woman.

 Tall and athletic, with the kind of commanding presence that reminded me of Bane.

 She looked like an Amazon stepped out of a myth, her skin a warm bronze and her hair that was a vibrant, fiery red that cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall of flames.

 She had a handsome face.

 She wasn't dressed like the staff.

She wore a sleek, tailored suit that looked quite expensive.

 She was wearing a wide, genuine smile.

 It was the first warm thing I had seen in weeks.

 She closed the door behind her, her eyes scanning me from head to toe.

 There was no judgment in her gaze, only a deep, vibrating curiosity.

 "Well," she said, her voice rich and melodic, carrying a hint of a laugh.

"He certainly has a type, doesn't he?"

 I blinked, taken aback.

 "I... I'm sorry?"

 She laughed then and started walking toward me, her stride confident and long.

 As she got closer, I noticed the faint family resemblance in the structure of her jaw and the intensity of her eyes.

 It was a softened, more vibrant version of the darkness that lived in Bane.

 She didn't look at me like I was a prisoner or a victim.

 She looked at me the way a child would at an interesting jigsaw puzzle.

 She tilted her head, a lock of red hair falling over her shoulder.

 Her smile widened, showing white, even teeth.

 "You must be Amaya," she said, her voice warm, "It's so nice to finally meet you. My name's Regina Valak"