I sat alone in the dim glow of the room, the city beyond the glass a blur of lights I couldn't bring myself to care about. The silence pressed against me, broken only by the steady drumbeat of my thoughts. They always came back to her. Always her.

Vivian Harper.

I can still see the flicker of fear in her eyes, the way it clung to her even as she tried to hide it. She wore it like a secret, buried just beneath her sharp words and trembling hands. But she couldn't hide it from me—I could feel it. Her fear wasn't ordinary. It wasn't the blind, desperate terror that made most people crumble in my presence. No, her fear was alive, pulsing, defiant. It reached out to me, taunting me, pulling me closer with every breath she took.

And I craved it.

It wasn't fear itself that consumed me—it was the way she carried it, the way she refused to let it break her. There was something intoxicating about the battle I saw in her eyes, the quiet, raging scream that dared me to destroy her completely. It would have been so easy. I've shattered stronger souls without so much as a touch, reduced men to shells of themselves with nothing but a look.

But her? She refuses to bend. She clings to her fear, not as a weakness, but as a shield, and that only makes me want her more.

The memory of our last encounter burns in my mind. Her breath hitched, her pulse pounding like a drum in her throat as I stood over her. I could see how close she was to breaking, to crumbling beneath the weight of my presence. She was afraid—I knew it. But she didn't look away. She stared me down with that same maddening defiance, as if daring me to take what I wanted.

I hated it and I loved it.

Leaning back in my chair, I gripped the armrests tightly, the tension winding through me like a coil ready to snap. This obsession gnawed at me, dug into me like a blade I couldn't pull free. I had told myself it was nothing more than a game, another conquest to pass the time. But no matter how many times I tried to shake her from my thoughts, she lingered—a ghost haunting my every moment of silence.

Fear had always been my greatest weapon, the thing I wielded with precision to control and conquer. But with her, it was different. She didn't submit to it. Instead, she wielded it as her own, and somehow, that only made me want to possess her even more. I wanted to unravel her, strip away every defense until there was nothing left but the raw, trembling truth of her.

It wasn't enough to see her break. I wanted to own her—her fear, her fire, her soul. I wanted it all.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

It had been two days since I texted her, letting her know I'd be picking her up. The thought of having her in my grasp made it all the more enticing. Tomorrow was Sunday, and I was going, no matter what tantrums she threw. It wasn't the fear in her that amused me—it was the way her face changed when she saw my texts. That adorable little expression of hers, morphing from fear to anger, frustration, and even shock... God, I could get addicted to that. Those reactions, I'd savor them for a lifetime.

She would do something to avoid me. But I couldn't fucking afford that. I knew exactly how to keep her under my control. I knew how to make her comply. I shot her a little reminder.

Me: "Be ready at 10 AM sharp. I'll come wherever the fuck you want. But you'll come with me, unless you want Zin to get hurt for that little kiss back there. You don't want that, do you?"

She read my message immediately. But she didn't reply for a few minutes. Probably staring at her damn phone screen, wondering how to get herself out of this. My phone chimed, and her text surprised me.

Malyshka: "Pick me up at the park where you saw me and Zin kiss."

This girl—her audacity to mention that incident... I clenched my jaw, ready to tear something apart. But before I could react, another text came through.

Malyshka: "But I'll pay the rent."

I chuckled darkly, the sound harsh in the quiet room. She had had the nerve to try and turn the tables. One minute, she made my blood boil, the next, she made me laugh. That little game was going to be fucking fun. And I'd make sure it was one she'd never forget.

I didn't know if I'd be able to sleep tonight. The real game was about to begin, and fuck, I was looking forward to it. My eyes drifted around the penthouse—a place that had always felt empty, distant, like it wasn't really mine. I'd liked it when I bought it, sure, but I'd never given myself a reason to stay here. Until now.

Now she was my reason. My Malyshka.

With her here, that space would finally come alive. I was about to break the rule I'd lived by for years: staying rooted at the family mansion. But honestly, rules didn't mean shit to me—whether they were mine or someone else's. They were meant to be broken, and I was the only one with the privilege to do so. This one? This was for her. For my Malyshka, I'd shatter a hundred more rules, over and over again, just to see her under my roof.

My legs carried me toward the bedroom, but my mind changed course. I found myself stepping onto the terrace attached to the master suite, and fuck, the thoughts that crept into my head made me laugh—dark, sinful, perverted. When the hell had I become this much of a depraved bastard?

I imagined her there. Right there. In that open space, the night sky watching as I fucked her. I could practically hear her cries, her gasps, her desperate little pleas as I dragged every last reaction out of her. I wanted it all—her screams, her tears, her moans. My Malyshka had no idea what she was walking into. Trusting me enough to come here? Brave, or foolish? Maybe both.

Not that I'd told her I was moving in too. That might have been why she'd agreed so easily. Oh well. She'd find out soon enough.

From the next day onward, I was going to be a very busy man.

I stepped back inside, stripping off my clothes as I went, and fell onto the bed. It had felt cold, lifeless, empty—until then. Soon, that bed wouldn't just be mine.

As my thoughts spiraled into wild, filthy possibilities, I closed my eyes and let her consume me.

The next morning, I waited for her at the park. For thirty fucking minutes. She still hadn't shown up. Should I have gone to her house and dragged her out myself? I'd never waited for anyone before—never. And this little vixen thought she could keep me waiting? I'd told her to be here at 10 o'fucking clock. I didn't tolerate tardiness.

I sat there, watching people stroll by with their damn pets, a couple practically eating each other's faces off, and every second ticking by only made my patience wear thinner.

The moment I turned the engine on, ready to storm her house and drag her out by her hair if I had to, I saw her. That familiar figure rounding the corner of the road. There she was. My Malyshka.

Cute. Adorable. Infuriating.

She was in a shirt and jeans—again. Jesus Christ, did she own anything else? I was going to buy her clothes, whether her brother liked it or not. Hell, whether she liked it or not. She was mine now. Mine to dress, mine to undress. Mine to do whatever the fuck I wanted.

Her raven-black hair flew with the wind, almost like it was having a private conversation with the breeze. Some of it cascaded over her breasts, her shoulders, her back—loose and untamed. She always left it untied. I wasn't complaining. It was beautiful on her. That hourglass figure of hers? I could worship her body. Every. Damn. Inch.

Last night, I imagined her lips wrapped around my cock, her cheeks flushed and her eyes staring up at me with tears spilling down her face. And those eyes—fuck, those emerald green eyes. They were what dragged me straight to hell. The way they fluttered, the way her pupils dilated when she woke up screaming and kicking from her nightmares. That fear—the pure terror—I wanted it. I wanted her to feel that fear because of me. For me. Not because of some fucking nightmare. That was going to change starting today.

She wasn't my type. Not even close. But fuck if she hadn't rewritten everything I thought I wanted. When did she do it? I knew exactly when—when she sensed me in the darkness that night in the alley while kissing Zin. That kiss... I wanted to fucking erase it from my memory. Not once, but twice they kissed. Right in front of me.

She would pay for that. She was going to learn what happened to bad girls.

The closer she got, the more my excitement built.

I rolled down the window, letting the crisp morning air whip through the space between us. "What took you so fucking long that I started thinking about grabbing your hair and dragging you out of the house myself?"

Her eyes widened. There it was. That look she gave me—like she'd been caught off guard and was trying to piece together how to handle me.

"My uncle and aunt gave me a lot of lectures and..." she hesitated, meeting my gaze. "I'm sorry."

I chuckled, low and rough. God, she was learning too fast for her own good. Smart little thing. I glanced down at her belongings—one backpack, one luggage bag, and a trolley bag. That was it? Whatever. I pressed the button to pop the trunk and gestured for her to load them inside.

A minute or two later, she got in the backseat, like I was her fucking driver.

"Well, Malyshka, I'm not your chauffeur. Get your ass up here."

"I won't sit beside you," she snapped.

I smirked, the sharp edge of amusement cutting through my annoyance. "Well, you'll need to sleep beside me from now on, so think of this as a trial run. To the front. Now."

Her lips parted, probably to fire back some defiance, but she surprised me by closing her mouth like a good little girl and sliding into the passenger seat.

The moment she sat, my hand moved to her thigh, like it had been waiting for that exact moment. Her body tensed, and I caught the subtle shift of her hands as she tried to push me off. I squeezed her thigh firmly, making her attempts die out instantly.

Satisfied, I started the engine and headed toward my penthouse.

"You... You didn't tell me you'd be staying with me," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. She was afraid, and it made my blood hum.

"Isn't it obvious, Malyshka? It's my house, so yes, I'd stay there."

"But Zin told me your family members aren't allowed to live outside the mansion," she blurted, her voice laced with uncertainty.

I scoffed, shaking my head. "That rule was made by me, which means I can bend it, break it, or burn it to the ground however the hell I want. And that bastard told you everything, huh? I'd deal with him later."

She hesitated before speaking again. "You didn't reply to my text."

"Which one?" I asked, my tone flat. I rarely replied to her texts because, frankly, I didn't see the fucking point.

"The... about the rent," she said quietly.

"Ah, the rent," I drawled, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "Fixed it after you saw the place. I didn't deny the rent. Hell, I saved that money, Malyshka. Maybe it turned me on every time I saw it—just like you did."

Her mouth snapped shut, and I noticed her neck turning a delicious shade of red.

Adorable.

The silence between us thickened as the car pulled up to the building. The buliding loomed above us, a fitting symbol of the world I ruled—and the one she would soon belong to entirely.

Vivian sat frozen beside me, her jaw tight, her gaze defiant even as her body betrayed her unease. It was maddening and intoxicating all at once.

I leaned closer, my voice dropping into a low, commanding growl. "Out."

Her stormy eyes snapped to mine, blazing with defiance. She hated being told what to do—hated me—but I caught the flicker of hesitation beneath all that fire. She wasn't sure how far I'd go to make her obey, and that fear? That doubt? It made my blood hum.

When she didn't move, I reached for her wrist—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who was in charge. "Don't make me repeat myself, malyshka. You won't like the consequences."

That did the trick. With a sharp inhale, she slid out of the car, stiff and reluctant, every movement screaming rebellion. I followed at a leisurely pace, watching her try to put space between us as if distance could protect her. As if I wouldn't close the gap in an instant.

"You're tense," I said, my voice calm as the elevator doors slid shut behind us. "Relax. It's not like I'm taking you somewhere dangerous."

Her sharp laugh cut through the silence, brittle and drenched in contempt. "You're the danger."

The corner of my mouth twitched into a smirk. "Finally, some honesty."

She didn't respond, the weight of her silence thick with unspoken words. Good. I preferred her quiet—it gave me time to study her. Every flicker of emotion, every step she took, every breath she drew only fueled the fire inside me.

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened to reveal my sanctuary. Dark marble floors gleamed under dim lighting, and floor-to-ceiling glass walls offered a sweeping view of the city below. It was perfection. My kingdom.

And now, hers.

"Welcome home," I said, stepping aside to let her in.

She hesitated, her body coiled like a spring. "I'm not staying here."

I moved closer, forcing her to look at me. "You don't have a choice."

Her breath hitched, but her chin jutted out in defiance. "You can't keep me here. You don't own me."

I leaned in, close enough to see the rapid pulse at her throat. "You keep saying that as if it makes a difference. But let me make something very clear—if I didn't own you, you wouldn't be standing here. You wouldn't be breathing."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. I watched the realization dawn in her eyes, the weight of her situation crashing down on her.

The silence stretched, deliciously heavy, before I broke it with a dry, sardonic laugh. "But don't worry, Malyshka. I'm not unreasonable. You'll have plenty of time to get used to the idea."

"You're insane," she muttered, her voice shaking.

"Perhaps," I admitted, stepping past her into the living room. "But I'm also patient. And you, Vivian, are worth the wait."

Her gaze darted around the room, searching for an escape route she'd never find. The doors were locked. The windows? Unbreakable. Every inch of this space was designed to keep people out—or in.

"Why are you doing this?" she finally asked, her voice cracking.

I turned, my expression unreadable. "Because I can. Because I want to. And because I've never been denied what belongs to me."

Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, her fear saturating the air between us. It was intoxicating, a drug I couldn't get enough of.

"You'll learn to trust me," I murmured, softening my tone. "To depend on me. To need me."

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she kept her chin high, her defiance flickering like the last ember of a dying flame. "You'll never break me."

I chuckled, low and dark. "Oh, Malyshka... I don't need to break you. I just need you to realize you've already given yourself to me."

Her silence was the sweetest surrender I'd ever tasted.

She took slow, hesitant steps into the penthouse, her wide eyes roaming the space. She passed me, gravitating toward the glass walls and the sprawling city view. I followed, closing the distance, standing behind her.

I brushed her hair aside, leaning in close. She flinched, but I didn't stop. My arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back against me, keeping her exactly where I wanted her.

"Go ahead, take a tour," I murmured against her ear. "Or would you rather I show you? I could tell you all the ways I've imagined fucking you in every room of this place."

Her face flushed deep crimson, but the fear—oh, the fear—was still there. I could feel it, sharp and palpable, and it made my smirk widen. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. My eyes drifted to the faint hickey on her neck, the one I'd left days ago.

I pressed my lips to it gently. She tilted her head away to escape my touch. Cute.

"I-I can go and see myself," she stammered.

I sighed, my grip tightening on her waist. "Disappointing. Do you know how to cook?"

"Y-yes."

"Good. Still, I'm hiring a maid. Anything else you want?"

"A separate bedroom," she whispered, her voice trembling with hope.

I chuckled darkly. "Not gonna happen. Use the other bedroom as a study if you want, but you'll sleep in my bed. You'll get used to it soon enough."

I let go of her waist, and she pulled away instantly, as if she'd been counting the seconds. She wandered off, exploring the space with hesitant steps. I sank onto the couch, watching her with quiet satisfaction.

Let her roam. Let her think she still had choices. Because no matter where she went, no matter how far she thought she could run, the truth was absolute:

She belonged to me.