Chapter 9
1035words
Julian, that ghostlike assistant, stood beside her, staring straight ahead.
Emma was numb. After signing the contract in the hospital hallway and making that phone call, a part of her soul had already died.
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open silently, leading directly into the apartment.
Emma's breath caught.
It was less an apartment than a temple of glass and steel. Floor-to-ceiling windows two stories high overlooked the city lights below. The floor was reflective black marble, the furniture sparse, expensive, and cold.
The air was filled with Elias's unique, snow-and-wind-like scent.
"This way, Miss Vance." Julian's voice broke the dead silence.
He led her through a living room larger than her entire old apartment, and down a long corridor. He opened a heavy oak door.
"The master thought it would be more efficient to have your belongings sent directly here."
Emma followed his gaze.
It was an extremely luxurious bedroom, complete with a walk-in closet and bathroom. And there, in the corner next to the king-sized silk bed, were her things.
Her old, worn canvas suitcase with a half-broken zipper.
And two paper boxes from the supermarket containing her art supplies and books.
Her entire "past," her twenty-two years of life, like a pile of garbage, carelessly tossed in the corner of this multi-million dollar room.
This scene was a humiliation more profound than any words could express.
"Dinner will be served promptly at eight." Julian said, as if he hadn't noticed her pale face. "The master has business to attend to tonight and does not wish to be disturbed."
The door closed silently behind Emma.
She was locked in. Not with chains, but with the myriad lights of the city and the life of her brother far away in Switzerland.
She didn't touch the dinner—the exquisite food arrived in silver platters and was taken away untouched. She didn't turn on the lights.
She just walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, curled up on the carpet, and gazed at the city below that no longer belonged to her.
She didn't know how much time had passed.
Until the atmosphere in the room changed.
Emma jerked her head up.
Elias Thorne was standing in the shadows of the room. She didn't know when he had entered. He had changed out of his impeccable coat and was wearing only a simple black silk shirt and trousers. He was barefoot, stepping on the cold marble floor without making a sound.
He looked... more relaxed, and more dangerous. Like a black panther patrolling his own territory.
Emma immediately stood up, her body tense like a cornered animal.
"What... what are you doing here?"
Elias didn't answer, just silently advanced toward her, each step seeming to land on Emma's heartbeat. Emma instinctively backed away until the cold glass window pressed against her spine, leaving her nowhere to escape.
She hated him. Hated this monster who had destroyed everything in her life with every fiber of her being.
But...
Something inexplicable was happening.
As he approached, something dormant in her blood seemed to... ignite. Her skin warmed, her heartbeat faltered, it wasn't simply fear—the fear remained, yet was overlaid by another feeling more primal, more profound.
It was a... pull from deep within her marrow.
Every inch of her body seemed to crave his touch. She smelled the scent of ice and snow about him, and this time, that scent no longer merely signified cold, but carried some ineffable, deadly attraction.
No! Emma screamed within her heart. I hate him!
Elias stopped mere inches from her, his gaze like tangible flames, searing across her skin.
"You haven't eaten," he said softly.
"I'm not hungry," she responded through gritted teeth.
"Are you defying me, Emma?"
"I just have no appetite."
"Contract, first clause," his voice was very quiet, yet each word struck her eardrums, "obedience. In all things."
"So what?" Emma raised her face defiantly. "Are you going to punish me? Or... are you 'hungry' now?"
She deliberately stretched her neck, exposing the vulnerable contour she had desperately protected in the hallway. She was provoking him, while also desperately seeking some kind of resolution.
Elias's pupils contracted sharply. Those golden eyes darkened, like amber sinking into an abyss.
Emma clearly felt it.
She felt the suppressed growl in his throat. She felt the sudden surge of near-uncontrollable hunger within him.
And that hunger, through the invisible connection between them, coursed into her body like an electric current. Her skin trembled from his desire, a shameful and unfamiliar excitement creeping quietly up her spine.
She felt humiliated by her body's response.
Elias raised his hand.
Emma fearfully closed her eyes.
But the expected cold grip never came.
His hand, just very lightly, almost tenderly, brushed across her cheek.
"You think what I want," his voice was hoarse, like a whisper in the night wind, "is just a struggling dinner?"
Emma trembled as she opened her eyes.
"You hate me, Emma." He gazed at her, as if he could penetrate her soul, "Your blood is soaked with hatred, guilt, despair... it tastes bitter now."
He leaned closer, the breath of ice and darkness completely enveloping her.
"I don't want your blood if it's tainted with cheap resistance." His lips almost touched the shell of her ear, his breath brushing against her sensitive skin, "What I want is your willing surrender."
He straightened up, deeply inhaling the fragrance that dispersed from her due to fear.
"I want you to beg me voluntarily. I want you to understand that everything about you has long belonged to me."
He turned and walked toward the door, as silently as when he had arrived.
"Before that," he stopped at the door without turning back, "be a good little canary."
"Leo," he left one final remark, "has safely arrived in Lausanne. His treatment depends on your performance."
The door closed gently.
Emma slid down along the cold glass to the floor. She hated him, but hated herself more—hated this body that trembled with "desire" when he came near.
