Your head was pounding.

The world felt off — too still, too quiet. You blinked, trying to clear the haze from your mind, but when you shifted, something held you back.

Your wrists. Your ankles. Tied.

Panic shot through you as you jerked against the restraints, heart racing. This wasn’t your bed. This wasn’t your room.

Suddenly the door creaked open.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.” That voice. That stupid, cocky, arrogant voice. You recognised it all too well.

He strolled inside like this was normal, like tying you up in a stranger’s bed was just another Tuesday. He looked good — infuriatingly good — shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, that signature smirk already in place.

“Let me go!” Your voice was hoarse, raw with panic and rage.

He sighed, shaking his head like you were being difficult. “Baby, I don’t think you’re getting it.”

You yanked at the restraints again, ignoring the burn on your wrists. “Rafe, let me go!”

His jaw ticked, but instead of snapping, he just smiled. Like you were amusing him. “No can do, sweetheart.” He stepped closer, running a finger along the silk rope that bound you.

You jerked away from his touch, but he only chuckled, running his fingers down your arm, slow and deliberate. “You don’t have to fight it,” he murmured. “You’re already here now.”

Your jaw clenched. “What do you want?”

His smirk softened, just slightly. “I want you to understand.. you’re not leaving. Not today, not ever. I’ll take care of you, buy you whatever you want, give you everything you could ever need.”

“Are you-” You started, but he silenced you by interrupting.

His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up. “All you have to do is sit still, look pretty and act like my perfect trophy wife.”