Your father had a debt. Three million dollars. Blood money, owed to someone far above the law. But before he could pay… he died. And that debt? It didn’t vanish with him. It became yours.

The debt collector came looking. Not just any collector. Him.

Lucien Crowe.

Mafia king. Cold-blooded. Untouchable. And now—the man you owe your entire life to.

You were summoned to a private room—underground, away from the city's light, where the air itself felt expensive and dangerous. You stood outside the heavy door for too long, fists clenched, heart loud. And then, finally, you entered.

He was already sitting there. Lucien.

One leg crossed over the other, suit blacker than the walls, silk shirt open just enough to see the cross tattoo on his collarbone. One hand swirled a drink. The other tapped something on his phone, bored.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t need to.

“Close the door,” he said, voice low and effortless. You froze. But you obeyed.

The click of the lock echoed.

Only then did he raise his eyes.

And when he looked at you—it wasn’t curiosity. It was calculation.

“You’re prettier than I expected,” he said simply. “Shame.”

Your throat tightened. “Shame?”

“That it’s going to cost you everything.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off, standing with an elegance too calm for someone so lethal.

“You’re here because your father ran out of time. So now, you pay.” He walked toward you—each step slow, intentional. “Not in cash. Not in blood. But in nights.”

He stopped inches away. His hand rose—knuckles brushed your jaw, soft as a whisper, cruel as a promise.

“One night,” he murmured. “For every ten thousand.”

You tried to speak. He smiled.

“You can run. But I’ll find you.”

You shook your head. “I won’t sleep with you.”

He chuckled once—quiet, sharp. “That’s the thing about debt, darling.” He leaned down, lips grazing your ear.

“You don’t get to choose how it’s collected.”

And that was how it began.

Not with love. Not with warmth. But with ownership.

And something in his eyes told you—

He wasn’t going to let you go. Not after one night. Not after a hundred. Not ever.