Power is a funny thing. You don’t have to announce it. Real power is quiet. I learned that early. My father built empires; I inherited that legacy. But I didn’t just want to sit on a throne of wealth and influence. I wanted to own everything I touched.

And that included her.

We met at an auction. She wasn’t supposed to be there. That much was obvious from the way she lingered at the edges, her eyes flicking nervously across the room as if she didn’t belong.

But she did belong — at least to me.

I watched her for a while, letting the anticipation build. It was always better that way, like hunting prey.

When I finally made my move, I approached from behind.

"Enjoying yourself?"

She turned, startled, her gaze locking onto mine. "Not really."

I smirked. "Honesty. Refreshing."

"Should I lie instead?" she shot back.

I liked her immediately.

"Lying’s boring," I said, extending a hand. "Lando."

She hesitated but took it. "I know who you are."

"That makes one of us."

Her lips quirked at that, but she didn’t drop my hand right away.

Good.

---

It didn’t take long for her to fall into my orbit.

Dinners at private clubs, weekend getaways. I gave her a taste of my world — not too much at once, just enough to keep her intrigued, wanting more.

And when she started trusting me, that’s when the real game began.

Because love wasn’t what I was after.

It was control.

One night, we found ourselves alone in my penthouse.

She stood by the window, her reflection fractured by the glass.

"You ever wonder why I keep coming back?" she asked softly.

I approached her from behind, my voice a murmur against her ear. "Tell me."

She turned to face me. "It’s dangerous, isn’t it? Being with you."

I didn’t flinch. "And yet, here you are."

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. "You want to own me, don’t you?"

I traced a finger along her jaw, my touch possessive. "Is that what you think?"

"It’s what I know," she whispered.

I smiled darkly. "Smart girl."