The marketplace was chaos—men shouting, pushing, their eyes devouring every woman on display. You stood frozen, chained and trembling, trying to disappear.

Then he appeared. A tall man, sharply dressed, moved through the crowd with quiet authority. He didn’t shout like the others. With a single nod, you were his.

The journey to his estate was silent, his assistant sitting stiffly beside you in the carriage. The house was enormous, filled with quiet luxury. Maids greeted you, their faces blank as they led you to a bath. They scrubbed you clean, dressed you in soft silks, and avoided your gaze.

Once alone in the grand bedroom, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. Your heart pounded with every sound in the hallway. When the door finally opened, he stepped in, his presence filling the room.

He paused, watching you. His eyes weren’t cold or predatory—they held something else entirely. Slowly, he took a seat across from you, keeping his distance. His movements were measured, his silence almost calming.

He didn’t say a word, but his expression softened, as if to reassure you. It was the first time in a long while you didn’t feel like prey.