I tried to avoid him after that night, but Derek wasn't a man who allowed distance. He found me in the library, cornering me between the towering shelves.
"Running from me, dolcezza?" he taunted, his voice a dark caress.
I lifted my chin, defiant. "I needed space."
Derek stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "You don't need space. You need me."
My breath hitched as his fingers traced the curve of my jaw, his touch both a promise and a warning. "You can fight it all you want," he murmured, "but I've already won."
And as much as I wanted to deny it, deep down, I knew he was right.
I was his.
Whether I liked it or not.
---
The estate had begun to feel more like a labyrinth, each hallway and room a different kind of cage. That night, I wandered the halls, desperate for solitude, for a piece of myself that hadn't already been tainted by his touch, his voice, his presence.
I ended up in the music room. The grand piano sat untouched, its glossy surface gleaming in the dim light. My fingers hovered over the keys before pressing down softly, letting the notes break the silence.
"You play?"
I was startled, turning to see Derek leaning against the doorway, watching me with quiet curiosity.
I hesitated, then nodded. "My mother taught me."
He stepped inside, his movements slow, predatory. "Play something."
I wanted to refuse, to walk away—but instead, I let my fingers glide over the keys, a melancholic melody filling the space between us.
Derek stood behind me, close enough that I could feel his warmth. When the song ended, his hands rested on my shoulders, firm yet gentle.
"You surprise me, Elena," he murmured.
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. "And you terrify me."
His grip tightened—just enough to remind me who held the power. "Good."