Arianna awoke to silence.
For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming. The air smelled of something rich and smoky, like burning cedar and spice. The surface beneath her was impossibly soft—silk sheets caressing her skin. Her head throbbed, and when she tried to move, a dull ache radiated through her wrist.
Memory returned like a sudden slap. The alley. The men. Him.
Her eyes snapped open.
She wasn't in her apartment.
Arianna bolted upright, her breath catching. She was in a massive bedroom, unlike anything she had ever seen. The walls were black marble, veined with streaks of silver. Tall candelabras cast flickering shadows, their flames burning with an eerie blue hue. Heavy velvet curtains covered the towering windows, allowing only slivers of moonlight to filter in.
This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
She threw back the covers and stumbled out of the bed—only to realize she wasn't wearing her clothes.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips. She was dressed in a flowing black silk nightgown, the thin straps barely clinging to her shoulders. Her fingers curled into the fabric, panic creeping into her veins. Who undressed me?
The air shifted.
She wasn't alone.
Arianna turned sharply.
He was there.
Damien Lucien stood by the massive fireplace, watching her with those silver eyes. He leaned casually against the mantle, his dark suit pristine, his presence suffocating. The flames behind him cast shadows over his impossibly sharp features—the high cheekbones, the strong jawline, the lips that curled ever so slightly in amusement.
He looked like something sculpted from darkness itself.
And he was looking at her.
Arianna's pulse pounded. "Where the hell am I?" she demanded, ignoring the way her voice shook.
Damien exhaled, as if he had been expecting the question. "You're home."
Her hands clenched into fists. "This is not my home."
He pushed away from the fireplace, approaching her with slow, deliberate steps. "It is now.Arianna instinctively stepped back, but he was too fast. In the blink of an eye, he was in front of her, too close. His presence pressed against her like a tangible force, making her breath hitch.
His fingers lifted, brushing against her cheek, and a shiver ran down her spine. "You don't remember, do you?"
She jerked away. "Remember what?"
Damien studied her, his silver eyes darkening. "The contract."
Arianna swallowed hard. "What contract?"
He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only dark amusement. "The one your ancestors signed centuries ago. The one that binds you to me."
She shook her head. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
His smile vanished. "Then allow me to make it clear."
A snap of his fingers.
The air shimmered. A large, ancient-looking scroll materialized before her, floating in midair. The parchment was yellowed with age, covered in symbols that pulsed with an eerie crimson glow. At the bottom, in deep, dark ink—no, blood—was a name.
Her name,"Arianna Vasquez".
Her knees nearly gave out. "This… this isn't real."
Damien's voice was low, almost soothing. "It's as real as the blood in your veins."
Her breath came in short, panicked gasps. "I—I never signed this."
"No," he agreed. "But your ancestors did. And their debt is now yours to pay."
Her mind spun. None of this made sense. She was just an ordinary woman, struggling to survive. What did she have to do with ancient contracts and supernatural beings?
"I don't belong here," she whispered. "I don't belong to you."
Something flashed in Damien's eyes. Something dark. Possessive.
"You do now," he murmured.
Arianna's heart pounded against her ribs as he lifted a hand, brushing his knuckles over her jaw. She hated how her skin tingled beneath his touch, how his presence overwhelmed every one of her senses.
"You're lying," she breathed.
Damien chuckled, low and rich. "I don't need to lie, little wife."
Her stomach twisted at the way he said it—wife. As if it was already decided