PARTY

I jolt awake.

Pain explodes in my skull, each heartbeat sending sharp, relentless pulses through my head. My eyes burn, every blink like needles stabbing into them. The air is damp and freezing, and my wrists ache from the unforgiving bite of metal cuffs.

I suck in a breath, trying to steady myself. My vision clears slowly. Bare stone walls. Patches of mildew. A single dim bulb flickering overhead, casting eerie shadows.

I tug at the chains binding me to the wall. Metal rattles, loud in the suffocating silence. Panic claws at my chest as reality sinks in.

I'm in the basement. Shackled. Trapped.

Footsteps echo down the stairs. Slow. Steady. Deliberate.

My breath hitches. I straighten, forcing myself to look composed even as fear coils in my stomach.

The door creaks open.

Raymond steps inside.

His tailored suit is out of place in this damp, desolate room, but his cold expression fits perfectly. His presence fills the space, heavy and suffocating.

"Did you really think running would solve anything?" His voice is calm, almost amused, but there's an edge to it that makes my stomach churn.

I don't answer. My throat is dry, my heart pounding too hard to form words.

Raymond tilts his head, studying me. "You saw the surveillance camera in your room," he continues, voice dripping with mockery, "and still went ahead with a failed plot. Bold, but foolish."

The words sting, but I hold his gaze. I refuse to look away. I refuse to let him see how terrified I am.

He steps closer, shoes clicking against the stone floor. Crouching down, he meets my eye level. "Listen carefully, Gracie. You're mine now. You will follow my rules. And if you ever try to run again..." He lets the threat hang in the air before finishing, "...you'll wish you hadn't."

I glare at him, the only act of defiance I can manage.

He smirks, unimpressed. Straightening, he pulls a folded document from his jacket and holds it up. "This is a contract. You will sign it. It outlines your place here. No running. No arguing. No disobedience. Publicly, you'll act as my mistress. Privately, you'll do as you're told."

The word *mistress* makes my stomach twist, but I keep my expression blank.

Raymond flips through the pages. "Before you get any ideas, there's a clause stating no intimacy. I assume that must be a relief for you."

My voice finally breaks through the silence, shaky but defiant. "I know."

His lips curl into a cold smile. "Ah, yes. You must be relieved."

I stare at the document as he places it on the floor in front of me. The weight of the decision crushes me. I want to scream. Rip the paper to shreds. Tell him I won't be part of his twisted game.

But I have no choice.

Two days later,

I stand in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection with a mix of uncertainty and resentment. Puffy eyes. Dark circles, barely concealed by the expensive makeup he bought for me. A gown that doesn't feel like mine.

What do you wear to a party hosted by the man who holds your life in his hands?

I adjust the hem of the dress. The silky material flows like water over my skin. It's beautiful, expensive, and completely at odds with how I feel inside. He chose it, of course. Just like he chooses everything else in my life now.

The door opens behind me.

I turn.

Raymond steps inside, dressed impeccably in a black suit that fits him like a second skin. His presence is as commanding as ever, his gaze scanning me from head to toe.

"Are you ready?" His tone is neutral, but it carries the weight of an order.

I don't answer. I turn back to the mirror, focusing on my reflection because it's easier than looking at him.

He steps closer. His voice drops, low and firm. "When we walk into that room, you will act like my mistress. You'll smile. You'll charm. And most importantly, you won't cause trouble. Understood?"

A bitter smirk tugs at my lips. "Of course, *Don Silver.*"

Sarcasm drips from my voice. I don't care.

His jaw tightens. Irritation flashes in his eyes.

He extends his arm. I hesitate. But in the end, I take it. I don't have a choice.

The party is held in a grand hall, its marble floors gleaming under the crystal chandeliers.

As we step inside, heads turn. Eyes linger.

"Is that Raymond Silver?" someone whispers.

"Who's the girl with him?" another voice asks.

"She's probably some model," someone mutters. "He's rich enough to buy whoever he wants."

The whispers follow us, their gazes pressing down on me like a spotlight.

I keep my head high. I won't let them see my discomfort.

Raymond, on the other hand, is the picture of calm confidence. He greets people with polite nods, every movement calculated. To the outside world, he's the perfect gentleman. A respected businessman.

None of them know the truth.

None of them know who he really is.

After what feels like an eternity, Raymond is pulled away by an acquaintance. He leans in. "I'll be back." His tone leaves no room for argument.

As soon as he disappears into the crowd, my heart slams against my ribs.

This is my chance.

I slip away, weaving through the sea of guests. My eyes scan for an exit. My palms are slick with sweat. My breaths come in short, frantic gasps.

I don't know where I'm going.

I just know I have to get out.

But the farther I run, the more I realize something is wrong.

Guards are stationed at every entrance, their sharp eyes scanning the room.

And then...

I feel it.

The weight of their stares.

"Stop her!" someone shouts.

Heavy footsteps thunder behind me.

Panic surges through me. I break into a sprint, dodging startled guests and upturned glasses. I run as fast as I can.

But I don't make it far.

A strong hand grabs my arm. Yanks me to a halt.

I twist, chest heaving, and meet the hard gaze of a guard.

Silence falls over the room. Every pair of eyes turns toward me.

And then,

Through the crowd, Raymond appears.

His expression is dark. Furious.

"You've made a huge mistake, Gracie." His voice is low. Dangerous.

I don't care. The words tumble out before I can stop them.

"Kidnapper! You think you're some kind of god? You're a monster! A stupid Black Silver Don, and I hope you rot in hell!"

The words hang in the air like a bomb waiting to detonate.

For a second... just a second, his expression falters.

Then his anger returns. Cold. Deadly.