A single tear slipped from Scarlett's eye, tracking down her temple and disappearing into her hair.
She tried to hold it back. Tried to keep pretending she was still unconscious, still safe in the darkness where she didn't have to face him or the blood or the reality of what her life had become. But the tear betrayed her, followed by another, and another, until they were flowing silently down her face.
She felt Sylus go still beside her. The hand holding hers tightened almost imperceptibly.
"You're awake," he said softly. Not a question. A statement of fact, delivered in that careful tone he used when he thought she might break.
Scarlett opened her eyes.The ceiling above her was pristine white, unmarred by bullet holes or blood splatter. For a moment, she let herself pretend that's all there was in the world—just clean white space, peaceful and empty. No violence. No death. No dragon sitting beside her bed with blood still under his fingernails.
But she could feel his eyes on her. Could feel the weight of his presence like a physical thing pressing down on her chest.
She turned her head slowly, and there he was.
Sylus sat in a chair pulled close to the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. He'd changed clothes—the blood-stained white shirt was gone, replaced by a clean black one. His hair was damp, like he'd showered. But she could still see traces of red under his nails, in the creases of his knuckles.
Blood that wouldn't quite wash away.
His red eyes met hers, and for once, he looked uncertain. Almost vulnerable.
Like he didn't know what to say to the woman who'd just witnessed the monster he kept hidden beneath expensive suits and gentle touches.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Finally, Sylus spoke. His voice was soft, careful, like he was approaching a wounded animal.
"You saw it all, didn't you? The blood. The war. The truth that belongs to my world."
Scarlett didn't answer. Couldn't answer. What was there to say? Yes, I saw the bodies? Yes, I know you're a killer? Yes, I understand now that the luxury and the flowers and the macarons are just pretty decoration on a cage built from corpses?.
She turned her face back to the ceiling. If she stared long enough at that pristine white surface, maybe she could pretend. Maybe she could imagine she was back in her tiny apartment with the water-stained ceiling and the noisy neighbors and the simple, safe life she'd taken for granted.
"I want to go home," she whispered to the ceiling. To herself. To whatever gods might be listening. "I want to go back to my old life. When I was just an ordinary college art student who liked bubble tea and didn't have to wake up to the sound of gunshots."
"Scarlett—"
"Why?" The word came out broken, raw. She turned to look at him again, and this time she didn't try to hide the tears.
"Why did you choose me? You can have anyone you want as easily as you change your clothes. Any woman in this city would probably fall at your feet if you looked at them. So why me? Why drag me into this?"
For a heartbeat, Sylus was silent. He studied her face like he was memorizing it, like he was trying to find the right words that wouldn't shatter whatever fragile thing still existed between them.
Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and met her eyes directly.
"Because I want you," he said simply.
Three words. That was it. No grand explanation. No justification. No poetry about fate or destiny or past lives. Just those three words, delivered with the kind of finality that meant they were the only truth that mattered to him.
Scarlett felt something crack inside her chest. A laugh bubbled up—bitter, almost hysterical.
Of course. Of course that was his answer. What had she expected? Some romantic declaration? Some proof that she was special, that she meant something beyond being a possession he'd decided to acquire?.
She was a thing he wanted, so he took her. Simple as that.
Her smile felt wrong on her face, bittersweet and broken. "That's it? You want me, so nothing else matters? My life, my dreams, my freedom—none of that means anything because you decided you wanted me?"
"Yes." He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed.
The tears came harder now. Scarlett turned away from him, curling on her side, drawing her knees up like she could make herself small enough to disappear. "I hate you."
"I know." His voice was soft. Sad, even. But not apologetic. Never apologetic.
She felt the mattress dip as he sat on the edge of the bed. His hand came to rest on her shoulder—not pulling, not demanding, just... there. A presence she couldn't escape.
"I know this is hard," Sylus said quietly.
"I know you're terrified. I know you want your old life back." He paused, and she heard him take a breath. "So I'm going to give you some of it back."
Scarlett went still. "What?"
"You can attend your college again. Go back to your art classes. Study like you did before." His thumb traced a small circle on her shoulder. "With conditions, of course."
Of course. There was always a catch. Scarlett rolled onto her back to look at him, searching his face for the trap. "What conditions?"
"Three bodyguards with you at all times. They'll wait outside your classrooms, accompany you between buildings, and drive you to and from campus."
His expression was implacable. "No deviation from approved routes. No going anywhere without them. And absolutely no contact with anyone I haven't vetted."
"I'm still a prisoner. Just a prisoner who gets to attend classes."
"You're my wife who will be kept safe."
His hand moved from her shoulder to cup her face, thumb brushing away tears.
"There are people who would love to get their hands on you, Scarlett. What happened this morning—that was just the first attempt. There will be more. The only way I can let you have any semblance of a normal life is if you're protected every second."
"Protected." She let out a bitter laugh. "Is that what you call it?"
His red eyes were hard now, unyielding. "Because if anything happened to you—if someone took you, hurt you, killed you—I would burn this entire city to ash. Every. Single. Person. Would. Pay."
Each word was punctuated, precise.
"Your friends. Their families. Anyone who'd ever spoken to you. I would paint the streets red with their blood and sleep soundly afterward."
The casual way he said it made her blood run cold. He meant it. Every word.
"So yes," he continued, voice dropping back to that deceptively gentle tone. "You'll go to college. You'll paint and study and drink your bubble tea. You'll have some of your old life back. But you'll do it my way. With my protection. Under my rules."
His thumb traced her bottom lip.
"Because the alternative is you staying locked in this mansion, and I don't think either of us wants that."
Scarlett stared at him, her mind racing. This was a test. It had to be. He was giving her just enough freedom to see what she'd do with it. Waiting to see if she'd try to run. Waiting to see if she'd contact anyone, do anything that would give him an excuse to tighten the leash.
And if she disobeyed? If she tried to escape? He'd already made it clear what would happen. Her friends would die. Her family—even if they were the traffickers who'd raised her—would die. Anyone she cared about would pay the price for her rebellion.
It wasn't a gift. It was another cage. Just bigger. Prettier. With the illusion of freedom painted on the bars.
"What if I say no?" she asked quietly.
"What if I'd rather stay here than pretend I have a normal life when we both know I don't?"
Something flickered in Sylus's eyes.
Surprise, maybe. Or respect.
"Then you stay. But I think you'll go crazy locked in these walls. You're not made for captivity, kitten. You're made to fly."
His smile was sad. "Even if I have to clip your wings to keep you safe."
The hate that had been simmering in Scarlett's chest flared hot and bright. He knew exactly what he was doing. Knew that denying her completely would break her too quickly, so instead he'd give her just enough freedom to keep her compliant. Keep her hoping. Keep her from doing something desperate.
It was calculated. Cruel. Perfect.
"Fine," she said, the word tasting like ash.
"I'll go to college. I'll let your bodyguards follow me around like trained dogs. I'll play the role of the obedient wife who definitely isn't planning to escape the first chance she gets."
Sylus expression didn't change, but she saw the flash of pain in his eyes.
"You can plan all you want, sweetie. But I'll catch you every time. Because unlike you—" He leaned closer, until his forehead nearly touched hers.
"—I have eternity to wait. And I'll spend every second of it keeping you safe. Even if you hate me for it."
"I already hate you."
"Good." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft and lingering. "Hate keeps you sharp. Keeps you fighting. I'd rather have your fury than your despair."
He stood, straightening his shirt. Back to business. Back to being the crime lord instead of the man who'd whispered desperate apologies while she pretended to sleep.
"Your class start next week. I'll have everything arranged. Mrs. Chen will help you select appropriate clothing."
He paused at the door, looking back at her.
"And Scarlett? I'll know if you try to contact anyone. I'll know if you try to run. I'll know everything. So please—" His voice went soft again. "—don't make me hurt the people you care about to prove a point."
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that sounded like a prison cell locking.
Scarlett lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling again. Her hand drifted to her pocket, where her phone still rested.
The message to Chen Le was sent. He would have seen it by now. He would help. He had to help.
Because Sylus was right about one thing: she would go crazy locked in these walls.
But he was wrong about something else.
She was going to escape.
The hate that had been building inside her since the moment he'd walked into her apartment solidified into something sharp and cold and focused. She would play along. Would go to college and let his bodyguards follow her. Would smile and nod and pretend to accept this new normal.
And the whole time, she'd be planning. Watching. Looking for weaknesses in the system he'd built around her.
One chance. That's all she needed. One moment where the guards looked away, one gap in the surveillance, one opportunity to slip through the cracks.
And when that moment came, she'd run.
She'd run so far and so fast that even a dragon wouldn't be able to find her.
Even if it meant people she cared about would pay the price.
Even if it meant burning every bridge and losing everything.
Because anything—anything—was better than spending the rest of her life in a golden cage with a monster who looked at her like she was his whole world.
A monster who'd just given her the illusion of freedom while tightening the chains around her neck.
A monster who would kill without hesitation to keep her safe.
A monster who loved her in the most twisted, terrible way possible.
Scarlett touched her forehead where he'd kissed her. The skin still felt warm. Still tingled with the memory of his lips.
And she hated him.
Hate him more with every passing second.
Hated that he was giving her just enough hope to keep breathing. Just enough freedom to keep fighting. Just enough gentleness to make her question whether he was truly a monster or just a man who'd lost everything once and refused to lose it again.
But most of all, she hated that a tiny, traitorous part of her had felt safe when he'd held her hand. Had felt protected when he'd promised to burn the city for her.
Had felt almost... cherished.
She crushed that feeling ruthlessly.
There was no room for weakness. No space for sympathy. No possibility of understanding the dragon who'd trapped her.
There was only escape.She would find a way.
Even if it killed her.
.
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To be continued.