Bound by Chains

Amara barely remembered the walk back home. The cold air did nothing to cool the fire raging beneath her skin, nor did the frantic pounding of her heart settle as she unlocked the door to her apartment and stepped inside.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, she sagged against it, breathless, shaking.

Everything still felt unreal.

Her fingers brushed against her lips, and a fresh wave of heat flooded through her. It had been hours since Rafael had kissed her, since he had touched her, since he had pushed her away like she was nothing—but her body hadn't forgotten. Her lips still tingled with the ghost of his kiss, her skin still burned where his hands had gripped her, and the space between her thighs throbbed with something raw and aching.

She shut her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, but all it did was summon the scent of him back into her mind—clean, rich, with a faint trace of something dark, something sinful. She had never been this affected by a kiss before, never felt this kind of heat wrap around her so tightly that she couldn't breathe.

And she hated it.

Hated that her body refused to listen to reason, that even now, in the silence of her apartment, she wanted him.

With trembling fingers, she set her bag down and walked toward the bathroom, needing something—anything—to cleanse herself of the madness coursing through her.

The warm glow of the vanity light cast a soft sheen over the mirror, and when Amara caught her reflection, she sucked in a sharp breath.

She looked different.

Her dark eyes were wide, filled with something untamed, her cheeks flushed with heat, her lips swollen and pink. Her hair was wild, slightly messy, like she had just been thoroughly kissed—no, ruined.

And she had been.

A frustrated sound slipped from her lips as she turned on the shower, stripping out of her clothes with urgency, as if shedding the layers would somehow strip Rafael from her skin.

But the moment she stepped under the hot spray of water, her body betrayed her.

The heat was too much, too close to what she had felt when Rafael had pressed against her, when his hands had roamed her body with restrained hunger. The water ran down her curves, trailing paths like fingers, and she squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip as an image of him slammed into her mind.

His hands on her hips.

His breath against her neck.

The way he had looked at her before devouring her like a man starved.

A quiet gasp left her throat.

No. No, she needed to stop this. She needed to erase him.

But she couldn't.

Even as she washed herself, her fingers moved over her skin, and it was too easy to imagine his touch instead—rough, possessive, urgent. Her legs trembled beneath her, and she braced herself against the cool tile wall, trying to chase away the sensations, trying to fight the pulse of need that refused to die.

She shouldn't want him.

She shouldn't need him.

But God help her—she did.

And that night, it only got worse.

Amara didn't realize when she had fallen asleep, but when the dream took hold, it was like she had been dragged into a world she couldn't escape.

It started in darkness—soft, consuming, laced with a heat that coiled low in her belly. She could feel him before she could see him, the presence of something strong, something inescapable.

And then he was there.

Rafael.

He stood behind her, his breath hot against her ear, his fingers ghosting down her bare arms, sending shivers racing through her.

"You're still running from me, Amara?" His voice was a low, dangerous purr.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her body going rigid as his hands slid lower, resting at her hips before pulling her back against his solid warmth.

She should have resisted. She should have fought him.

But she didn't.

Because he felt too good. Too right.

Her head tipped back against his shoulder as he dragged his lips down the side of her neck, slow, deliberate, setting her skin on fire.

"You've been thinking about me," he murmured against her throat. "Haven't you?"

She shuddered, gripping his arms, but she couldn't answer. Because it was true. And he knew it.

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Say it."

"I…" Her voice was breathy, broken. "I can't."

His teeth scraped against her skin, making her gasp. "Liar."

Then he spun her around, and the sight of him stole the breath from her lungs. His eyes were molten with hunger, his lips slightly parted, his chest rising and falling with restraint.

And then he kissed her.

Hard. Desperate. Like he needed to own every inch of her.

She moaned into his mouth, her body arching against his as his hands roamed lower, gripping her thighs, lifting her into his arms like she weighed nothing.

Heat exploded inside her as he walked her backward, pressing her against a cool surface—was it a wall? A door? She didn't know. She didn't care.

All she cared about was him.

The feel of his hands on her bare skin. The way his tongue tangled with hers, teasing, demanding. The way his body pressed against her, so hard, so powerful, making it impossible to ignore just how much he wanted her.

A low groan tore from his throat as he rocked into her, his fingers digging into her hips. "You feel like a dream," he murmured against her lips. "Like something I was never supposed to have."

Amara's breath hitched, and before she could respond, his lips were on her again—kissing, biting, worshipping.

The need coiling inside her became unbearable, and she clung to him, desperate, aching—

And then—

She woke up.

Gasping. Shaking. Drenched in sweat.

Amara's heart pounded violently in her chest, her skin flushed, her entire body pulsing with leftover desire.

For a long moment, she lay there, dazed, her breathing uneven as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

It had felt real. Too real.

Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her as shame curled in her stomach. What was happening to her? Why couldn't she escape him, even in sleep?

A deep, shuddering breath left her lips. She needed to get a grip. She needed to stop this.

Because if she didn't—

She wasn't sure she'd survive him.

Rafael barely made it through the door before exhaustion dragged at his limbs. His body ached, his mind tangled in thoughts he couldn't escape. The moment he stepped into his apartment, he felt it—the weight pressing down on him, the invisible leash wrapped tight around his throat.

His father's leash.

He had been raised on it, trained to obey, to follow, to never stray too far. And yet, he had. He had let himself wander, let himself fall into something that wasn't part of the plan.

Amara.

Her name stirred something deep in him, something that made his stomach tighten, his pulse hammer. He could still feel her—still taste her—like she had burned herself into his very skin. And yet, as much as he wanted to drown in her memory, a single vibration of his phone brought him back to reality.

He didn't need to check the screen. He already knew.

His father.

The moment Rafael picked up, he straightened, instinct kicking in before he could stop himself. "Yes?" His voice was controlled, careful—like a soldier waiting for orders.

"Is that how you greet me now?" The sharp voice sent a chill down Rafael's spine. "Where have you been? Ignoring my calls?"

"I was busy," Rafael answered, keeping his tone neutral, even though the words felt like an excuse tumbling from a child's lips.

"Busy," his father echoed, unimpressed. "Too busy for your own responsibilities? Too busy to remember your place?"

Rafael swallowed, guilt creeping into his chest like it always did. He had spent his entire life under this man's shadow, under his expectations, and yet, the moment he stepped out of line, it was as if he were nothing more than a disobedient dog being called to heel.

"If this is about the party—"

"Of course, this is about the party," his father cut in, his tone dropping into something eerily quiet. "Three days, Rafael. Three days until every important name in this city watches you. And what have you been doing instead of preparing? Chasing after some girl?"

Rafael tensed, but he said nothing.

"I raised you better than this," his father continued, disappointment dripping from every syllable. "I raised you to be more than some love-sick fool."

Rafael flinched at the words, his grip tightening around the glass in his hand. He hated how easily his father could make him feel small.

"Do you think I don't know?" his father said, voice deceptively calm. "Do you think I haven't been keeping watch?"

A pit formed in Rafael's stomach. Of course he had. His father knew everything.

"You've always been weak, Rafael," his father murmured, the words hitting harder than any shout. "Always too soft when it mattered. But I won't let you embarrass this family." A pause. "You will fix this."

Rafael's jaw locked, but his response was automatic. "Yes, sir."

It was muscle memory at this point. Instinct. The same response he had given since he was old enough to understand what was expected of him.

His father hummed, as if satisfied with Rafael's submission. "Good. Three days, Rafael. Don't disappoint me."

The call ended, and Rafael stood there, his entire body tight with frustration, with rage. But more than anything, with shame.

He had bowed so easily. Just like always.

He lifted the whiskey to his lips and took a deep swallow, but it did nothing to wash away the bitter taste in his mouth. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise—

He was still his father's obedient little puppet.

Amara barely slept that night.

Tossing and turning, her mind refused to quiet. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Felt him. The ghost of his touch lingered on her skin, her body betraying her with the way it still craved him. Shame curled in her stomach as she lay staring at the ceiling, the weight of what had happened pressing down on her.

When the first rays of dawn crept through her window, she gave up on sleep entirely. Her body ached from exhaustion, but she forced herself up, moving through her morning routine on autopilot. Coffee. Clothes. A half-hearted attempt at eating. Nothing helped clear the fog in her head.

By the time she arrived at the university, the weight in her chest had grown heavier. She needed to focus. Needed to bury what had happened and move on. But the moment she stepped into the corridor, a voice called out to her.

"Amara, wait!"

She turned to see the university administrator approaching, a tight expression on her face. "You need to come with me."

Amara's stomach twisted. "What is this about?"

"Your tuition fees."

Cold fear gripped her. "I—I already spoke with the finance office. They said I had time—"

"You have three days," the woman cut in, her voice void of sympathy. "If the payment isn't made, you will be removed from the system."

Amara's legs went weak. "Three days? Please, I just need more time. I can get the money—"

"I'm sorry," the administrator's voice softened slightly. "But there's nothing I can do. The deadline is final."

Amara felt like the ground had been ripped from beneath her. "Please," she whispered, her throat tight. "I can't—" Her voice broke. "I can't lose this."

The administrator hesitated, looking at her with something that almost resembled pity. "If you can gather the money within three days, you can stay. But after that…" She didn't need to finish the sentence.

Amara nodded numbly, her pulse roaring in her ears as she stumbled out of the office. The hallway blurred around her as panic clawed at her chest.

Three days.

She had three days to come up with money she didn't have.

And if she couldn't—

She would lose everything.