CHAPTER 5: THE REAL WH@RE WALKS IN

ZARIAH'S POV

The sheets still smell like him, so much of him that it clings to my skin like a second dress I'll never wash it off. 

... Not that I'm trying though, I'm still lying in his bed, tangled in a black silk robe that barely covers me.

And my thighs are sore from how many times he made me scream his name—or rather, scream sir after I'd dared him again for calling me his possession.

Alaric Benedetti.

The man is dangerous, no---- he's destruction dressed in designer black, and I'm the idiot who has no choice but to stay with him.

I don't trust him, I can't, but my body has already made a fool of me.

I glance at the gold rimmed clock on the wall and it says 2:17 p.m. 

I sigh, I haven't slept, and I haven't eaten but I don't want to go downstairs yet.

I pull the robe tighter around me and step out onto the balcony, gasping when I see that this... estate stretches for acres and worse it's guarded at every corner. 

Worried, I trail my fingers down to the sore spot on my lower back and flinch, withdrawing my hand immediately.

The ink still stings so even when I don't touch it, every time I move, I feel it and it reminds me of what I agreed to last night----- Stay and be his, or be returned to Luc

I sigh and flick my thumbs together, thinking about it; it's not like it was a real choice anyway.

Suddenly I hear footsteps behind me but I don't turn.

"Are you still watching the trees, or are you waiting for someone to come rescue you?" 

His voice is deep, and he even sounds amused so I huff.

"I was hoping for a sunrise, but I guess estate cages doesn't shine."

He chuckles, "You're poetic when you're trapped."

"I'm always trapped, it just depends on the size of the cage."

When I say this, I bite my lip for talking too much and then finally turn to face him.

He's dressed to kill— literally--- wearing an all black suit with no tie and the first two buttons open and showing off the ink that snakes over his collarbone. 

He walks up behind me, and grazes my exposed collarbone with his fingers.

"You look like sin in silk," he murmurs.

"You look like sin in everything," I throw back, even though I've only seen him in what?---- three outfits?

He smiles slowly, and then I hear the sound of heels from down the marble hallway outside the room door before I even register the voice.

"Oh. You've got company."

Alaric turns slightly, not changing his expression for even a bit while I, on the other hand, instinctively pull the robe I'm wearing tighter tighter against my body, step back, and brace myself.

... And that's because the woman that walks into the bedroom right now looks like she's been plucked straight out of Vogue.

She's tall, blonde with legs that run for miles on end, and a light blue designer dress that hugs her... obviously surgically enhanced curves.

She stops when she sees me and narrows her eyes they move from my face to my body, and finally to Alaric's hand that's now resting possessively on my hip.

"Oh. This is what you've downgraded to?"

I raise an eyebrow---- I hate being insulted, "You must be the cleaning staff; you missed a spot."

Her face snaps toward me immediately, "Excuse me?"

However Alaric cuts in, interrupting our little exchange.

"Isolde. Leave."

So that's her name.

"Oh, no," she says, but her eyes are still on me----- I guess she also hates getting insulted; serves her right.

"We're not done."

"Yes," he says, "We are."

Isolde gives him a light shake of her head, and takes two steps forward to him.

"She's a street rat, Alaric--- obviously with her unpolished skin---- and you've been slumming it?"

It? I almost scoff right there and then.

She's not even calling me a person and yet she's the one with unproportional hips.

"She's the only one who didn't beg to be fucked," Alaric says suddenly and Isolde blinks in shock---- I do too.

Then he pulls his arm from my hips and walks towards Isolde who suddenly looks startled and backs away.

It makes me wonder how exactly he's looking at her but I can't see it because he's facing her now, not me.

"This is my home. You weren't invited and you don't speak to her like that again."

Blinking, Isolde turns her face to the side and hisses.

"She's nothing."

"She's mine; that makes her everything."

I should feel smug right now at his words and most especially at the look on her face as she walks away, but I'm not.

Because I realise something I didn't expect----- I'm jealous.

... and I hate it.

---

An hour passes after that and I'm sitting curled up on the bed, pretending to read a pamphlet I found when I'm really just replaying that entire showdown of earlier in my head.

Why did it matter that he defended me?

And why does the thought of him touching that Isolde make my stomach twist badly?

He's not my man, I'm just the woman wearing his mark but even so…

I can't stop remembering the way he looked at me---- like... 

My thoughts are interrupted when the door opens and Alaric steps in with a phone in hand and his expression completely unreadable.

"Is... everything okay?" I ask cautiously but he doesn't reply and just tosses the phone onto the bed beside me.

I pick it up and notice that there's a black video playing silently and so I press 'unmute'.

But then the black background on the recording screen is pulled off, showing Luc and my blood literally runs cold.

He's sitting on a red leather chair with one hand stroking a gun lazily and behind him is a wall lined up with several photos.

My photos---- Old ones, new ones and even some I didn't even know when they were taken.

> "Alaric Benedetti. I hear congratulations are in order. I didn't expect you to find her so soon… but here we are," Luc says and lifts a glass from the side table beside him.

> "To stolen brides and tattooed sluts."

Luc in the video then leans forward.

> "You have something of mine,... or someone."

Then he smirks and leans back.

> "Return my bride, or watch her die. You've got forty-eight hours."

And then the video cuts off.

Suddenly the room feels like it's caving in on me and my hands start to shake.

Alaric picks up the phone from my shaky hands and slides it into his pocket, then grips my chin, making me look up at him; 

... And his eyes are darker than I've ever seen them.

"War's here," he says quietly.

"For to have been engaged to someone in the cartel business, you should know what that means."

I whimper---- yes I do--- but I don't answer him; it wasn't a question he was asking anyway.

But then his next words make me gasp.

"I'll give you one last time to choose a side, Zariah."