A Touch Meant to Control

Anika's breath hitched as the door to the study slammed shut behind her.

Rai stood at the far end of the room, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that showed only darkness. His back was to her, one hand curled into a fist.

She could feel the storm in the silence.

"You defied me," he said.

His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.

"She insulted me," Anika replied, keeping her chin high.

He turned slowly, his black eyes unreadable.

"You don't understand the world you're in. You think you can act like a normal girl, speak like you still have choices. You don't."

He took a step toward her.

Then another.

She backed up instinctively, but the polished oak bookshelf halted her retreat.

"You don't own me," she said, her voice tight.

Rai stopped just inches from her. Close enough that she could see the faint scar on his jaw, the cold calculation in his gaze. His hand rose—slow, deliberate—and touched her chin.

Not gently.

Not cruelly.

Just… firmly. Possessively.

"I do own you," he whispered. "Every breath you take in this mansion is because I allow it."

Anika tried to turn her face, but his fingers tightened.

"Why me?" she asked for the second time. "Why this?"

His eyes flicked to her lips. Then back to her eyes.

"Because you were clean. Untouched by this world. I needed a lie wrapped in white silk."

"So I'm your lie," she said bitterly.

"You're my leverage."

His other hand pressed beside her head, caging her in.

"But you're also something else now," he murmured.

Her heartbeat skittered. She could feel the tension vibrating off him—control barely held, heat tightly leashed.

She hated the way her body noticed him.

His gaze dropped to her throat, where the black rose pendant now hung. His voice lowered.

"You wear my mark. You live in my house. You sleep under my roof."

His breath brushed her ear.

"You're mine, Anika."

She shoved him.

Hard.

"Don't touch me like that again."

His head tilted slightly—amused, but also… intrigued?

"Feisty little flower," he murmured. "I wonder how long you'll keep that spark."

"Longer than you think," she snapped.

Rai stepped back at last, smoothing his jacket like nothing had happened.

"You're not here to fight me. You're here to survive me."

Then, just before walking out, he added:

"And you'd better start learning the difference."

That night, Anika sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the rose-shaped bruise blooming just below her jaw.

Not from pain.

From pressure.

From control.

She didn't cry.

Not anymore.

But she did wonder… how many more touches like that she could take before she broke.