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They all wonder who’ll win this round.

Me. I fucking will.

“Twenty-five,” he says.

My lackey doesn’t blink. “Thirty million.”

Alessandro’s lips pinch. His hand goes to his waist, where he’d have his gun.

The one we keep in one of the safes at the door.

Ten of our guards, who line the walls, draw their weapons at Alessandro’s menacing gesture. He notices them. Raises his hands briefly and curses under his breath.

“Okay. Okay.” The vein in his temple throbs. He stands up. Walks over to Griffith, his hand outstretched in front of him. “ Bravo .”

Griffith, finally down from the high, wisely hesitates. “I—Thanks?”

“Yes. Thanks is the correct response.” At a complete one-eighty, Alessandro smiles. An honest-to-God smile. He slaps Griffith’s shoulder once. “Thanks is the answer, my friend. I might not have gotten what I came here for. The puttana …”

Slut.

Self-preservation wins over the blood-thirst boiling within me.

“But it was enjoyable.” Alessandro laughs first. Griffith, visibly relieved, joins him, but his laugh is more of a cough. “Thank you, friend, for the entertainment.”

They laugh some more. The rest of the crowd joins them.

Nothing about this scenario amuses me. Nothing about the need for revenge on her behalf makes sense to me, either.

It doesn’t matter.

She matters.

Or more like, satisfying the beast inside me matters.

Topher pulls Ophelia’s hands to her front and cuffs her. She growls at him, the wild animal I saw in her yesterday coming out. One of our staff stands in front of her, raising the black bag and pulling it down over her head.

Not a sound of protest comes out of her. Not the barest hint of revolt once the bag is in place.

I’d be intrigued if I hadn’t known her on a base level.

She’s planning to fight. When the time is right.

I’ll take immense pleasure in watching her do just that.

When she sees what I have planned for her, she’ll have no other choice.

Topher: Boardin. Goin 2 catch some Zzzzzzz. Talk when I wake up

Embarrassing. A twenty-one-year-old man drunk-texting his father.

I don’t hold it against him, though. It doesn’t even aggravate me as much as it has in the past.

I need to care in order to be pissed off.

Truth is, I don’t care about any of them.

The time the four of us spent backstage together was insufferable.

One glass of champagne after the other went down their throats. They blabbered about Topher’s flight to Ibiza. About Oliver and Camden’s father-and-son bonding trip to Amsterdam, then to who the hell remembers.

Listening to them had me nearly rolling my eyes.

They bored me half to death.

I didn’t want to be there.

Here.

Here is where I wanted to be.

Inside her cell. Watching Ophelia.

Alone.

Clara helped Griffith in getting her here. But not before I texted her that once the staff is back, should anyone, including her, mention to an outsider—yes, even Topher—about my new acquisition, they’re as good as dead. No questions asked. No mercy. Gone.

She agreed.

Now Ophelia is sitting on the harsh, cold floor. The bag is still placed over her head as was instructed. Her dress is crumpled. Her hands fidget as she tries to push them through the cuffs.

I think I can hear her cry.

My cock jerks in response to the beautiful sound. I step forward, almost brushing against the bars that separate us.

As my footsteps echo in the space right outside her cell, Ophelia lifts her head. “W-Who’s here?”

Me. Only me .

I stay silent for a few beats. Stretching out the torture.

And this is only the beginning of what lies ahead for her.

“I asked who’s there,” she murmurs, backing up on her ass to the wall. “I’ll remove the bag if you don’t say something. I’ll go against your orders if you don’t identify yourself. You can try to kill me, you fucker. I dare you to try.”

She’s adorable, talking through her tears. Threatening me.

“Just us.” I get in, locking both of us inside the cell. The gold key slides smoothly into my pocket.

“James?” She sits up straighter. There’s no relief in her eyes. In her squared shoulders.

Ophelia knows she should fear me.

I fucking love that.

“What are you doing here? They said—” Her voice cracks.

She clears her throat. “They said this is it. This is my new home. But it isn’t, right?

” I hear hope in her question. This feels like a good outcome for her.

She thinks she can manipulate me because I called her a good girl last night.

Wrong. “You’re taking me to the person who bought me? ”

“Sonnet.” Finally, now that we’re alone, I can call her that without looking over my shoulder. I rip the offensive bag off her head. I have to see her. “I’m the man who bought you.”

Her eyelashes flutter. One last tear trickles from the corner of her eye.

Her cheeks flush.

Then reality sinks in.

Her parted lips curve down into a scowl. She lifts her bound hands to her chest. “No. No one’s bought me. I’m my own person, you bastard.”

I want those lips wrapped around my cock. Want her tears and anger as she sucks me. When I fuck her throat so hard that she cries. When she swallows every drop of my cum.

It’s the only reason why I’m here, really.

The only one, other than punishing her.

My lungs burn. I realize that I’m not breathing. That I’m mad.

She’s managed to put me in a difficult position again.

This need. This longing.

It ends here.

I’m going to strip her of her power. For good.

“Yes.” I make a fist in her hair. Pull her up to her knees. I lean down until we’re face-to-face, watching her glistening eyes. I’ll have more of these tears. As many as I can coax out of her. “You and me. You’re my property. Bought and paid for.”

With funds from one of my off-shore shell companies, a piece of information I don’t and won’t share with her.

Her brow furrows. “Was Topher in on this?”

Out of every fucking thing she could’ve said, she’s had to bring up my son.

I was upset before. I’m fiercely jealous now.

How dare she ask that.

How dare she do that to me.

“Topher isn’t here.” Pushing her head to the side, I lean in to drag my tongue along her cheek. I savor the taste of her tears. “Doesn’t know you’re here, either. Other than the two people who brought you here, no one does.”

“Why did you do this?” She shivers at my touch, then steels herself when I pull her back to face me. “Why did you bid on me? You could’ve just set me free.”

“I didn’t bid on you. Bidding means I might’ve lost.” Her laden, terrified breaths turn me right the fuck on.

Instead of bending her over for a quick fuck that’d ruin the fun, I taste her other cheek.

Brush my lips over her ear. Marvel in her tremor.

“I do not lose. I bought you. I own you. You’ll do well to remember that. ”

“Am I going to die here?” Ophelia blinks furiously. She’s as upset as she’s worried, and these emotions rule her. These emotions cause tears to well in her eyes again. Her body responds to me, and it’s a beautiful thing. “Is that why you bought me? To kill me?”

The kind thing would be to tell the truth.

But I’m not a kind man.

“Maybe. Probably.” I use my thumb to rub a fresh tear off her cheek. Then another. “Don’t worry, though. There’ll be time for that later. After I’m done playing with you.”