Page 15 of Sold to the Nalgar (Stolen From Earth #3)

T hey passed through door after door.

There were at least a dozen of them, each one heavier and more intricate than the last. The first were simple slabs of stone that hissed open at his approach.

But they quickly gave way to doors of gleaming bronze, etched with strange, angular symbols.

She didn’t recognize any of it, but it was obvious: they meant something. Authority. Territory. Power.

The walls changed, too, from rough stone to polished metal streaked with dark, gleaming veins. Light shifted subtly as they walked, growing warmer and deeper, like they were stepping into the heart of something sacred.

Or dangerous.

Then the final door opened, and they stepped inside.

Cecilia blinked, startled.

They were in a room. No, not a room.

These were living quarters. Personal. Private.

His.

Tall arched windows lined one wall, framed by thick velvet drapes that spilled onto the floor in deep hues of black and purple.

The floors were made of dark stone, polished to a sheen; the air inside was noticeably warmer than that of the hallways.

There were no lights she could see, but the room glowed with ambient illumination, pulsing low and gold along the seams of the ceiling and floor.

The walls were decorated in places—more of those sigils etched into metal, subtle but deliberate. Symbols of rank? Clan? She didn’t know.

And then, there was the bed.

Large and monolithic, it was built into a raised stone platform, adorned with velvet throws and strange, silk-like sheets of black and silver. It looked far too luxurious for someone who wore armor like a second skin.

She didn’t have time to consider much more.

He carried her straight to it and deposited her with unsettling gentleness, lowering her like she was breakable, his gauntlets cool against her waist and the bend of her knees. And then, he stepped back.

And stared.

Just stood there, silent, still, watching her with the full weight of his presence pressing down on the room.

Cecilia sat where he placed her, tense and upright, trying to pretend she wasn’t shaking inside. The robe pooled around her thighs. She clutched the fabric tighter around herself, keenly aware of her nakedness beneath it.

She looked up, forcing herself to meet the dark void of his helm.

Still no expression. No sound.

He said nothing.

Just… studied her.

As if she were something new. Something he’d never seen before.

A curiosity.

Or a prize.

Her heart beat like a drum in her chest, her breath shallow in her throat.

She hated the way she felt: exposed, cornered, stripped of every ounce of power.

But more than that…

She hated that some part of her—the same part that understood strategy and courtroom performance—told her to stay still. To let him look. To observe him in turn.

Because she was in enemy territory now.

He lifted a hand.

Just that: no words, no sound. But the gesture was unmistakable.

Stay.

Cecilia froze, pulse thudding at the base of her throat.

The command carried no threat. He didn’t point a weapon at her, didn’t touch the collar, or inflict pain. He didn’t need to. The way he moved, the weight of his presence... it told her everything. He was used to being obeyed.

And she wasn’t stupid.

So she stayed.

Then, without another look, he turned and crossed the room. A panel in the wall hissed open at his approach, revealing a darker chamber beyond. He vanished inside, the door sliding silently shut behind him.

Leaving her alone.

The bed was disarmingly soft beneath her, a cruel contrast to the nightmare still tightening around her like a vise. The robe clung to her skin, the collar heavy around her neck, a constant reminder of what she was now.

She looked around slowly.

This wasn’t a prison cell. Not anymore.

It was a bedchamber. Ornate, brutal, intimidating. Purple velvet and black silk. Cold stone and warm light. Alien and strange—but not ugly.

Still, she didn’t relax.

She couldn’t.

The opulence didn’t comfort her. It unnerved her. Every inch of this place whispered possession. Dominance.

She wasn’t a guest.

She was being kept .

Cecilia pulled her knees up slightly, keeping the robe drawn tight across her body. Her mind whirled with questions she couldn’t answer. Who was he, really ? What did he want? Why her?

And what would he do next?

She stared at the sealed door, heart pounding.

Waiting.