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She’s Mine Now

Hypothetical Question: If you could live in one of your worst nightmares for a year, but with a twist: everything’s a game show, what would the prize be at the end?

Carina

“Naomi!” my father’s voice bellows from downstairs, sharp and impatient. “Come down here. Quickly.”

The sound of his command yanks me upright in bed, my heart hammering before I even process what’s happening. My body trembles as dread coils tight in my stomach. What does he want now?

For the past week, I’ve forced myself to appear compliant, adopting an outward calm that hides the storm raging inside me. Every moment I’m not under his watchful eye, I curse his name and dream of the day I’ll find my opening—the day I’ll finally kill him. The day I'll slit his throat and watch him choke on his blood.

I glance down at the silk pyjamas I’ve been given. They’re luxurious but thin, almost indecent. I know he’ll punish me for showing up underdressed, but lateness will bring harsher consequences. His hatred for tardiness is well-known, and I have no intention of provoking his wrath further.

Grabbing a silk dressing gown from the chair beside me, I hastily tie it around my waist. The fabric barely covers me, the hem grazing the tops of my thighs. It’s more ornamental than practical, but it’ll have to do.

I leave the room, forcing my feet to move down the stairs, each step dragging like lead. The house is too quiet. The kind of quiet that warns of something waiting.

At the base of the stairs, I stop. Not by choice. By instinct.

My father isn't alone.

Standing beside him is a man—a stranger whose predatory gaze rakes over me the moment I appear.

His eyes are dark, filled with a hunger that sends a shiver down my spine.

He isn’t unattractive, but that only makes it worse. He’s older, somewhere in my father’s age range, with salt-and-pepper hair styled to perfection and a neatly trimmed beard that lends him an air of sophistication. His build is solid, muscular even, like a man who takes pride in maintaining control—over himself, over others.

And right now, his focus is entirely on me.

The two of them stand just inside the entrance hall, the large wooden front door behind them mocking me with it's pointless existence.

“This is Lucian Moretti,” my father says, his voice oozing with pride as though presenting a prized possession. “Lucian, this is my daughter, Naomi.”

The name makes my skin crawl. It is not my name. It is the name he gave me.

Lucian’s lips curl into a smooth smile, and he steps forward slightly, extending a hand toward me. “Naomi,” he greets, his voice low and rich with an Italian accent that would be charming if it didn’t drip with menace. His eyes glint in the sunlight spilling in through the stain-glassed windows by the door.

I stand rooted to the spot, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. I don’t take his hand. I don’t move. My defiance is small, but it’s mine.

“Lucian is the founder of a highly successful cybersecurity firm,” my father continues, the false pride in his voice grating on my nerves. “His company is at the forefront of the industry.”

I glare at him, my defiance flaring hotter. “Why should I care?” The words leave my mouth sharper than intended, but I don’t regret them.

Not at first.

The room turns deadly quiet. My father’s reaction is immediate. His face twists with fury, and he closes the distance between us in an instant, his hand raised to strike.

“Do not take that tone with me,” he snarls, his voice low and venomous.

I brace myself for the blow, but it doesn’t come.

Lucian steps forward, his hand clamping down firmly on my father’s shoulder. “Dominic,” he says, his voice calm but commanding. “Do not strike my future wife.”

The words hit me like a blow. My breath catches, and I stare at Lucian, my heart lurching. Wife?

My father freezes, his hand lowering immediately as he shifts into a sickening display of contrition. “Apologies, Lucian,” he says, his tone suddenly smooth, the anger vanishing from his face as though it was never there. “I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”

Lucian doesn’t respond right away. His gaze locks onto mine, assessing, calculating, and something about the intensity in his eyes makes me want to shrink away. But I hold my ground, refusing to let him see my fear.

“Good,” Lucian finally says, his lips curling into a faint smile. He turns back to my father. “I expect her to be treated with care.” Lucian winks at me. “She’s mine now.”

Three words from Lucian change everything.