Naomi's POV
The sound of the lock turning had become my new dinner bell. Xavier entered carrying a tray, the smell of food making my stomach roll. He placed it on the nightstand without a word and disappeared into the bathroom. I soon heard the sound of the shower, the steady drumming of water a terrifying soundtrack to my evening.
I was so nauseous I could barely look at the plate of pasta and garlic bread. But his threat from this afternoon was burned into my brain. Eat. Or else. So I ate. I forced down every forkful, the delicious flavors tasting like dust and regret in my mouth.
All I could think about was his words from earlier. "Tomorrow the real training will start." What in the world did that even mean? What was he going to do to me? The freaking possibilities were endless and all of them were horrifying. Was he going to make me learn to kneel for hours? Polish his stupid shoes with my tongue? My mind ran through one awful scenario after another until I thought I would be sick.
When he emerged from the bathroom, my traitorous eyes went right to him, just like they had before. The towel was wrapped low around his waist, and my gaze snagged on the tattoos again, especially that tiny baby footprint. What did it mean? Why did he have it?
But I didn't have time to wonder. He crossed the room in three long strides. I flinched, expecting another blow or another cruel command. Instead, he produced a small key from the nightstand right beside me, a key I hadn't realised was there, and, with a soft click, uncuffed my wrist from the headboard. Before I could even rub the raw skin, he grabbed me, his grip like iron, and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
A sharp cry of pain escaped me as the movement jolted every bruised and aching part of my body. He carried me into the steamy bathroom and gently, surprisingly gently, set me down into the tub.
It was full of hot water and mountains of lavender-scented bubbles. The heat was a shock at first, but then it seeped into my bones, and the scent filled my lungs. All my aching muscles immediately began to relax, the pain washing away under the warm water. I felt weightless, and for a single, fleeting moment, I felt good. So incredibly good.
He stood there for a moment, just looking at me, his expression completely unreadable. Then he turned around. "Wash up," he said, his voice flat. "Call me when you're done." And with that, he walked out, closing the door behind him and leaving me in a state of utter, baffled confusion.
The water was starting to cool, the lavender scent fading into the damp air. I felt cleaner than I had since last night, but a new kind of dread settled in my stomach. I had to call him back in here. I took a deep, shaky breath.
"Xav..." The name was a whisper on my lips, a habit I hadn't even realized I was forming. But I caught myself, my heart lurching into my throat. I was never permitted to call him by his name. The memory of his cold fury was a sharp slap. "Sir!" I called out, my voice louder and more strained than I intended.
The door opened almost instantly. Xavier stood there, wearing a pair of soft-looking gray and black plaid pajama pants and a plain black shirt that stretched tight around his muscled chest and shoulders. He didn't say a word, just walked over, grabbed a fluffy white towel from the warmer, and wrapped it securely around me.
Then, in a move that completely short-circuited my brain, he picked me up. His arms were strong and sure, but his hold was surprisingly gentle, as if I were a child made of glass. He placed me on the cool marble of the bathroom sink counter. He took another, smaller towel and began to dry me, his movements careful and methodical, wiping the water from my arms and legs with a tenderness that felt completely wrong. It was the way you would care for an injured lover, not a prisoner you had brutalized.
I stared at him, my mind a complete blank. I couldn't reconcile this gentle man with the monster from the forest. A wave of something dangerously close to awe and admiration washed over me, and I hated myself for it. No, Naomi. Stop it, I screamed in my head, pushing the treacherous thoughts away.
As soon as I was dry, the gentleness vanished. He picked me up again, this time throwing me over his shoulder with the same easy disregard as before. He carried me back into the bedroom. My eyes darted around the room. The bed was made with fresh, clean black sheets. The tray from dinner was gone, but, I remained silent.
He placed me on the bed and cuffed my wrist back to the headboard. The click was a familiar, terrifying sound. He took the key and slipped it into his pajama pocket. Then he leaned forward, his face looming over mine, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath.
He claimed my lips in a hard, brutal kiss. It wasn't about passion; it was about punishment. His tongue forced its way into my mouth, dominating and claiming. He bit my lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The taste filled my mouth, and tears stung my eyes as a pained whimper escaped my throat.
When he finally pulled back, he was smirking, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement as he stared at my shocked, tear-streaked face. "What, you didn't forget my rules, did you?" he said, his voice a low, mocking rasp.
Without waiting for an answer, he walked around the bed and climbed in beside me, turning his back to me and leaving me chained, lip bleeding, and more terrified than ever.
**
Xavier's POV
My eyes snapped open, but the world remained pitch black. For a disorienting second, I thought I was still in the middle of the night, but the clock on the nightstand, its red numbers cutting through the gloom, read 9:07 AM.
Nine. Fucking. A.M.
A cold knot of confusion formed in my gut. I slept through the whole night. Not just one or two broken hours, but a solid, uninterrupted block of sleep. I couldn't remember the last time that had happened. My mind was usually a battlefield, too wired to shut down for more than an hour, max, unless I was knocked out on heavy sedatives.
Did she have that effect on me? The thought was so fucking irritating it made my jaw clench. This small, terrified girl… she had managed to do what endless nights of planning, of looking over my shoulder, of facing down my enemies, could never do. It was unsettling. A weakness I hadn't accounted for.
That's when I felt it. A weight on my chest, warm and solid. My entire body went rigid, my hand instinctively moving before I remembered there was no gun under my pillow. It wasn't a threat. It was her.
At some point during the night, I'd shifted. I was no longer on my side, facing away, but flat on my back. And Naomi, still cuffed to the headboard, had shifted with me. Her head was nestled in the crook of my shoulder, her soft hair tickling my chin. Her breath was a warm, even puff against my neck. And her leg… her fucking leg was thrown over mine, her thigh pressed right up against my groin.
The soft, warm weight of her body, the innocent trust in her sleeping posture, the scent of lavender still clinging to her skin—it all hit me at once. A jolt shot straight to my dick, and I was instantly, painfully hard. My cock strained against the fabric of my pajama pants, a fucking traitor to the rage and confusion swirling in my head.
Goddammit. I wanted to shove her off, to re-establish the brutal distance between us. But my body, the primal, possessive part of me, liked the feel of her there. Liked having her softness pressed against my hardness, a clear, physical reminder of who was in charge. I was lying there in the pitch-black room, chained to this girl by my own unwanted arousal, and I was fucking furious.
**
The oppressive darkness of the room was complete, the thick, heavy curtains blocking out any hint of the morning sun. Xavier was already a stark figure of authority, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that seemed to absorb the dim light. He moved with a quiet efficiency, uncuffing Naomi's wrist from the headboard. The soft click of the lock releasing was the only sound.
"Wake up," he commanded, his voice devoid of any gentleness. He gave her shoulder a firm shake.
Naomi's eyes fluttered open, confusion and fear warring in their depths. Before she could fully register her surroundings, a piece of black fabric was tossed onto the bed beside her.
"Go shower and get dressed," Xavier said, his back already to her as he faced the full-length mirror, his hands expertly adjusting his tie. "We're heading out."
The cold dismissal in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. Naomi scrambled off the bed, and fled into the bathroom. She stood under the hot spray of the shower, her hands trembling so badly she could barely wash the soap from her hair. Every sound, made her jump.
When she returned, a towel wrapped securely around her, she found the dress laid out on the bed like a waiting predator. Beside it was a set of black lace bra and panties, delicate and intimidating. The dress itself was a weapon of seduction she had never asked for.
It was long and sleek, made of a clinging fabric that moved like liquid shadow. A thigh-high slit was cut up one side, a strategic slash of fabric designed to expose the smooth, cream-colored expanse of her leg with every step. The neckline was daringly low, cut just enough to enhance and expose the soft curve of her cleavage.
On the floor at the foot of the bed sat a pair of shoes: three-inch black stilettos with the signature flash of red on the soles. With a sense of dread, she put on the underwear, then the dress, and finally, the impossibly high heels that forced her to stand straight, altering her posture into one of reluctant display.
As soon as she was ready, Xavier was there. He grabbed her arm, his grip tight, but precise enough not to leave new bruises. He guided her out of his room and down the hall, stopping in front of a familiar door. Her bedroom. The abandoned blue kingdom.
He led her inside and straight into the walk-in closet, which was still filled with her own clothes. "Do your makeup," he instructed. "Get ready." For a fleeting moment, a thought surfaced in Xavier's mind, unbidden and irritating: She doesn't need any of it. He pushed it aside.
Fifteen minutes later, Naomi emerged from the closet, her face lightly made up, her eyes wide with nervous apprehension. Xavier was sitting on the edge of her bed, scrolling through his phone with an air of impatience. He looked up, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe, his expression completely blank and unreadable.
He stood up and walked a slow, deliberate circle around her, his gaze assessing every detail. He stopped directly behind her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
She flinched when she felt his hands near her neck, but he didn't touch her skin. Instead, he produced a stunning diamond necklace from his pocket. The cool, heavy stones settled against her collarbone as he fastened the clasp. His fingers lingered against her nape for a moment, a touch that was both possessive and strangely intimate, sending a shiver of fear and something else she refused to name down her spine.
He pulled back as if nothing had happened. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the room, his confident stride assuming she would follow. And, chained to his will, she did.