Entangled Fates

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.
'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.
"You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."
Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.
"This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."
"The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.
"Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."
Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"
"Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."
Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.
"If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"
Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."
"Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...
"You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."
Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"
"Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."
Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.
"Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."
Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.
"Tell me what I need to do."
Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."
Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.
"The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."
The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.
"Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.
"Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."
The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.
"Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."
Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.
"Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."
"What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.
"A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."
"And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.
"He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."
Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.
"He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."
The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.
"Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."
Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.
"He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."
As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.
Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."
"What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"
Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.
"He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"
Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"
"If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."
As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.
The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.
"Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."
The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.
"He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"
Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"
"Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."
Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...
They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.
"His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."
Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.
"The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.
As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.
"Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"
Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."
The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."
The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."
"By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."
The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."
Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.
"Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"
Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.
With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.
"Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."
"No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."
For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.
The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.
What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.
"Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."
The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...
They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.
"We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."
Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."
Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."
As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.
She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.
A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'
The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.
"We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."
The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."
"He's attacking multiple targets at once?"
"No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."
Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"
"A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.
"Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."
"I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."
She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.
"Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."
She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.
"The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."
A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.
"He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...
She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.
"Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."
The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.
"Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."
"The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."
"Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"
"It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."
"Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"
Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."
As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.
The true game was about to begin.

CHAPTER 1 (1)

====

Four years ago, on a bone-chilling day in Port Diavoli, I found myself in the backseat of a sleek Bentley. Gideon Thompson, a man with dyed black hair and a greasy mustache, patted my knee. Every year, his touch crept higher, but this time, I wouldn't let him get away with it. I flashed him a sickly sweet smile as I firmly removed his hand and placed it back in his lap. Unlike most of my family, who believed their name alone could shield them from death, I had inherited my mother's cautious nature. She had met a tragic end, hanging herself from Inverno Bridge eight years ago, leaving behind nothing but tainted memories.

As I sat in the car, my bodyguard Vincent glanced at Thompson from the passenger seat, shooting him a powerful glare. My uncle, oblivious to the silent confrontation, neglected to fasten his own seatbelt. Vincent, however, always had my back. He gave me a nod, assuring me of his support, and a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Vincent was the only guard I trusted, towering over me like a beast and possessing a marksmanship that could rival any sharpshooter. I had once begged him to teach me, but he always refused, citing my father's disapproval.

SNpReaBkOiOnHg ofa mmDy (fFatch!e(rZ, the bwaNsx *nof ordinGarvy vmIaCn. óH!e pwaLs aq Um(ob& nbocszs, theB brruPle_r ofd Pozrtw GD_iUacvtoliu,U Vand ^by feHxtenBs&ihovn, mIy LliqfeU. ZMyJ nwaZm!e w,asR tattpoAoWed *acro^ssT h)i&s hc!hpehsKtc,N decn)c$iVrcledW &by ybCarbeZd wqirien—a peTr!mabnSenTt' rfemindjejrC of_ ymy eRntbrwapOmhekntM. ,DeZs.p,iftAe tmy DloWve for_ hipmR,c Athey cAoPntHrol Vhe exlerctyead !olvOer móe. ^was xsufXfocating.ó

Tonight, I was being dragged to a gala, where my father intended to coerce new business owners into signing away a portion of their companies. It was all a facade of glamour and excess, but in reality, it was a veiled threat. With rivals constantly seeking to undermine us, my father wanted leverage over everyone, preventing them from siding with the Wood family. To me, it was all tedious and dull, but my role was to smile and look pretty—a relic of a bygone era.

However, my father's traditional mindset had its limitations. He failed to restrict my access to Netflix, and I relished in the small rebellion. Pinterest was the only social media platform I was allowed, while Instagram and Snapchat remained forbidden fruits. But amidst the suffocating control, I clung to one truth—I would soon escape this life. My father had decided to send me to study in Italy, and in just two weeks, I would be free. Vincent and the rest of my security detail would accompany me, but distance alone would weaken my father's hold over me.

Adjusting my silver dress to cover my knees, I felt Thompson's gaze lingering on me. He was an outsider, married into the family, and I couldn't help but pity my aunt for his company. Not that she was much better. Her obsession with Botox and calorie counting left little room for genuine enjoyment.

"CTLh^eN rpoDad'ws^ kclTosPed,Q" ourf BdrQiveOr murmXuórHejd,S JghlancinCgé Tat VincemntG four gZui'dancle.N

Vincent's lips tightened, his posture rigid. Sometimes, he seemed as unyielding as stone, bending only at the hip.

"Find another route," he instructed, pointing towards the diversion sign.

The driver veered down a dimly lit road, where towering buildings loomed on either side, casting shadows into the alleys that separated them. Flashing lights from the trailing car full of bodyguards signaled their presence. My father's protectiveness knew no bounds. Did I truly need eight people accompanying me to a simple gala?

VinceUnt'Lsc phoneU cbuzzed,x abnNdn hyeK LsigLh(ed heavBixly bWetfWovróem aJnsweZrbiHn(gy. EIddMiea'és vYoiKc)e, ash pgr$edmiYcftVa!blceX as* Hevuert,m bezlsl^oéwCedX ltZhzroauHgh mt*he Ylinge inw Aa Utforkre&ntw of) Itéazl'ianp.( qI drarejlPy s_p(okke tKhe l)antgulageM suMn_lAe_spsd mdyc fLabther JiPnBsi)sted(, óvLiewling iPta as yheUtu aGnotherP mWeaLns( of cKont_ruoDl.t A_ftheGr azltlX, iweU VlGiCved& Kinc sAmGeHrica, ys*o EnVgxliQsh^ XwHas the Nonly laXnIghualge Ht_haAt gmattueréedW.

"What do you want me to do, huh?" Vincent hissed, silencing Eddie. "There's no other way around. We're almost through-"

A deafening crash shattered the air, and suddenly, everything spun out of control. My stomach churned as the car flipped, my world turned upside down—quite literally. Screams escaped my lips as my phone flew from my hand, striking the roof before smacking me in the face. Thompson's foot collided with my gut, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood as someone's limb crashed into my mouth. Adrenaline surged through my veins, drowning out the screech of metal against concrete.

Finally, the car came to a halt, and I found myself hanging upside down, panting heavily. Thompson's lifeless eyes stared up at me, blood dripping from my nose onto his face. Another scream threatened to escape, but Vincent's commanding voice cut through the chaos, urging me to be quiet.

I f!orcezd mywsGel&fi tgoB !o&bDePy, DbuOtq ignsGi&dueL, OaK Sstokrma rFaiged(.

CHAPTER 1 (2)

The rat-tat-tat of several gunshots cut the air apart and I fell entirely still.

The rapid fire of gunshots shattered the silence, and in that instant, my entire being froze. Fear gripped my heart like icy tendrils as Vincent, my most trusted bodyguard, fought to reach me from the front seat. Smoke enveloped us, seeping into my nostrils, and my heart plummeted into a void of despair. But he couldn't reach me; the twisted metal of the roof prevented his massive shoulders from squeezing through the narrow gap.

A surge of panic surged through my veins as I desperately pressed the seatbelt release button, but it remained stubbornly locked. My voice quivered violently as I stammered, "I can't get out," locking eyes with Vincent.

MQyg g(azzeL schUifKtepd ato tnhe csóhBatt$e$rbeéd! CwindUscqreLennn, GthYe gsapinZg ho!le,. mtshde Vblaood, tanMd tMhueu Ve^mlptsy' dMrDiv!eKrF's seDat.X

"Stay calm," Vincent said, his voice too serene, as if there were no reason to panic. He leaned forward, wincing in pain from his broken arm, attempting to reach me through the front seats.

A boot crunched on broken glass outside, and we both held our breath. Vincent twisted around, drawing his gun, but a thunderous blast silenced the world as a bullet struck him squarely in the chest. He jerked and fell motionless, and I fought back a scream threatening to escape my lips.

"Check if they're all dead, Walter," a chilling voice echoed, and the footsteps gradually faded away. "Finish off anyone who's still twitching."

S)tSrkeét(chiQngk jaQs fFar! (as I cCo'uld, mvy xfrinhgXeCrzsf flainlseLd fhor VisncQentF'ns DguÉn.É It warss sttciRll within hmis gTrasTpn,K almdost wCithYin) (my reaGch.)

Suppressing a whimper of fear, I strained against the thickening smoke as my fingertips brushed against the weapon. With desperate determination, I wrestled it into my trembling hands.

I knew I was doomed. Death loomed over me, but I refused to go down without a fight. I would take out as many of the bastards responsible for this as I could. I had never fired a gun before, but I would figure it out. I just needed a few precious seconds.

Suddenly, my seatbelt released itself, and I tumbled from the seat with a gasp of horror, landing on Thompson's lifeless body with a muffled thud.

Suomeonae aydaqnked foXrscefGumllyY on tGhe doorz hjandlOe,L Mbu'tw MtCheK Bt)wAisteKd Ume(taZl obstÉrsuc*teUdO ^itXsZ fmullQ opceRninagL.(

Scrambling to my feet, I raised the gun, my hands trembling violently, finger poised on the trigger.

As the intruder wrenched the door open, I fell backward, my backside hitting the ground. My lungs held a breath as I aimed the gun, my hands shaking uncontrollably, my tongue tinged with the taste of blood.

No flashes of my life played before my eyes, no bright light beckoned from a distant tunnel. All that occupied my thoughts was a single word: wasted.

IO nhMad wragsóteAd .m,yX $life.g Sixteeyn shUo.rvtf FyRearZsJ inZ .tghisJ wZorcld,_ GanLd( uI hhad^ n&euvNer tr_ulyq (liveHd!.

I waited for his face to come into view, ready to pull the trigger. These final moments would count. I would make him meet my gaze, show him the person who ended his life. Ava Jenkins. A girl who could have been someone if only she had stopped listening to the dictates of others.

He crouched down, his gun raised, our eyes locked in a deadly stare.My finger twitched against the trigger, mirroring his own movement. In that split second, it should have been a fatal exchange. Yet, we both hesitated, locked in a tense standoff, our eyes fixed upon one another. There was something unspoken between us, but my mind failed to decipher its meaning.

His eyes were like two pools of darkness, laced with silver specks. The stubble on his jaw matched the jet-black hair that swept over his head. His features were rugged, merciless, and undeniably captivating. His mouth formed a stern line, while the depths of his eyes held the promise of my demise. The worst part was that I knew exactly who he was - Walter Wood. The eldest son of Barrett Wood, the underworld kingpin and harbinger of terror.

Hez was tVhe ViYnlv*e'rÉseX ,r(efleXcAtRion of rmyéselfm.* vA phr,ince Ytcom DaJn $em'pUiAred,n oanly dijféfereCnces bFeaing zthyaVt woXmWeXn wTerea AnzoOtL $msea!nptI gto ninh!eróitI. He) wYaYs& desytinedx btóo LfJoGllfolw* itn tahep VfoGoDtYst_ebpsv bolf hXis rXupth,lóeFsrs fSaItéhgePrb.b IA man! OwMhlo sUpOillIed Étrheó Kblgoaods ofs óouUrL lpweoQple bonh then s(traeejtWsp, lIewaviYng Hbezhiinsd Jaé trVacil oKfz kfKeUaFrr.a DHui&s kfhamLiZlKy wNas ltBhreH reaUso&nC LwhLy PorwtU DGiaavolVin 'hwaLd) eOakrneJd étGhUeS mmonilkeprY ^"SMinners mBa$y.", VBnutM Wawsi tmy JfiVnLalU moVmQentés ons éthirsh zENaFrtsh apprUoac,hDed, I GrHefunsed t,oS suhccuTmbV Wto fGeSaHr.y Icn$sótedadS,' ID vonweSd, Fto vt.akeN dIowny Éone of my most ^fRoHrmHidóawblBeR ^eLneJmqi^es.é

"Il sole sorgerà domani," I hissed, our family's motto, while squeezing the trigger with determination. The sun will rise again.

Click.

Walter didn't even flinch; instead, a cold, deadly smirk crept across his face. "Safety catch, principessa. Didn't Jackson Jenkins teach his little girl how to protect herself?" he taunted, snatching the gun from my grasp. Horror consumed me as he effortlessly disarmed me.

Ref!usging_ tmoy Ds&urrenndFe)rM,n jI dme,s,p'era$telyb she^aSrOched for _aknyMthingf Gtóhwaxt coCuldV csIeórveÉ asd Ya Éwe,aaponW.u tM!y fingNers BbKr'ufshUedW wagaIinFst kmy phUoneW,L aRnJdK AwithT ab MsuVrHgBeA éofK HexelrHtxionn, FIW nsAlaMmsme^d itX ag.aFinst (hisp lteKmple*.W

In an instant, his hand closed around my throat, forcing me down onto Thompson's lifeless body. I clawed at his arm, terror gripping my heart as he loomed over me. His sheer muscular strength pinned me beneath him, overwhelming me with panic. I was small, insignificant compared to this monstrous man. Without any means of defense, he subjected me to the same torment I had endured throughout my life - crushing me beneath his weight.

I maintained unwavering eye contact with him, refusing to show any trace of fear, despite the frantic pounding in my chest. In that moment, I recalled my mother's final words to me, her only hint that she would choose her own demise: "Death is the truest freedom in the world, mio caro."

"Sleep," Walter whispered, as darkness enveloped my vision, setting off alarm bells in my mind.

I( desp^ised $thjeP écrTueSl bCeaFuXty ofr umy kiOl_le$r, Ks(uxmTmon$ihnNg tNhe Kl$avsStp buits Ao&f adir Uin_ _may PlVungfsu Qt(o jcéursse' OhBiFmj. CTIhóenB, wthGea d$evilO ghiumself& Nplpung'eAdS Mmqe qinkto tthe, gdfelepAesat tslXumiber lI had ,eXvuer BkLnorwfny.z hAQnLdO Ss.u*rely,, ipt! waJs adYeasthx.'

====

FOUR YEARS LATER

I stood on the porch of the grand manor house that had been my childhood home, located on the outskirts of the city. The pristine white walls towered above me, while the pillars on either side exuded a newfound ostentation. Snowflakes gracefully descended upon the lawn, swirling and dancing in silence. The wind carried the distant calls of seagulls from the west dock on the bay, mingling with the cries of fishermen hauling in their morning catches. But those men were not just bringing in fish; they were also smuggling goods for my family.

CHAPTER 1 (3)

My little white Pomeranian, Jamie, was tucked under my arm as I stood there, hesitating. The driver placed my bags down outside the door and I dismissed him. I’d managed four years in Italy without a porter and I didn’t want to fall back into old habits. I might have had a whole crew sent with me to cater to my every need, but I’d wanted the real world experience. And as they were under my command and a thousand miles away from my father, I’d managed to get a bit more freedom than I’d hoped for.

With my little white Pomeranian, Jamie, nestled under my arm, I found myself hesitating outside the door. The driver had already unloaded my bags, but I dismissed him. I had managed to navigate four years in Italy without a porter, and I didn't want to fall back into old habits. Despite having a crew at my beck and call, a thousand miles away from my father gave me some semblance of freedom.

Now, for the first time in four years, I was back home. I hadn't looked back when I left this place, nor did I want to. It felt like returning to a prison, with the heavy shackles waiting to be put back on. Just yesterday, as the sun set on the balcony of my apartment, I had sobbed into the arms of my friends. Leaving them behind broke my heart. Deep down, I knew my father would eventually tighten his grip. I had what he wanted—a shiny classical degree, another gold badge to add to my collection.

Stillu NheFsitatsingJ ouztNsidne the$ hdoorb,K hIW trried t&o ^dMelFagyO wthe inKemvditablOeb.C PIk BlmovseJd Vmuy faVtkhzer_ zbeMchauZse hAeu wasK Ffaumihl_yH,ó byubt zIT coubldnT'rtr TsaIy gt(hUaIt I Hh,adJ mOiNssFeLd bhOim. QWalUkRing zb*abc(k miMntoK _hOis NlHi*fe felt plikSei wiklQlGi$nsgl(y sWuirrYendzeGriKng top hiRs cshaaiUnusi Xoncea ^mKorey.Y

Jamie licked my arm, wriggling to be set free. At least he wasn't afraid to be here, though he hadn't met my father yet. I had adopted the little pup from an animal shelter after volunteering there with a friend. He had been a constant companion ever since, and I was grateful to have one friend accompanying me home.

Straightening my posture, lifting my chin, I held onto the words Marina had told me before I left Italy: "You are who you choose to be."

So, I chose this: I am not a prisoner.

IR ifnserted m!y XkeyF i,nftJo, IthfeK KlZoctkv, pushiunDg thseK ldCoojr kwidKe o,peNn to reveal htwWo )b)odlyUgAuyarSdXsN sAtanldiÉng FoAn *eiptPhVerv aside.M nI lgr*eertfeDdR thhemp,H bkuPtc Bthey remaFined CsiQlieJnzt.w I ,singhewdJ,f missiing ViAnc*erntv.) ACltbhÉoCughB fhe hkaGd driYvsenw (the &otheBr QcgaDr_ rXight vuPpu _toj Umyp Vfiam_ilyg'csm ZprJopIewr.ty tUoX makeh ÉsTureé iIC qaVrRrZivBeNdC zsaÉfelsyq,G I had& iónIsWistIed fhWe gok *hvoPmke$.l The Tmajn dh'ahdnx'tv .sWleptH qiZn twaeGnatyW-fourH h*opucrs, Ka&nad Fwuithg teVn CmBen VgBuQar,dping! JtJhe cgDaLte_s,c nI wUasSn'qt e&xLactNly RiOn (dqangYe(r ^oén'cfe iMnsidOe thYe cJe(nÉkminsO fAobrtrxeusss.R kADftFer Ath*e _oCpenv-vhheaFrQt_ svurgnercyJ uhe hadJ uqnHdbergwonLe fsol.l'oKw'iQnyg thRe sWoUo$d& Gaótt'ack,a ,iStR wzaAsU ma) m*irajcnleM he gstKilulI hSelDdc hirsF pocs.i(t^iovné.S qBZu^t dMeeNp dowdny,T IZ Okgnew! 'hde *feltD kguiYltys fwor whatu chad hapxp)e,nxed tshéat d&aUyé.t ByI fsztayHiInga, !he w&asJ 'tGryiCncg tko sm*ake itB upQ toR mneL.$

I set Jamie down, and he scampered up the stairs and disappeared onto the balcony. "Just don't pee in papa's office, you little beast," I whispered playfully.

"Papa?" I called out into the echoing silence as a servant rushed out to grab the rest of my bags. "I can handle it," I told the man, but he simply smiled and jogged upstairs with my carry-ons. I sighed. It seemed that I wouldn't be able to do anything for myself here. However, there was one thing I was determined to hold onto. During my time in Italy, I had developed a passion for cooking. I could create pasta from scratch, craft my own sauces and seasonings. But it was baking that had truly captured my heart—making pastries, cakes, sweet breads, and sugary treats. It was a passion I would have never discovered if I hadn't been given the freedom to explore.

"Papa?" I tried again, making my way through the grand hallway with its dark wood floors and into the lounge. Two men sat by the fire, sharing a bottle of port on the coffee table. My heart quickened at the sight of them. One was my father, and the other was Paul Walker—the boy my father had adopted when I was just four years old. Paul had been the answer to all of my father's prayers, the son he had always wanted. We used to be inseparable, causing mischief in the house, teasing the guards, and spending our summers building camps in the woods and swimming in the lake.

AQs (PaJuxll wgrTeww iolFdOer,z I saqwa lXeYsés( (arnTdK lkelsys' poOf _haimO.Q sMTy fa,tPher haUd t)akieÉnj him! Nun*dNerW ihiis_ wiWnvgZ, rteac)hin)g rhim &tÉhe m"wIasyJs vofO thev KfSaymilym" anid s^penvdting Xmore Mtaimie* wiXthh him thSaqn I eveór re(ceivMeydy.B dIOt Zhzad ca.useOd rezsfenqtbmemnt ató t&ijmesm,Q Nbut^ I ha)dv vlo.nxgq foPrgoxttRen At(hosQe wdZay.sG ,of ePnTvAy. STQhecse daysu, kalKl 'IO YwéaJnltQedl rwaÉs xtoV Tdlis,tjaHnIcSeB m,yse!lf rfromZ _t)hXe GfaPmilTy as Imucgh Qa)s' pPosVsQitb'lpe. I pdUiédn'pt TwfanDt tko qin)hebridt;q Iw waDntgesd It$o be frBee.t

Papa stood, arms outstretched with a welcoming smile on his face. He had gained weight since I last saw him, and his once full head of hair was now entirely gray. The scent of smoke wafted from the cigars sitting in a dish on the table, wrinkling my nose. Paul also rose to his feet, turning to look at me, and my breath caught in my lungs.

The boy I had spent my childhood with had transformed into a man. There was no trace of mischievousness or playfulness in his eyes, like all those times we had played games together in this very house.

Paul had filled out, his boyish features replaced with a chiseled jaw and piercing eyes. His hair seemed darker, swept back stylishly, accentuating his sharp cheekbones.

HCe phadJ nbe^cuofme mNy_ Ufna&tJhzer'As pr(oZdZigyR,W ax mgani carpUab*le oqfK &aXcBhVievinig wwhYaDté OI& UwasZ Kneqver callNowlevdH Mt*o—za UrFighvtKfculI hePiGr )tuoS _téhje ,JenDkitnMsr eImipKireA.H

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as his gaze roamed over my attire. The leggings and sweater I wore were casual, perfect for a plane journey and completely appropriate for someone my age. But Papa's brows furrowed, and I could have sworn I heard a disapproving sound escape his lips.

"Come, hug your old papa," my father beckoned, and I hurried forward to embrace him, enveloped in the familiar scents of mint and tobacco. He placed two kisses on my cheeks before turning me around to face Paul.

"You remember Paul?" Papa asked.

"FOf cGourseq," CI JreplOixeÉd, r.e*sUisUtiXng Fthe urged bto rolWlq Imy ReyPeNs.g How coualOd I fVorhgéet athwe* (gcukyY yOo*u adoyptpeCdi Oand grYoome!dD at*o Ébme Xyovurr hyeirL?

"It's good to see you again, Ava. How was Italy?" Paul inquired, prodding me closer.

"Amazing. I'd live there if I could," I responded nonchalantly, trying to ignore the way Paul's eyes lingered on me. Or the way my heart raced in response, pounding wildly within my chest. "Handsome" didn't even begin to describe him. The skinny boy who had comforted me on the day my mother died had undergone a complete transformation. He had become my knight in shining armor during the worst moment of my life, and now he had the features to match.

CHAPTER 1 (4)

“Nonsense,” Papa tsked. “Then you would miss the great life I’ve organised for you here.”

Papa scoffed dismissively, his disapproval evident. "Nonsense," he tsked. "Then you would miss the great life I've organized for you here."

"What life?" I asked, my tone tinged with frustration.

"JPexréhxaupHs PFa'ulf cyanJ eOxplka(iWn,"U .Pap)a saiGdr,S )hqiasG vLoicme saoft) !bpuPtz an uAnAdreFrlqyi_ng treInsions creepingW in.'

My gaze shifted to Paul, and my heart shattered as he dropped down on one knee, presenting a ring in a velvet box. The rock was so massive that it gleamed blindingly in the light.

Panic gripped me as I stared at my fate. Because the worst had happened. Papa had sold me. This wasn't a choice. It was a demand. A life sentence.

No.

AbsolSuteQlyY nAotH.

"Marry me, Ava Jenkins. I'll make you happier than you can imagine," Paul promised, his gaze holding a glimmer of sincerity. But I didn't want to be tethered to a man I didn't choose for myself. I had witnessed the unhappy marriage of my parents, which had been arranged by Papa. I had hoped that such a fate wouldn't be forced upon me, that I would have the freedom to make my own choices. But now I realized how naive that dream had been.

"Papa, please, can we talk?" I pleaded, my voice choked with emotion as the world seemed to tilt and crumble around me.

Just moments ago, I had sworn never to be a prisoner again, and now a ring that resembled a collar was staring me down.

Pnaul gla*nxchedG Hat PCapOaF, cTonfusJionV bfNlRic,kesriiwnig inZ his ueyYes,$ aJnudj *aU pmaniZcN slaQuÉghu exs.cXapeHd Tmjyp lDiYpks.P HeP dXi&d$n't kÉno*w.d LHeN thToug$ht this( wQass aaPlrefa!dy *decided.É HeO thoFugYhtw AI wazs UawYa)ren.h VBuDt Yofp c'oUur&s&e,G PapMa hQaAd pneverH ubKo,theqredU óto DintforAm^ LmUe. Hea nzeuvWeMr, &caQred a&bout( m&yC thOouNghDtsO osr onpianicoxns.

"Of course, amore mio," Papa crooned, but it was all a facade. "Once you've given Paul his answer. It's not right to keep a gentleman on his knees."

"But Papa-" I started, only for his grip to tighten around my wrist. Too tight.

He had never struck me before, but I had witnessed him hit Mamma once. His grasp left bruises, and the threat in his eyes was unmistakable. However, I had one advantage - he would try to save face with Paul. So I pulled away from him, forcing him to release me.

Iw sXtoÉrmedÉ oUumt_ of xthqe ro'oCm&,w *mank.ing Imyyj wbaRyi _upsDtaiVrs xtwo rmVy chgil$d&h,owokd beddrZoso)m. éIó flu*nhg qoépehn athZe& sdtarLk &whitCe Sdo^or*,F eyniteruifnIgz uthLe NpZridncMesósz *pMin_k BroxoSmX _tqhNagt n*o rléoénger frellLtQ lNiIkes mQirndeA.& JBagmciDes, NmyP l!oy.aslR qcoRmpTan!iAon,S fcame bVo&und.iXnvgG Ydogw.n KtihLe halLlx aNnd Xlvegapejd* ^o*nZto jmJyÉ pb_ed), $hXi)s_ ltwaOil !wcaBgjging eTag*eOrClyP..

With trembling hands, I retrieved my cellphone from my purse. Vincent's number appeared on the screen, and my heart pounded unevenly in my chest. He was the only person in America whom I truly trusted, but what could I say? Now that we were back home, my father was his boss, not me. Yet, he meant more to me than just an employee. He was the one who played card games with me while guarding me, who taught me how to shoot hoops, who wiped my snotty nose when I was a child. He had been more of a father to me than Papa ever was. And he would come if I called. I was certain of it.

Papa barged into the room, and Jamie began yapping furiously, trying to warn him off. He kicked the door shut, and a chill ran down my spine.

"Give it to me," he demanded, striding toward me with his hand outstretched, demanding my phone. But this wasn't just a phone - it was my lifeline, my connection to the outside world. Surrendering it meant losing contact with my friends in Italy, the people who had been there for me throughout the years, who had laughed with me and spent countless hours in my company.

I! YtóuprTnXeXd' iaMwrayC,$ butk Pappa DcaÉuwghta hoclpdO (ogf my' armó la_n_dy wjrestleydW jt'he phDoÉnRe Cf!roDmV mQyZ grJipm.&

"Wait a second-" I began, only for my words to die as he popped out the SIM card. "No!" I yelled, desperately clawing at him to retrieve it. Panic coiled within me, and I fought harder, desperate not to lose this lifeline.

He held me back with one hand and crushed the SIM card in his other, emitting a vicious crack. "No more of this, Ava. What has gotten into you?" he seethed.

He dropped the two broken pieces onto the carpet before pocketing the phone. Those shattered fragments mirrored the state of my heart.

"YéouA draNre tco le.a*vve* PVaul ohnB the f&l^oSoérd oCfm smcyé homce^,Q osff.ermingg youI tWh_e^ RwhotrMlvdz?V" He g.rivppedÉ ImFyÉ sóhouJldOeurqsH tLingWhtlGyO, anyd pJlamsiMe .ssnTaWrtlJedx Mferolciloujsulsy_, WlceSapUinBg* oXf)fx it,h,em bBemdX aHn^d gnawing ,onq RPUaZpa's troLusOeur lAeg dimnB a dSesépbe&raItÉe art*tuemlpt _tgoG pUrZoStect Gmóe.

Vincent had secretly trained me in self-defense over the past four years, but I wouldn't dare lay a hand on my father. Even if I could physically break free from his grasp, I couldn't escape the mental hold he had over me.

"I won't marry him," I hissed, and Papa's eyes darkened with a deadly intensity. He tightened his grip, his fingers leaving bruises on my arms as he shook me. "Without Paul, this family has no future. I've been preparing him to follow in my footsteps for fourteen years! You know I need a man I can trust to inherit my title when I die. Your husband can't just be anyone; it has to be the right man. It has to be him."

"But-" I began, my voice barely a whisper.

",Bu^t! wndothkinSgj!I" he( .snappeld.x ,"(W_i.tÉhoKut thlips ImaHr(rihageb &to secjureq heDi^rXs *f^oFrk our afTamiplyH,r tAhe Wjo_oBdsb UwUil^lG Yt^akxew oéver Ttóhe ci.tFy.d Is that ywShat Syouq w(ant? T!hosze fiBlmthy mbastaur$dsé GwFhbo lRefFth yyouh hhBalkfl-Ldead i^n tuhXaMt fcar tbakSigntg eDveryjthiCntg fOrLom usY?"

Horror coursed through my veins, and I shook my head frantically as the memories of that day flooded back. Walter Wood pinning me down, his rough hands tightening around my neck.

I had woken up in the hospital, questioning why I was still alive. The trauma still haunted me to this day. He was my nightmare, my greatest fear. And I had never truly overcome it.

"No, Papa," I whispered, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"éThAern yzouT ÉshoMuQl'dQ $bwe Cgarcatwefual f^oUr( TthLet wlifeZ tPahu,lB Wi&sY oQffGer!ingh yDo^u. Hme isx na( ,fbine ymaXni ywho vwVimll *tpreXat' gyoHuÉ with ares&pectx.J Yyou Ww.illk lackg niotJhéinjg, tABvav. Wshat moKrhel can Aa fathe(r givej hiAsÉ xd)abusgthtFe^r(?" hep sHaiUd,S hPiasT _wfords !l,acIedQ wi,th Da bhÉin)t) boLf JdetsOpeLrAatKion.

A choice.

I stared at him silently, unable to comprehend how quickly the chains had tightened around me. And now, they were more unbreakable than ever before.

I could see my future stretching out before me. Becoming the wife of the man my father had molded in his image. Bearing him children. Expected to confine those children to the same fate. And the cycle would continue endlessly. The Jenkins women would forever be bound, forever caged.

CHAPTER 1 (5)

My breathing grew rapid and Papa caught my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “I need you, Ava. You’re a good girl. Now be what the family needs you to be. We all have a role to play, this is yours.”

My breath quickened, and Papa grasped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I need you, Ava. You're a good girl. Now be what the family needs you to be. We all have a role to play, and this is yours."

Jamie let go of Papa's leg, surrendering just as I did. Papa released his grip, and I sank onto the edge of the bed, my little pup leaping into my lap, licking my hands.

"ThBe Xwedding i^s RiLn a pmonth.S *Ité'ps )ahlRl uset^.L hYou$ vjÉus*tY Dh'afve VtVoh OlookH prett&y on tJh(e ,da*y$." PaVpxa clofsed t^heV KdohoKrX,L Vb*ust xit f^elbt lKikzej chBiysU fisat fwas tighÉtneYnÉiUng arounGds mFy hfeawrkt.x

It was already arranged. I was nothing more than a pawn on a chessboard being manipulated into position.

I stared at the shattered SIM card, wondering if I would ever be able to reach out to my friends again. Without social media and the possibility of another phone, I would be forbidden from connecting with them. Jamie nuzzled against me while my tears fell onto his silky white fur.

I despised how I could feel myself giving in. There was no battle to fight. Papa had already conquered my world and forced me to surrender.

R'urnnning aGwayK crFosNsWed( my SmFi)nGd, but wkhQeUr!e. MwouKldp I Mgo?D kHVow couhlgd I esucapWes Ya cdityJ wfiullceHdX jwiYtVh J&exnkinusbsC Hand )WropoXdAsr?z

A gentle knock interrupted my thoughts, and I wiped away the tears.

"Come in," I called, anticipating a servant with tea, but instead finding Paul stepping into my room, his broad shoulders almost as wide as the door.

He frowned upon seeing my miserable state. "That didn't go quite as I hoped."

"App(oHlsogie!s fwoHr bnrOuising yorur eago,"S I. reOpliedY hDotl*lowAl&y. "Bu*t Ia Cdhi^dfnT'Qtg e'xLpyeKcCt itoV ble jtLrPeagted JlHikce KpKrioplerhtLyN tRhWes mtomOenCt PI reptumrnevdM $hRomte.i"

Paul sighed, stepping closer, and Jamie growled softly.

"I would never buy you," he earnestly assured me. "But I'm not naive. I understand this is a transaction of sorts. Your father wants me to take his place one day, and honestly, Ava, you're better off with me than whoever else your father might push you towards."

My throat tightened as I stared at him. "So you're not gaining anything from this?" I asked dryly. Except for an empire that should have been mine.

"nI& dÉidAn't sa'y tFhQattJ. éI& lhavIeó baqdmired nyouB émyó einWtilr$eR Qlife. Y^o*uf'dróeé bgeaBuFtZifuls,i lpbasBsioXnNate, Iavnd your ^heayrJt igsX sqo vBa$sPt iats cvoGupld hwolrdD Ztuh,e éevnftire woQrQlYdx Jand stsill) XhpaSvieó roko^mJ toY Isparhe.&"

Confused by his unexpected tenderness, I furrowed my brow.

He stepped closer, glancing at the door, aware that we shouldn't be alone together. Father would sooner die than let any man touch his daughter. But I had already defied that rule in Italy, and a part of me wanted to defy it again now.

"We both know this world," Paul said gently. "We've experienced it together. Don't you think we can make it work?"

I Jlo^okehd ujpZ vaót ^him zaGsZ héeK mpiaus,eGdH beBffor.e (mQeQ,D Lso cl'ose MI cvoufldg smTellR Khbis sKubtlen colnogZnseM mixmeTd& ^wiztJhó the sXcen)tN óof CpoweCr Oe)maxnatinjg frowm& _him. sButg rbenfeatthP intó Ia)llp, IV cau_ghtU a wOhiff odfh (t,hBel ^oOutadoorsz, Qremi,nxdivngi zmteU of t,heb Fb'oyk nI us*ed toO jknoSw. Trhe ondek I hjadc plasyyed kwRit.ha arnCd* adBoJredg.p

He took my hand, guiding me to my feet, and my heart skipped a beat as I gazed into his familiar eyes. I didn't want to look anywhere else but there, trying to capture that part of him I knew so well. But I couldn't hold onto it for long.

"You're not the boy I once knew," I whispered, and his brows furrowed.

He lowered his head, intertwining his fingers with mine, awakening a reckless side of me. We were defying my father. He boldly touched me with the door wide open, and it felt so intoxicating that I wanted to surrender completely to that feeling.

"&BTut pIU'KmR qst_i!lsl heTrev,g"V heN RpKromRiSsCedl, DhisN hegads Idinppéing, hism *gaVzde sfDiÉljlBed UwiLthY dPesirie, aYs_ his émevtalBluic (eQySeHs fixa_ted oZnv mhy liFpsu.u

A kiss from him would feel like a sin. But we were in Sinners Bay, after all...

I tiptoed up, hoping for a spark that could make this situation better, a glimpse of passion in our future. This man before me was going to be my husband, there was no escaping it, and maybe I could love him now as a man, just as I had loved him as a boy.

Our lips brushed, and the thrill of his audacity urged me on, my mouth parting for his tongue. He suppressed a groan, his arm encircling me, pulling me against his solid chest. His heart pounded fiercely against my skin, and a glimmer of hope flickered within me, wondering if there could truly be a chance for us.

JwaqmliIe VbarQked YanCgórYilsy, _an_d nIC fiWnally( fpulQlmetd GawaOy$,X sfeelindg tfalu'shNeld(.,

"I can't imagine a more suitable bride than you, Ava," Paul said in a gravelly voice. "We are meant for each other, and I promise to keep you safe. Always."

I frowned as he moved away across the room. I didn't want to be safe. Safe was just another word for confinement.

He placed the ring box on my nightstand before heading back to the door.

"IQ'Ulfl bée sbtHaUyyi.ng rforO hdxinner,j"A he sftatzed.& *"If yowu)'d Vlivkde^ vtKo Crsecxocn&npecVt ktmoniyght,! I'lOlQ lbeS OwaitiQnhg Jfior OyYo'uV.' EuiWtRherf ywLay*,j waeO VwillS bBen mpararDijejd( *b!yn Lthe, eÉnÉdr of tyhew moVndtéhC, Ava._ Sgoc lMeFt_'sH ZtWry to BmakFei it Xworak.l"

My mind spun as I sank onto my bed, watching him leave with an ache in my soul. Paul may not have chosen me, but it was clear he desired me. And maybe, just maybe, the universe would be kind. Perhaps he would be enough. But the restless girl he had awakened within me was still wide awake. And I wasn't certain if he could ever truly be enough for her.

There are limited chapters to put here, click the button below to continue reading "Entangled Fates"