"Then you've just volunteered for the entertainment. Lionel, she's yours for the night."
The woman pales as Lionel approaches.
She's dragged away, and I realize what I've just witnessed—my jealousy signed her degradation warrant.
"You're learning," Cassius murmurs. "Learning what it means to be mine."
The words settle into my bones like a brand.
Around us, Hell continues its dark symphony—screams and moans, begging and breaking.
But all I can focus on is his hand in my hair, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the power radiating from him like heat from a forge.
I've been here less than forty-eight hours, but I already can't imagine being anywhere else.
Can't imagine belonging to anyone else.
He keeps me at his feet for another hour, making everyone see who I belong to.
Men who could buy and sell entire city blocks lower their eyes when they approach.
Women who were vying for his attention now look at me with a mixture of envy and fear.
I am his, and in this world, that means something.
It means everything.
When he finally stands, pulling me up with him, there's something different in his eyes.
Darker. More intense.
The controlled businessman who orchestrated all of that chaos is suddenly gone.
In his place is something rawer, more primal.
The crowd parts as he leads me through Hell, and I realize they've seen this transformation before.
They know what it means.
In his private room, he's different.
Rougher. More possessive.
He fucks me against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hand around my throat.
"You liked it," he growls. "Watching me destroy them. It made you wet."
"Yes," I gasp.
"You're as twisted as I am."
"Yes."
He carries me to the bed but doesn't pull out, just continues fucking me with deep, brutal strokes.
"What are you afraid of losing?" I ask suddenly, remembering his tension during the meeting.
He stills. "What?"
