The next morning, I woke to the scent of something rich—coffee, maybe—and the low murmur of voices outside my door. For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then reality came crashing back.
I was in Derek Moretti's house. His prisoner.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine.
I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, only to realize I wasn't alone.
Derek stood by the window, his broad shoulders tense as he gazed outside. The morning sun illuminated his sharp features—chiselled jaw, high cheekbones, and lips that looked almost too perfect for someone so cruel. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing powerful forearms laced with veins.
He turned, those piercing dark eyes locking onto me, sending a jolt through my body.
"Get up," he commanded.
I swallowed. His voice was deep, edged with dominance. There was no room for argument.
I slid out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. His gaze trailed over me, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every inch. My heart pounded.
"You'll have breakfast with me," he said.
I squared my shoulders. "And if I refuse?"
Derek smirked the kind that promised trouble. "Then I'll have to convince you."
His words sent heat curling through my stomach. There was danger in his eyes, a wicked challenge that made my pulse race.
I should have been afraid.
Instead, I felt something far more dangerous.
Attraction.
---
The bathroom was warm, filled with the scent of lavender as steam curled from the shower. My body ached, tension coiled tight in my muscles from the restless night before. I didn't want to feel comfortable here, but as the hot water ran over my skin, I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.
A soft knock on the door made my heart stop.
"Elena," Derek's voice was deep, firm. "You've got five minutes."
I clenched my teeth. Even when I had a moment to myself, he still controlled my time.
I stepped out, wrapping a towel tightly around my body before peeking through the door. Derek stood there, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
"You take too long," he remarked, his gaze flickering over me. "Hurry up."
His scrutiny made me self-conscious, but I refused to let him see that. I brushed past him, head held high, but the smirk on his lips told me he enjoyed my discomfort.