Broken by him, bound to him

Chapter 15: Roses and scars

Ryan had been representing the company at an important meeting on the far side of town. The presentation had drained him, but the thought of returning to the office afterward drained him even more. The protocol demanded he deliver his report directly to Cain, but Ryan hated even the thought of it. Cain had a way of looking at him that made his skin crawl—cool, sharp, as though he were a child fumbling in a world of adults.

So he decided on a small rebellion. Instead of handing his notes to Cain, he would stop by Naya’s and let her pass the information along. Cain would get his report, and Ryan would get what he wanted—time with her.

Naya.

Just thinking her name was enough to soften the edge of the long day. She had been lingering in his mind more than usual lately. He remembered when he had almost asked her to be his girl. Almost. He’d seen her warmth, her quiet strength, her smile that never seemed to carry a trace of falseness. He had been ready to step forward then, to claim her hand and trust that love would grow between them. But Cain had appeared—like he always did—and everything had shifted.

After that, time became scarce. Ryan found himself constantly traveling, constantly assigned to out-of-town meetings, errands, and negotiations. Cain’s hand was obvious in it. Ryan could feel he was being maneuvered, pushed out of the office and away from Naya. For what reason, he wasn’t entirely sure. But his gut told him Cain was playing a game, and Naya—sweet, steady Naya—was caught somewhere in the middle.

As Ryan’s car hummed down the road, he pictured her: soft brown eyes, that beautiful, unguarded smile. She always had it ready for him, as though she had been waiting. Genuine. Warm. But even so, there was something withheld in her gaze, some secret folded between her ribs that she refused to show him. He meant to change that.

By the time he reached the office, Ryan had stopped at a florist and picked up a bouquet of roses. He stood outside the glass doors for a moment, inhaling deeply, rehearsing in his mind the words he wanted to say: Naya, I want you beside me. Naya, be my girlfriend. Then, squaring his shoulders, he stepped in.

---

She was at her desk, fingers tapping briskly over her keyboard. The office light caught in her loose hair, which spilled down her back in dark waves. Ryan frowned slightly—he could have sworn it had been tied up earlier.

When he entered, her hands flew to her throat, covering it quickly, as though she’d been caught off guard. A nervous flush colored her cheeks.

“Hey,” Ryan said softly, taking the seat opposite her. “Did I startle you?”

She gave a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “No, no. How did it go?”

Ryan tilted his head. She still hadn’t lowered her hands from her throat.

“Naya, are you okay?” he asked.

She only smiled again, deflecting.

Ryan wasn’t a fool. The way she clutched at her neck, the way her hair was loosened to curtain her skin—it didn’t take much imagination to guess what she was hiding. Fresh, red marks.

His chest tightened.

The flowers in his hands suddenly felt heavier, awkward. He set them on her desk and tried to lose himself in the flow of his report. She nodded along politely, eyes darting everywhere but him.

Then the air shifted.

Cain walked in.

---

He looked every inch the storm Ryan had hoped to avoid—shirt halfway unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, reckless energy. He carried himself with the lazy menace of a man who desired to wreak havoc and hoped someone would give him reason.

Naya froze. Ryan’s stomach clenched.

Cain crossed the room and dropped into the chair opposite Ryan, placing Naya squarely between them like a queen presiding over rivals.

“What do you want, Cain?” Ryan asked, his irritation already sharpening his voice.

Cain leaned back, resting one arm across the chair. “I came for a report from my assistant,” he said, his gaze sliding to Naya. His smile was sly, knowing.

Ryan exhaled heavily. Of course.

Cain’s eyes flicked to the roses on Naya’s desk. Contempt curled across his lips. “Nice flowers.”

Naya’s breath hitched. Ryan, remembering the bouquet, scooped them up again and turned toward her. “They’re for you,” he began, but a colleague called him from the hall. With a muttered apology and a dark glare in Cain’s direction, Ryan set the roses back down and stepped out.

The door shut. The room changed.

---

“What are you doing?” Naya hissed the moment Ryan was gone, dropping her hands from her throat at last.

Cain rose from his chair and leaned across her desk, close enough that she could smell the faint spice of his cologne. “Nothing. Just came for the report you forgot to send me.”

“What report?” she asked suspiciously. To distract herself, she stood, carried the roses to a vase, and carefully arranged them. At least when Ryan returned, she could thank him properly, sparing herself the awkwardness of taking them from his hands.

Cain’s eyes followed her, molten with memory. He chuckled low in his throat. “You’re hiding your neck,” he murmured.

“Yes, I am,” she said tightly.

He moved closer, circling the desk until he was beside her. His hand almost brushed hers as she adjusted the vase. “I don’t see why. My marks look beautiful on you.” His voice dipped, intimate, dark. “Perfect art on a perfect canvas.”

Her breath caught, a blush stealing across her cheeks before she turned away. But his nearness was dizzying—her skin still remembered his mouth, the weight of his touch.

“No, they don’t. What would people think of me? Why are you still here?”

Cain’s smirk was edged with something raw. “You mean—what would Ryan think?”

She stiffened.

“You love me, Naya. You always have. it's about time they also knew?” His fingers brushed her wrist, just a ghost of contact, and the jolt of it was enough to betray her.

“Feelings for you have nothing to do with this,” she whispered, but her pulse betrayed her, fluttering under his touch.

“You are afraid of acknowledging us because you fear, they will also learn about our past?” His voice was low, almost a growl.

“It's not yet time”

The door opened.

Ryan returned, and instantly Naya jerked away, her hand flying back to her throat. Cain stepped back as if nothing had happened, his expression unreadable. Ryan’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

---

“Since you’re both here,” Ryan said, pulling his laptop free, “I’ll just give the ultimate report from the presentation.”

Cain barely heard him. His gaze lingered on Naya, her eyes silently begging him not to cause trouble. That mischievous smile spread across his face again, promising anything but peace.

Ryan, catching sight of the roses now blooming in the vase, smiled warmly at Naya. “I saw them and thought of you. Did you like them?”

“I loved them,” she said quickly. Her smile trembled.

Cain rose suddenly and wandered to the couch at the far side of the room. He sank into it, pulling out his phone, his gaze never leaving Naya. A moment later, her phone buzzed.

Her stomach sank.

She picked it up, glanced at the screen, then lifted her eyes to Cain. He rested his cheek against his hand, watching her, waiting.

Ryan glanced up. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“No. It’s nothing important,” she said, setting the phone aside.

Ryan’s gaze dropped to her throat. His brows drew together. “Are those…?”

“Spiders,” she blurted. “I was bitten by two spiders.”

He almost believed her. Almost. Until Cain’s laugh split the room.

Ryan’s head snapped toward him. “What’s going on between you two?” He turned back to Naya, voice tightening. “What happened to your neck, Naya? Because those cannot be what I think they are.”

“They’re exactly what you think they are,” Cain said calmly.

“Cain,” Ryan snapped, “I’m going to need you to give us some privacy.”

“Nope,” Cain replied easily. His eyes burned into Naya’s. “In fact, I’d also like to know—whose marks are those?”

The words landed like a strike. Ryan’s jaw tightened, anger rolling through him.

Naya shot to her feet. “Excuse me.” Her voice shook, her lungs straining for air. She walked out, every step like breaking free of a drowning tide.

---

Back in the office, Ryan stared after her. The suspicion in his chest was no longer something he could ignore. He had once believed Cain’s interest in Naya was only to annoy him. Now, watching the heat in Cain’s eyes, the possessive anger rolling off him—it was far more than that.

Cain slammed out of the room, rage plain for once on his face. Ryan had never seen him so exposed. The door rattled in its frame as it closed. Moments later, another door shut down the hall. Cain was gone.

---

The city was darkening when Cain’s car cut through traffic, his anger driving him as surely as his hands on the wheel. He pulled into a dim old club downtown, one he and Abel used to haunt. Inside, the place was half-empty, shadows curling in the corners. Abel sat at a table far from the bar, a drink already sweating in front of him.

Cain strode over and dropped into the chair across from him.

Abel, a police officer and one of the few men Cain trusted, had been digging into Hassan’s past at Cain’s request. Cain wanted the truth. He had always suspected there was something rotten beneath Hassan’s polished exterior.

It wasn’t paranoia. Years ago, in high school, One night, bloodied from a savage bout, he had hidden in his family’s garden, waiting for his parents to leave so they wouldn’t see the evidence of his fights. From his cover, he had overheard Hassan’s voice.

The older man stormed into the garden, phone pressed to his ear, barking orders. Prices. Buyers. Girls. Cain, silent in the shadows, had heard every word—heard him talk about flesh like it was a commodity, transactions like he was tallying coins. Cain hadn’t acted then. He had been too caught in the adrenaline of his own world, too drunk on his own chaos. But he never forgot.

Now Abel confirmed it. Hassan’s past was riddled with holes, his sudden wealth suspicious. He had gone from barely affording a studio apartment in Ethiopia to renting luxurious offices in Dubai. His business had appeared out of nowhere, swollen with inexplicable profit.

Cain sipped his smoky drink, his jaw tight. He had been right all along. Hassan was hiding something vile, and Cain would not stop digging until he dragged it into the light.

And when he did—Hassan would be finished.

---