Chapter Three — Bound by Fire
937 Words
The mansion was silent that night. Too silent.
I lay on the massive bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin, but my body burned.
I wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion, frustration, or the lingering effect of Rhys Evander Kain.
His presence was like a brand seared into my veins, something I couldn’t scrub away no matter how hard I tried. He got under my skin—into my mind.
And that terrified me.
I turned onto my side, staring at the silver moonlight streaming through the windows.
This room—this cage of gold—was comfortable, luxurious, but it wasn’t freedom.
The moment I signed that contract, I had given up the right to freedom.
I was his now.
A slow exhale left my lips as I traced my fingers along the silky fabric of my nightgown. He had chosen it for me.
Soft. Delicate. Something easily torn apart.
Just like me.
I clenched my hands into fists. No. I wasn’t weak. I wouldn’t break.
---
A knock at the door startled me.
I froze.
It was past midnight. Who—
The door handle turned, and before I could react, Rhys stepped inside.
He didn’t knock again. He didn’t hesitate.
He just walked in, his presence swallowing the air in the room.
His suit jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The first two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin and sharp, defined muscle.
I swallowed hard.
“What—” My voice came out hoarse, unsteady. “What are you doing here?”
Rhys didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked toward the bed, each step slow, controlled—dangerous.
“I own this house,” he said finally. “I go where I please.”
I sat up, gripping the sheets. “Even into my room?”
His room.
I saw it in his gaze—the way he looked around, like this space belonged to him. Like I belonged to him.
“You’re still adjusting,” Rhys murmured, stopping at the foot of the bed. His gaze flickered over me, and I realized too late how exposed I was.
The nightgown he had chosen was thin. Delicate. Practically transparent under the dim glow of the city lights.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I refused to pull the blankets over myself.
I wouldn’t let him see my embarrassment.
I lifted my chin. “I don’t need your concern, Rhys.”
His lips curved slightly. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
A muscle in my jaw tensed.
He sighed, stepping closer. “You didn’t eat much at dinner.”
I frowned. Was he really here because of that?
“I told you, I wasn’t hungry.”
Rhys tilted his head, studying me. “Lies don’t suit you, Naomi.”
Something in his voice—**low, almost affectionate—**sent a shiver through me.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver flask. “Drink.”
I blinked. “What?”
His gaze held mine. Unwavering. Commanding.
“It’ll help you sleep.”
I hesitated. “What is it?”
“Whiskey.” A pause. “And something to calm your nerves.”
I stiffened. “A sedative?”
Rhys smirked. “I don’t drug my possessions, Naomi.”
I narrowed my eyes. Possessions.
He meant to provoke me. And it was working.
I snatched the flask from his hand, bringing it to my lips without breaking eye contact.
The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, but I didn’t flinch.
Rhys watched, his smirk deepening. “Good girl.”
My grip on the flask tightened. Damn him.
“Why are you really here?” I asked, my voice quieter this time.
Rhys didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took the flask back from my hands, his fingers brushing against mine.
The contact was fleeting. Barely there. But it set my skin on fire.
Then, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath.
“I want to make something clear.”
He stepped closer—too close.
I had to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. We were inches apart now.
“You think this is a game,” Rhys murmured, his voice a dark caress. “That if you push hard enough, you’ll find cracks in my control.”
His fingers brushed against the curve of my jaw.
I stilled.
“But Naomi…” His thumb traced my lower lip, his touch unbearably soft.
“There are no cracks.”
The air between us thickened.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
“Six months,” Rhys whispered.
His hand slid lower, ghosting along my throat, over the delicate pulse point there.
Six months under his control.
Six months bound to him.
“Be careful, sweetheart.” His voice was velvet and steel. “You’re playing with fire.”
I swallowed. He was right.
But as I met his gaze, something inside me whispered:
So is he.
---
Rhys left my room after that.
He walked out the same way he entered—like he owned everything inside, including me.
But I had seen something in his eyes before he turned away.
A flicker of something unstable.
Something he wanted to control.
Something he was failing to control.
I lay back against the pillows, my heart still hammering, my skin still burning where he had touched me.
This wasn’t just about power.
This wasn’t just about control.
There was something twisting between us, tightening like a noose.
And I had no idea how long it would take before one of us snapped.
- Writer
