Trapped in His Love

Chapter 5: The Invitation

Sarah stared at the photograph on her phone.

Celeste Wei, wearing cream silk, standing in Sarah's cramped apartment like she belonged there. Holding Sarah's paint-stained sweater. Smiling like a cat that had already swallowed the canary.

"Nice place. Needs better locks. See you soon, painter."

The words blurred. Not from tears from rage.

Kaelan saw her expression change. He plucked the phone from her hand, glanced at the screen, and went absolutely still. The temperature in the studio dropped ten degrees.

"When did this come?" His voice was soft. Too soft.

"Just now. While we were" She gestured at the paintings, the kisses, the confession.

He handed the phone back with exaggerated care, like it was a live explosive. Then he turned away from her, walked to the far wall of the studio, and pressed both palms against the cold concrete.

His shoulders shook.

"Kaelan."

"She was in your home." His voice cracked. "She touched your things. She smiled."

"I saw."

"She's telling me she can reach you anywhere. Anytime. That my security means nothing." He slammed his fist against the wall. Once. Twice. The third time, Sarah caught his arm.

"Stop."

"She threatened you." He turned, and she finally saw his face. His silver eyes were wet. His lips pulled back from his teeth. He looked like a man who had swallowed glass and was trying not to scream. "She threatened you, and I wasn't there."

Sarah had seen Kaelan cold. She had seen him controlled. She had seen the mask slip, just a little, in the gallery and on the sidewalk.

She had never seen him like this.

He pulled away from her touch and paced the studio like a caged wolf. His hands fisted in his hair. His breathing came in ragged gasps.

"I'll kill her," he muttered. "No. I'll ruin her first. Every hotel. Every connection. I'll make her beg in the streets and then"

"Kaelan."

"then I'll kill her. Slowly. She'll wish she never"

"KAELAN."

He stopped. Stared at her.

Sarah walked toward him slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. When she was close enough to feel his body heat, she reached up and cupped his face in both hands.

"Listen to me," she said. "She wants you to react. That's the whole point. She sent that photo to make you lose control. To make you do something stupid. To prove that you're dangerous."

"I am dangerous."

"I know." Sarah stroked his cheek with her thumb. "But you're not stupid. And you're not hers."

He closed his eyes. His whole body trembled under her touch.

"You should be running from me," he whispered.

"I know that too."

"Then why are you still here?"

She didn't answer with words. She pulled his face down and kissed him soft at first, then harder. She poured every ounce of her own fury and fear and fierce, stubborn want into that kiss.

When she pulled back, his eyes were different. Still burning. Still wild. But focused now. On her.

"Because," she said, "I want to see what happens when you stop holding back."

Something shifted in Kaelan's expression.

The trembling stopped. The gasping breaths evened out. In their place came a terrible, beautiful calm the stillness of a predator who had finally stopped pretending to be tame.

"You want to see," he repeated.

"Yes."

"You want me to stop holding back."

"Yes."

He moved so fast she didn't see it coming.

One moment they were standing apart. The next, her back hit the studio wall, and his body pressed against hers not gentle, not careful. His hand gripped her jaw, tilting her face up. His other hand pinned her wrist above her head.

"Then watch," he said.

And he kissed her.

Not like before. Not like the soft rain kiss or the desperate sidewalk kiss. This was something else entirely.

His mouth claimed hers with brutal possession teeth and tongue and the kind of hunger that left no room for doubt. He bit her lower lip hard enough to sting, then soothed it with his tongue. His free hand slid down her side, gripped her hip, pulled her flush against him.

Sarah gasped against his mouth. She couldn't breathe. She didn't want to.

He pulled back just long enough to growl, "She touched your things." Then he kissed her again, deeper, harder. "She threatened you." Another kiss, this one almost angry. "She thinks she can take you from me."

His forehead pressed against hers. His chest heaved.

"No one takes you from me, Sarah. No one."

She should have been afraid. Any sensible woman would have pushed him away, run for the door, called the police.

Instead, she twisted her wrist free from his grip, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him back down.

"Good," she said against his lips. "Now prove it."

He kissed her until she was dizzy. Until her lips were swollen and her legs were weak and she forgot her own name. When he finally pulled back, there was a red mark on her wrist where he had held her.

He saw it. His eyes widened.

"Sarah"

"I'm fine." She touched her own wrist, then touched his face. "I told you. I'm not afraid."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he lowered his forehead to hers and closed his eyes.

"You're going to destroy me," he whispered.

"Probably." She smiled. "But you'll enjoy every second."

They left the studio an hour later.

Not because they wanted to. Because Sarah's phone kept buzzing — first Mira, then her landlord, then the receptionist from VanceCorp. Something was happening.

Kaelan drove her back toward the city. The streets were too quiet. The lights seemed dimmer.

"Something's wrong," Sarah said.

Kaelan's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "Celeste doesn't wait. She acts."

He was right.

When they reached Sarah's apartment building, police cars blocked the street. Yellow tape stretched across the entrance. A crowd of neighbors huddled on the sidewalk, whispering.

Sarah pushed through the crowd. A uniformed officer stopped her.

"Miss, you can't"

"This is my apartment. What happened?"

The officer exchanged a glance with his partner. Then he stepped aside.

Inside, her door hung open. Not broken —unlocked. Someone had used a key.

Her paintings were still there. Her brushes, her easel, her jars of turpentine. But her canvases — the ones she had been hiding under her bed, the ones that weren't for sale, the ones that showed her true heart were gone.

Every single one.

On her kitchen counter, propped against the sink, was a single polaroid.

Celeste and Kaelan, years younger. His arm around her shoulders. Both of them smiling at the camera like they were in love.

Written on the back in elegant script:

"He was mine first. And he will be mine last. The paintings are just the beginning."

Sarah turned the polaroid over. Stared at Kaelan's young face. His smile looked real.

Behind her, Kaelan's voice came from the doorway — hoarse, broken, and furious.

"Sarah. I can explain."

She didn't turn around.

"Three years," she said quietly. "You said you've been watching me for three years. But this photo" She held it up. "This looks like more than an ex-fiancée. This looks like someone you actually loved."

The silence stretched.

Then Kaelan said, "I did love her. Once. Before I knew what she was."

"And now?"

"Now I would watch her burn if it meant keeping you warm."

Sarah finally turned.

His face was naked with fear — not of Celeste, but of her. Of her rejection. Of the possibility that the polaroid had planted a seed of doubt.

She walked toward him slowly. Held up the photo between them.

"Then burn her," Sarah said. "But don't lie to me again. Not about her. Not about anything."

Kaelan took the photo from her hand. Tore it in half. Then in quarters. Then in eighths.

"The only person I want," he said, "is standing right in front of me. And I will spend every dollar, every breath, every drop of blood proving it."

He stepped forward. His hands cupped her face. His lips brushed her forehead.

"Stay with me tonight. Not at the penthouse. Somewhere she doesn't know about. Somewhere safe."

Sarah looked at her ruined apartment. At the missing paintings. At the shreds of the polaroid on the floor.

"One condition," she said.

"Anything."

She reached up and pulled his tie loose —slowly, deliberately.

"Show me the locked room."

Kaelan went pale.

"The one you mentioned to Celeste. The one with the cameras and the shrine and everything you've been hiding." Sarah smiled — not sweet, not innocent. Hungry. "I want to see exactly how obsessed you really are."

He stared at her for a long, terrible moment.

Then he took her hand and led her out of the apartment, past the police, past the whispering neighbors, past the world that would never understand.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he said as he opened his car door.

"I never do," Sarah replied.

They drove into the night.

And behind them, in the shadows of the alley across the street, a pair of binoculars flashed once in the moonlight—then disappeared.

End Of Chapter 5 • To be Continued