Bound in blood.

The first thing Milantra noticed was the cold.It seeped into her skin, the smooth leather beneath her offering no warmth, only a reminder of where she was. A car. Moving fast. The scent of expensive cologne mixed with something sharper—metallic, almost like blood.Her wrists ached. She twisted them against the zip ties binding her hands, her pulse hammering as flashes of memory hit her. Espiranta. The apartment door kicked open. Men in suits. A gun pressed to her temple. She inhaled sharply. “Finally awake.” The voice was deep, smooth as velvet, yet edged with something sharper—amusement, perhaps. Milantra’s gaze snapped to the man seated beside her, and her breath caught in her throat. Sequilaa. She had never met him before, but she knew exactly who he was. Everyone did. The name alone was a whispered warning in the streets. Ruthless. Untouchable. The kind of man you prayed never learned your name. And yet, here she was. In his car. Bound. Taken. Her heart pounded. "Where—" Her voice came out rough, throat dry. "Where are you taking me?" Sequilaa didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with a flick of his lighter. The glow illuminated his face for a second—sharp jaw, dark eyes that held no mercy, lips curled in something close to amusement. "Your brother," he said, exhaling smoke, "stole from me." Milantra swallowed. "I don’t know where he is." "I don’t need you to." He leaned back, legs spread, the picture of unshaken power. "I need him to suffer. And what better way than to take the only thing he cares about?" Her stomach clenched. He was using her. Not for information. Not as leverage to get her brother’s location. She was the punishment. Her body tensed. “You can’t just—” "I can." His voice was calm, absolute. "And I already have." Rage boiled beneath her skin. Who the hell did he think he was? "He’s the one who stole from you. Why don’t you go after him instead of playing kidnapper?" Sequilaa’s lips twitched, a slow, dangerous smirk. He reached over, fingers trailing the side of her neck, making her stiffen. "Because, Milantra," he murmured, voice a low hum, "this way is so much more… entertaining." She yanked away, heart slamming against her ribs. "I’ll never be your prisoner." He laughed softly, darkly. “You think you have a choice?” The car slowed, the hum of the engine vibrating beneath her as they pulled into a driveway. Milantra’s breath hitched as she took in the towering iron gates, the high walls lined with security cameras, the armed guards standing motionless like statues. This wasn’t just a house. It was a fortress. The doors unlocked with a soft click. Sequilaa stepped out first, adjusting the cuffs of his suit, looking completely at ease. A man who had done this before. A man who had taken before. The back door swung open, and a large hand reached inside, grabbing her arm. Milantra fought it, kicking wildly, but the grip tightened like iron. "Don’t make a scene," Sequilaa said lazily, watching her struggle. "Or do. It won’t change anything." She glared at him. "I hate you." His smirk deepened. "Give it time." Milantra had never wanted to hurt someone so badly in her life. But as she was dragged out of the car, her feet unsteady on the gravel driveway, she knew one thing for certain. This man would ruin her.