Bound to a VEYRON

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

You've never done this before," he stated, his eyes fixed on me, a new, calculating glint in their depths.

"Is that a problem?" I asked, my voice flat.

He didn't answer with words. He walked behind me, his body a solid, immovable wall at my back. At 6'3", he was a head taller than me, and his presence was suffocating. He wrapped his arms around me, his hands closing over mine on the rifle, his chest pressed against my back.

"Control," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "That's the first lesson. You have to control your body, your breath, your fear. Without it, you're a liability."

His touch was not for a lesson; it was for dominance. He was showing me that he could take my body, my very movements, and make them his. My mind was a steel trap. My heart hammered, but I kept my breathing even.

"Squeeze," he commanded, his breath hot against my ear. "Don't jerk. Don't think. Just do."

The shot was a brutal, deafening roar. The recoil slammed into my shoulder, but my hands held steady. He guided me through three more shots, each one a direct hit on the target. He didn't praise me. He simply released me, his hands falling away.

He didn't praise me. He simply released me, his hands falling away. The sudden absence of his body's heat left a chill on my back despite the afternoon sun. I lowered the rifle, the scent of gunpowder sharp in my nostrils.

"Is the lesson over?" I asked, my voice as devoid of emotion as his.

"For now," he said, taking the rifle from my hands with an easy authority. He secured it in its case without another glance at me. "Get in the car. There's a party tonight. You're coming with me."

The drive back to campus was silent, but my mind was screaming. He hadn't just taught me to shoot,But as we drove, I scanned the treeline, the winding dirt roads, the distant outline of a large lodge. My father was an engineer. He worked on projects for the wealthy and powerful. I couldn't shake the feeling that this place, this land, was more than just a training ground. It was a piece of the puzzle.

When he dropped me at my dorm, his only instruction was a low command. "Be ready by nine. Don't wear the green dress."

He knew it was the only nice thing I owned. The message was clear,Tsk.Rude.

At eight-thirty, a delivery box arrived at my door. No name, no return address. Inside, nestled in black tissue paper, was a dress. It was the opposite of my emerald one—a sheath of midnight blue silk so simple it was brutal, so well-cut it probably cost more than my entire semester's tuition. There was also a pair of silver heels and a note with a single word: Wear it.

"Katie, this is insane," Mia said, holding the dress up. The fabric shimmered under the harsh dorm lighting. "This dress is beautiful”

"I know," I said, my voice quiet as I took it from her.

I let her help me with my hair and makeup, my reflection morphing into a stranger—a polished, elegant woman with determined eyes . The girl who had schemed for months was gone, replaced by a creation of Damien Veyron's making. But beneath the silk and the gloss, I was still me. And I was still hunting.

The party wasn't at a student house; it was at a sleek, downtown venue rented out by one of the university's elite fraternities.

The moment I walked in with Damien, a hush fell over the room. His hand was a brand on the small of my back, guiding me through the sea of bodies.

We hadn't taken ten steps when a figure blocked our path. Charlotte. She was wearing a red dress so tight it looked painted on, her expression a mask of fury.

"Damien," she said, her voice dangerously sweet, completely ignoring me. "I saved you a seat."

Damien didn't even slow down. "Find a new one," he said, his voice clipped with boredom as he steered me around her like she was a piece of furniture. The public humiliation hit her like a physical blow. I saw her hands clench into fists as we passed, her eyes burning into my back.

He led me to a VIP section roped off from the rest of the crowd. Marco and Eden were already there, surrounded by other members of their inner circle. Richard was there, too, and his eyes found mine across the room. He gave me a small, concerned frown before looking away.

But my attention was snagged by someone else. A woman was laughing with Marco, a champagne flute held elegantly in her hand. It was Serena Veyron. Damien's mother.

She was beautiful, with the kind of timeless elegance that came from generations of wealth. She had Damien's dark hair but her eyes were a warm, welcoming brown—a stark contrast to his. When she saw us approach, her smile widened.

"Damien, darling," she said, her voice like honey. She air-kissed his cheek before her warm eyes settled on me. "And you must be Katherine. I've heard so much about you."

Her tone was friendly, but her gaze was a scalpel, dissecting me layer by layer. She was assessing me, calculating my worth, my threat level.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Veyron," I said, my voice perfectly steady.

"Oh, please, call me Serena," she insisted, her smile never faltering. She glanced at my dress, a flicker of something analytical in her eyes. "That's a lovely choice. It's wonderful how a simple, elegant cut can elevate anyone, don't you think?"

The insult was perfectly wrapped in a compliment, a delicate reminder that I was someone who needed elevating. Before I could respond, Damien steered me away.

He was pulled into a conversation with Marco, leaving me standing at the edge of the group. It was the opening Richard needed. He moved to my side, his expression serious.

"Just... watch your step," he said, his voice low and urgent. "He's not like the rest of us."

"I can handle myself," I replied coolly.

"I'm sure you can," he said, unconvinced. "Just know what you're getting into."

As he spoke, my ears caught a snippet of a conversation from two older men standing behind him, their voices laced with whiskey and privilege.

"...Alistair should have cut him loose years ago. Julian Croft is a liability."

The name hit me like a jolt of electricity. Croft. Serena's maiden name. My focus shifted so completely that Richard noticed. "You okay?" he asked.

I didn't get to answer. Damien was suddenly there, his presence a cold wall. His hand landed on my waist, a possessive, territorial gesture. He gave Richard a warning look .Richard took an involuntary step back, gave a tight nod, and disappeared into the crowd.

Damien leaned in, his breath brushing my ear. "Don't entertain strays."

His grip was tight, but his attention was already elsewhere. Just then, Charlotte reappeared, her previous fury replaced by a saccharine smile. She was holding two glasses of whiskey.

"A truce?" she offered, holding one out to Damien. "No more drama tonight."

Damien looked at her with utter disdain, but his pride wouldn't let him refuse such a public gesture. It would look like he was scared of her. With a bored sigh, he took the glass from her and downed half of it in one go, as if to get it over with. He handed the glass back to her empty. "Fine. Now go away."

She just smiled and melted back into the crowd.

It took less than fifteen minutes. I noticed it first. A slight unsteadiness when he shifted his weight, a subtle glaze in his eyes. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it.

"I'm going upstairs," he muttered, his voice thick. The fraternity kept a private suite for him here. "Wait for me."

He turned and walked away, his usual confident stride now rigid and slightly uneven. Charlotte was nowhere to be seen. My heart hammered. This was my chance. His keys, his wallet—they'd be in his jacket pocket in that suite. If there was a key card to his office, I had to get it.

I gave it a few minutes before I slipped away and headed up the private staircase. The hallway was empty, music thumping faintly from below. I found the door to the suite at the end of the hall. It was closed, but not latched.

I pushed it open silently. The room was dark, lit only by the city lights filtering through a large window. And then I saw them.

Charlotte had him pushed against the wall. It wasn't a passionate embrace; it was an attack. She was taking advantage of his disoriented state. His movements were sluggish, his usual sharp control completely gone.

I froze in the doorway, a gasp caught in my throat. The sound was small, but in the quiet room, it was a gunshot.

Damien's head lolled to the side. His glazed eyes, unfocused and dark, moved past Charlotte. And they locked directly onto mine.

There was no anger, no recognition, just a flicker of raw confusion. He was seeing me, a witness to his violation, to a moment of his absolute power being stripped away. And in that moment, the hunter became the prey.