Chapter 2- Owned
578 Words
Cold followed Shayla everywhere.
Even after the ice of the Dark Room melted behind towering doors, it lingered in her bones. Hands gripped her arms, hauling her to her feet. Not gentle. Not cruel. Efficient. She stumbled, chains clinking, every step reminding her she was no longer her own.
“Move.”
The command snapped through her like a whip. She obeyed.
They led her through halls she could barely take in—golden floors, black stone walls veined faintly with silver, statues of people who had lived a thousand years. She kept her head down. She could not imagine touching anything in this place. She did not belong here.
At last, the guards stopped. A voice, calm, low, and absolute, cut through the silence.
“Leave.”
The guards obeyed instantly. She was left alone.
Her chest heaved. Her legs shook. She tried to steady herself, fingers curling into the floor.
Then she saw him.
Ryker Millions.
He stood in the center of the room, back half-turned, black robe trailing the floor. Bare feet rested on stone that steamed faintly with cold. His presence made the air thick, heavy, as if breathing itself had weight.
Shayla’s instincts screamed. She dropped to her knees, forehead touching the floor. “I—I’ll obey. I won’t cause trouble. I’ll work. I’ll—”
“Silence.”
One word. That was all it took.
Her mouth snapped shut. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Fear surged sharper than any whip, any auction bid, any punishment she had endured before.
“Look at me.”
Her fingers clenched. Slowly, painfully, she lifted her head.
His eyes were not what she expected. Not wild, not cruel. Cold. Ancient. He was looking at her as if measuring her in a single heartbeat, deciding her fate. She felt smaller than ever.
“You’re afraid,” he said. Not a question. A statement.
Shayla swallowed. “Yes.”
A pause. Then he stepped closer, crouching slightly, so that the cold brushed her skin like a warning.
“You should be.”
Her chest tightened.
“I didn’t buy you for pleasure,” he said. Voice even, controlled. “Or charity.”
Shayla’s breath hitched.
“I bought you,” he continued, “because you should not exist.”
The words hit harder than a whip. She flinched.
“You are human-born,” he said, “forbidden blood. Powerless, they said.”
His gaze sharpened. “They were wrong.”
Shayla’s lips parted. “I… I don’t have power. I would know.”
He studied her for a long moment. Then he stood.
“You will,” he said simply.
Ice crept along the floor again, thin and quiet, curling around her ankles without freezing her skin.
“You belong to me now,” he added. “No one else in this palace may touch you. Harm you. Claim you.”
Her pulse thundered. Protection? Or possession?
“Fail me,” he said, voice calm but heavy. “And I will end you myself.”
“Yes… my lord,” she whispered, trembling.
He turned away. “Get up. You start tonight.”
Shayla forced herself to stand, legs shaking violently. Servants entered, ready to escort her to her quarters. She obeyed without a word, eyes lowered, mind spinning.
As the doors closed behind her, one thought echoed endlessly in her mind:
I have survived the Dark Room… but this—this is something far worse.
- Writer
