Kept on Thorne island

The first dinner

I should have stayed upstairs.

That was my first thought when I walked into the dining room and saw the table.

It wasn't a dining table. It was a runway. Long black marble, candles everywhere, three places set on one side — all facing where _I_ would sit.

One chair. On the other side. Alone.

Like an interview. Or an offering.

"Sit," Julian said. He pulled the chair out for me. Not at the head. In the middle. So I would be directly across from all three of them.

I sat. My cargo pants made a soft sound against the leather chair. I was still in my black top, still barefoot, still damp. I felt underdressed and overdressed at the same time because of the way they were looking at me.

Dorian sat directly opposite me. Glasses back on. He looked like a professor who was about to fail me for fun.

Elias sat to his left, closest to me. He'd rolled his sleeves up. That tattoo on his neck — I could see now it was a snake.

Julian sat to Dorian's right. The furthest, but somehow the closest. He hadn't stopped watching my mouth.

Dinner was brought out by a woman who didn't say a word. Pasta. Fresh bread. Wine. She poured wine for them. Not for me.

"Water for her," Dorian said quietly, without looking away from me.

"I'm 22," I said. "I can drink."

"We know how old you are, princess," Elias murmured, leaning closer. His knee brushed mine under the table. Accidentally on purpose. "We know everything about you. Tiana Nova, 22, Port Harcourt to Milan, 14k followers until last month, now 86k. Broke art student who hates being told what to do."

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. "You stalked me?"

"We researched our investment," Dorian said. He said _investment_ the way other men say _girlfriend_.

Julian finally spoke. "Eat."

And because he said it like that — low, commanding, like he was trying not to lose control — I ate.

The pasta was insane. But I could barely taste it because Elias's knee kept touching mine. Every time I moved away, he moved closer.

"So, Tiana," Elias said, his voice too casual. "Maya said you had a boyfriend."

"I don't."

"Good." He smiled. That dangerous, boyish smile. "Because we don't share outside this table."

Dorian's eyes flicked to Elias. A warning.

"What Elias means," Dorian said, his voice calm but his knuckles white around his wine glass, "is that for seven days, you belong to this island. And this island belongs to us. So —"

"So I belong to you?" I finished for him.

No one corrected me.

Silence. Just the waves outside and the candles flickering.

Then Julian stood up. He walked around the table — slowly — and stopped behind my chair. I could feel him. I didn't turn.

"Stand up," he said, right above me.

My heart hammered. "Why?"

"Because I asked you to."

That tone again. That _owned for seven days_ tone.

I stood up. My chair scraped. Now I was standing between him and the table, with Dorian and Elias staring up at me. My top rode up a little. My cargo pants sat low. I knew what they could see.

Julian's hands hovered at my waist. Not touching. Just framing.

"This," he said to the other two, but his eyes were on me in the reflection of the dark window, "is what $50,000 looks like when it doesn't want to be bought."

Elias made a low sound in his throat. "f**k, Julian."

Dorian took his glasses off again. He looked wrecked. Quietly wrecked.

"Rule check, Tiana," Julian whispered, his lips almost touching my ponytail. "Are we touching you?"

"No," I breathed.

"Are we forcing you?"

"No."

"Then why are you shaking?"

Because all three of you are looking at me like you want to ruin me and keep me at the same time.

I didn't say it. I couldn't.

Julian finally — _finally_ — let his fingertips brush the waistband of my cargo pants. Just the edge. A centimeter of skin.

I gasped. I couldn't help it.

Elias stood up abruptly. "Okay, that's enough. She's done eating."

"I am?" I said, confused.

"Yes," Dorian said, standing too, his voice tight. "You are. Go to bed, Tiana. First floor, last door. Your villa is locked for tonight. You sleep in this house."

"What? No —"

"Rule four," Julian said, his hand finally dropping from my waist like it burned him. "You don't sleep alone when you're on Thorne Island."

Three billionaires. One house. One hallway. One bedroom at the end where they put me — between all three of theirs.

I walked out of that dining room feeling their eyes on my back, on my ponytail, on the bare skin above my cargo pants where Julian had almost touched me.

And the worst part? When I got to that bedroom and closed the door?

I didn't lock it.