Chapter 2: Golden Shackles
684 Words
That night, rain poured relentlessly over Jakarta.
Liora stood in the center of Damien's luxurious penthouse in Mega Kuningan. The spacious residence was sleek and minimalist, dominated by shades of black and gray—an unmistakable reflection of the man Damien had become.
A single suitcase rested beside her feet.
Everything else her family owned had already been frozen.
"Mrs. Laurent, allow me to show you to the master bedroom."
Haris, the middle-aged butler, regarded her with a mixture of sympathy and disbelief. He had witnessed firsthand how completely Damien had fallen apart after Liora disappeared three years ago.
Liora quietly followed him upstairs.
The master bedroom was exactly as grand as she remembered.
A king-sized bed draped in black silk sheets dominated the room.
An oversized abstract painting hung above the headboard.
As she stepped closer, her breath caught.
She knew that painting.
She had painted it herself during the first year of their marriage.
Damien had never taken it down.
If you hate me so much... why did you keep it?
Before she could linger on the thought, the bedroom door swung open.
Damien entered.
He had changed into a fitted black dress shirt, the top two buttons undone to reveal the strong line of his neck and a glimpse of his broad chest. His hair was still damp from the rain, giving him a dangerously untamed appearance.
With a subtle nod, he dismissed Haris.
The door closed automatically behind them.
The soft click echoed through the room like the sound of a prison cell locking shut.
"This room hasn't changed."
Damien walked toward the minibar tucked into the corner, poured whiskey into two crystal glasses, then approached her and held one out.
Liora shook her head.
"I don't drink."
A faint smile tugged at Damien's lips—cold, mocking.
"You used to."
His gaze sharpened.
"Or did your taste change after you started drinking with him?"
Without waiting for an answer, he set the untouched glass down on the bedside table with a sharp clink.
The sound made Liora flinch.
He took another step closer.
Instinctively, she backed away until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed.
"The fifty billion has already been transferred to the hospital and Arden Design."
She lifted her chin.
"Thank you."
Then she forced herself to meet his eyes.
"So... what exactly do you expect from me on our first night?"
"This is a business arrangement, isn't it?"
Damien's expression darkened.
"A business arrangement?"
His voice was low.
Almost dangerously calm.
He took another step forward, trapping her between his body and the bed.
One hand rested beside her thigh.
The other mirrored it on the opposite side, leaving her nowhere to escape.
Only a few inches separated them.
The scent of whiskey and mint lingered on his breath, stirring memories she had buried years ago.
"You think this is nothing more than a piece of paper?"
His deep voice brushed against her skin.
"You sold yourself to me for one year."
"To save your family."
His fingers slowly slid from just above her knee, trailing upward over the fabric of her pencil skirt.
The featherlight touch sent heat racing through her body.
Liora squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to suppress the trembling breath threatening to escape.
Her body betrayed her.
It still recognized him.
Still remembered every touch.
Still longed for him far more than she wanted to admit.
"Look at me, Liora."
It wasn't a request.
It was an order.
She opened her eyes.
Instead of fear, she met his gaze with quiet defiance.
"If this is how you want to punish me..."
"Then do it."
"I won't cry."
Something flickered in Damien's eyes.
Her courage only fueled the storm raging inside him.
He leaned closer until his lips hovered beside her ear.
"Cry?"
A humorless laugh escaped him.
"No, Liora."
"I don't want to see you cry."
His voice dropped to a rough whisper, heavy with years of restrained anger and longing.
"I want to hear you beg."
"I want you to beg for my forgiveness..."
"...right here."
"...tonight."
- Writer
