Chapter 8
1634 Words
Elara's POV
Ang huling natatandaan ko ay ang amoy ng dagat at ang init ng kamay ni Julián habang sakay kami ng isang maliit na bangka patungong Mindoro. Akala ko, malaya na kami. Akala ko, sapat na ang dilim ng gabi para itago kami mula sa kapangyarihan ni Liyro Ferrer.
But I was a fool to think I could outrun a man who owns the horizon.
Bago pa man tumama ang aming bangka sa pampang, ang liwanag ng isang helicopter ay bumulag sa amin. Then, the sound of gunshots—not to kill, but to warn. Julián was dragged away from me, his screams drowned out by the roaring wind.
"Elara! No! Liyro, you monster!"
And then, darkness.
When I woke up, wala na ako sa maingay at mainit na Cubao. Wala na rin ang amoy ng pintura ni Julián. Ang sumalubong sa akin ay ang amoy ng mamahaling linen, vanilla, at ang alat ng dagat.
I was in a villa. A glass-walled fortress on a private island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. No signal. No boats. No escape.
"You're awake," a voice said from the shadows.
Pumasok si Liyro sa kwarto. He wasn't wearing his professor's suit. He was in a white linen shirt, half-unbuttoned, looking like the king of this godforsaken island.
"Nasaan si Julián? Ano'ng ginawa mo sa kanya?!" sigaw ko, pilit na bumabangon kahit hilong-hilo pa ako.
"He's alive, Elara. Back in his father's mansion, where he belongs," Liyro said, his voice terrifyingly calm. He walked toward the bed and sat on the edge, his weight causing the mattress to dip.
"But you... you belong here. With me."
Liyro's POV
I watched her cower from me. It should have hurt, but it only fueled the obsession. She looked so fragile against the silk sheets—a broken bird I had finally caught. I had spent millions to track them, to buy the silence of the coast guard, and to build this sanctuary just for her.
"I gave you a choice at the gala, Elara. You chose to run. Now, there are no more choices. There is only survival."
"You can't keep me here! This is kidnapping!" she sobbed.
"This is protection," I corrected her, my hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. She flinched, but I didn't let go. "The world is too dangerous for someone as beautiful and soft as you. Here, you will have everything. Clothes, food, the finest paints. Everything... except the exit."
The night was long and brutal.
Hindi ito katulad ng mga erotic prose na isinusulat ni Liyro sa kanyang journal. This was real. This was the 'Ice Professor' finally letting the fire consume him. Every touch was a claim, every kiss was a brand. He wanted to erase every memory of Julián's touch from my skin.
He didn't just want my body; he wanted to break my spirit until I had nothing left but him.
"Say my name, Elara," he whispered against my skin, his voice thick with a dark, twisted passion.
"Tell me who owns you."
I stayed silent, my tears soaking the pillow, until the exhaustion and the sheer intensity of his obsession forced the words out of my broken soul.
"Liyro..."
"Good girl," he breathed.
Elara's POV
Madaling-araw na. Ang tanging tunog na naririnig ko ay ang hampas ng mga alon sa labas at ang malalim na paghinga ni Liyro sa tabi ko.
I felt weak. Drained. Empty.
My body felt like it didn't belong to me anymore. Ang bawat bahagi ng pagkatao ko ay parang binura ng nagdaang gabi. I tried to move, but my limbs felt like lead. Ang sakit ng bawat haplos niya ay tila nanunuot pa rin sa buto ko.
I looked at my hands—the hands that used to paint dreams. Now, they were just shaking.
I am an orphan who thought she found a home in the arms of a tycoon's son.
Ngayon, isa na lang akong "bed warmer" sa isang islang hindi mahahanap ng kahit sino. I am the secret mistress of a man the world thinks is a saint. Lumingon ako kay Liyro habang natutulog siya. He looked so peaceful, so handsome, as if he hadn't just destroyed a woman's life. He had won. He had audited my soul, found it wanting, and decided to rewrite my entire existence.
And the worst part? Habang nakatingin ako sa asul na dagat sa labas, alam ko na kahit anong sigaw ko, walang makakarinig sa akin. Julián is gone.
My future is gone.
There is only Liyro. There is only the island. And there is only the ink of my tears on the silk sheets of my prison.
Liyro's POV
I didn't want to be gentle. Gentleness was a lie told by men who didn't know how to own what they desired. As I stared down at Elara, her dark curls splayed against the white silk like ink on a fresh canvas, I felt a surge of possessive hunger that bordered on insanity.
I stripped the midnight blue dress from her body, the silk sighing as it hit the floor. She was perfection—pale, trembling, and utterly at my mercy. I didn't just want her body; I wanted to consume the very memory of the man who had dared to touch her before me.
I pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, my grip like iron. I wanted her to feel the disparity in our strength, the absolute authority of my claim.
"Look at me, Elara," I growled, my voice a dark vibration against her skin. "Look at the man who owns your breath."
I began a slow, agonizing audit of her skin. My mouth was a brand, marking every curve, every dip, and every secret place. I moved with a clinical, yet devastating sensuality, driven by the need to erase Julián's ghost. Every time she gasped, every time her back arched in a reflex she couldn't control, I felt a triumphant spark.
When I finally entered her, it wasn't a union; it was an invasion. It was the "Ice Professor" finally letting the fire consume his logic. The friction was a white-hot agony and ecstasy, a rhythmic declaration of war. I was relentless, pushing her deeper into the mattress, my movements calculated to draw out every sound of surrender she was trying to hide.
Elara's POV
The pain was there, a sharp and invasive heat, but it was quickly being swallowed by a terrifying, overwhelming sensation. Liyro was too much—too heavy, too powerful, and too skilled. He was unraveling me, thread by thread, until I was nothing but a raw nerve.
I felt like I was drowning in him. His scent—sandalwood and cold power—filled my lungs. His hands were everywhere, possessive and cruel, anchoring me to a reality I wanted to escape. Every thrust felt like a signature, a permanent mark on my soul that told the world I was no longer an orphan, no longer an artist, but a piece of property.
I tried to turn my head away, to find the darkness of the room, but he caught my chin, forcing me to watch him. His eyes were obsidian, reflecting a version of myself I didn't recognize—a woman broken by pleasure and pain, a woman whose body was betraying her heart.
"Say it," he hissed, his pace turning frantic, his breath ragged against my ear. "Tell me you don't need him. Tell me I'm the only one."
I couldn't speak. I could only weep as the sensation built into a crushing wave. The world narrowed down to the friction of our bodies, the sound of the storm, and the weight of his obsession. When the release finally came, it was a violent, soul-shattering eruption that left me gasping for air, my spirit fractured beyond repair.
Liyro's POV
I watched the light leave her eyes as she finally went limp, her body a broken instrument in my hands. I stayed buried deep inside her, savoring the warmth, the silence, and the absolute victory. I had done more than just take her; I had rewritten her.
I leaned down and kissed her lips, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her defeat.
"You are my masterpiece, Elara," I whispered. "And tonight, the world has ended. There is only us."
Elara's POV
The morning was a cruel reminder of my survival. I lay there, weak and drained, my limbs feeling like they were made of lead. The sheets were a mess of silk and shame, a silent witness to the night Liyro Ferrer claimed his prize. I felt hollowed out. It wasn't just physical exhaustion; it was as if he had reached inside and pulled out the colors of my soul, leaving me gray and empty. Every movement was an ache, a reminder of his dominance. I looked at the red marks on my wrists and the bruises on my thighs, and I realized that the "Ice Professor" had finally found a canvas he would never stop painting.
I am an orphan who once believed love was enough to change the world.
Now, I am a "bed warmer" on a hidden island, a secret kept by a man who is a god in the eyes of the public and a monster in the dark. I looked at Liyro as he stood by the balcony, his back to me, looking every bit the cold, untouchable billionaire.
He turned, and the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. The night wasn't an ending. It was just the prologue to my imprisonment.
"Welcome to your new life, Elara," he said, his voice terrifyingly tender. "I hope you like the view. It's the only one you'll ever see again."
- Writer
