CHAPTER 3: THE FIRST STRIKE
540 Words
CHAPTER 3: THE FIRST STRIKE
Lian stood in front of the mirror, glaring at her reflection.
The red dress clung to her body like a second skin, hugging her curves and leaving little to the imagination. It wasn’t her style—too bold, too exposed—but she had no choice. Her own clothes were gone. Everything she wore now had been chosen by him.
She tugged the fabric higher, trying to cover herself. It didn’t help.
The knock came at exactly 8:00 AM.
She didn’t answer.
The door opened anyway.
Kai Ren stepped in, dressed in a crisp black suit, hair slicked back, looking every bit the powerful, dangerous man he was.
His eyes swept over her slowly, dark and unapologetic.
“You look better in red than I expected.”
“Glad I could live up to your perverted expectations,” she muttered.
He smirked and stepped closer. “It wasn’t a request. It was an order.”
She turned away, chin raised. “I’m not your doll to dress up.”
His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist—not painfully, but firmly enough to remind her of the difference in power.
“You don’t get to argue with me, Lian,” he said, voice low. “I gave you freedom—your own room, your space. But don’t forget who you belong to.”
Her heart pounded. “You don’t own me.”
Kai’s hand moved to her chin, gripping it just enough to tilt her face toward him. His eyes bored into hers.
Then, without warning, he kissed her.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t romantic.
It was a claim.
His lips crashed against hers, dominating, hard and unrelenting. She pushed against his chest, trying to twist away, but he didn’t stop. His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her in place as if daring her to defy him again.
Heat surged through her body—rage, fear… and something else she didn’t want to admit.
When he finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, breath shaky.
“You bastard,” she whispered.
His smirk deepened. “Consider that your first lesson.”
She raised her hand to slap him again, but he caught her wrist mid-air.
This time, he didn’t let go.
Instead, he leaned in close, lips brushing her ear. “Slap me again and I’ll kiss you harder next time.”
Her cheeks flushed—not from desire, she told herself—but from fury.
He let her go and stepped back. “Breakfast is downstairs. Don’t be late.”
And then, like nothing happened, he left.
Lian stood frozen, her fingers touching her lips.
She hated him.
She hated the way he touched her without asking, the way he thought he could control her with a look, a word, a kiss.
But most of all, she hated the way her body betrayed her—how something in her chest fluttered when his mouth met hers. How the heat didn’t fade even after he was gone.
She slammed her fist into the mirror frame, the crack echoing through the silent room.
She wouldn’t fall for this.
She couldn’t.
Not when the enemy wore a smile as dangerous as his.
- Writer
