Bought by the underworld CEO

Chapter 05 ( The iron chain and the silk sheets)

Zoya lay on the bed, staring at the coffered ceiling. The iron chain was cold against her ankle, a constant reminder. She wasn’t in a penthouse. She was in a cage with silk sheets.

Her mind drifted to Country M. The heat. The noise. The her childhood street at dawn. She missed her friends — Lily laugh,Julia terrible singing in the car. She missed her parents, even her father’s strict lectures about reputation. She was her parents only child. She missed her cousins, the way they all piled into one room during festivals and holidays , stealing sweets from the kitchen.

she even missed her servants and maids. Razia, who used to sneak her extra sweets and snacks. Iqbal, the driver, who’d wait hours without complaining.

She wasn’t just homesick. She was _soul_ sick.

A tear rolled down her temple into her hair, hot and shameful. She swiped it away with a vicious jerk. _No._

"Don’t worry, Zoya, don’t worry," she whispered to the empty room. Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. "You will get through this. You have to stay strong."

She squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars. "Tomorrow is another day. You will be able to return to Country M. Really soon."

It was a lie. She knew it. But lies were the only blanket she had tonight.

Exhaustion won. Zoya fell asleep with the chain heavy on her leg and hope heavier in her chest.

---

Morning hit her face like a slap. Sunlight, sharp and golden, poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows. For one disoriented second, she forgot. She thought she was back home, that her mother would call her for breakfast

Then the iron bit into her skin when she moved.

Reality.

She sat up. Her suitcases were still here in this room, stacked neatly by the wardrobe like they belonged. Like _she_ belonged.

She needed to feel human. She grabbed clothes from her own suitcase — a simple cotton kurta, it felt soft — and headed for the bathroom.

The shower was scalding. She let the water pound her shoulders until her skin was red, until the scent of cedar and whiskey from last night was gone. Until _he_ was gone.

As she was drying her hair with a plush white towel, her stomach dropped.

Her little brown crossbody bag. The one she never traveled without. She put it in the suitcase while packing.

She hadn’t seen it since the auction.

Panic, cold and fast, shot through her veins. Zoya dropped the towel and tore through her suitcase. Shirts, scarves, books — she dumped everything on the floor. Nothing. She checked again, slower, hands shaking.

It wasn’t there.

It was very important. Her ID card. Her passport. The property papers her father made her carry, "just in case." Birth certificate. Everything that proved Zoya Khan existed was in that bag.

Without it, she wasn’t a citizen. She was a ghost. A foreigner with no proof, no country, no way home.

_He took it. He had to have taken it._

A sharp knock at the door made her flinch. The maid — Lena — stepped in, eyes still downcast. "Miss Zoya. Master Ares requests you for breakfast." She also unchained her.

Zoya nodded, not trusting her voice. She followed Lena, barefoot, the chain’s absence feeling wrong now. Like she’d been trained in one day.

---

*At breakfast*

The dining table was a crime scene of her childhood again. Halwa puri. Chicken achari. Fresh lassi with malai on top. Even the mango pickle was the brand her mother bought.

But today, the food tasted like ash.

Zoya picked at a piece of puri, her fingers trembling. She was worried, and it showed. Her shoulders were hunched. Her eyes kept darting to the doors, calculating.

Ares sat at the head of the table, a newspaper open but his eyes on her. He was in a black shirt today, sleeves rolled up, forearms scarred and tanned. He looked like he’d slept perfectly. She looked like she’d been chained to a bed.

Because she had.

"You’re not eating," he said. His voice was calm. Too calm. It was the same voice he used last night before he said _"you forced me."_

Zoya didn’t answer. She stabbed a piece of chicken.

Ares set his paper down. "You’re worried." It wasn’t a question. "Tell me."

She wanted to throw the plate at his head. She wanted to scream. Instead, she stared at her lassi. She didn’t want to tell him. Telling him meant giving him another weapon. But those documents were important. This wasn’t a joke for a foreigner with no embassy to call.

She took a breath. "I— I can't find my passport and my things," she said. Her voice was smaller than she wanted. "Maybe at the auction... it got... it got lost..."

The words died in her throat. She couldn’t finish the lie.

Ares leaned back in his chair. The morning light caught the green in his eyes, and for a second, he looked human. Then he spoke.

"I have it."

Three words. That was all.

Zoya’s head snapped up. Her heart stopped, then slammed against her ribs.

Ares smirked. Not kind. Not cruel. Victorious. "Your little brown bag. Passport. ID. Property deeds."

"So you can't leave this place," he said, picking up his coffee. "Not without me."

The air left the room. Zoya felt it. The walls got closer. The chain might as well have been back on her ankle.

_He planned this. The food. The suitcases. The kindness. All of it was to show me I can’t run even if I break the chain._

Her vision blurred. Not with tears. With rage.

But she was smart. Rage got you killed. Rage got you chained.

So Zoya blinked. Once. Twice. She schooled her face into blankness, into the same empty expression Lena wore. Then she picked up her spoon and started eating her halwa.

She ignored him.

She chewed. She swallowed. She acted like the man who held her entire life in a brown bag wasn’t sitting three feet away.

Ares watched her. The smirk faded. His jaw tightened.

_Good,_ Zoya thought. _Be confused. Be angry. Because I’m not giving you my fear anymore._

She didn’t look at him for the rest of breakfast.

But she felt him.

His gaze was a weight, a chain heavier than iron. And somewhere in her chest, something cold and sharp and new was being born.

Not hope.

Not fear.

_War._

Ares kept staring at Zoya and after 5 min he suddenly smiled. It was creepy, like he's up to no good,like he still won.

_End of Chapter 5_

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