RUTHLESS DEVOTION: THE EMPIRE BETWEEN US

CAGED BIRD

The dream was a suffocating weight, a chaotic blur of shadows and heavy footsteps chasing her through the dark. In the nightmare, her arms were locked tightly behind her back in cold, unyielding iron cuffs, her throat burning as she ran for her life from a man she couldn't see.

Amilah bolted upright, her chest heaving violently as she tried to force air into her lungs.

She blinked away the heavy fog of sleep, her blurry vision scanning the massive, unfamiliar room. The moment her eyes cleared, the truth slammed into her. The lavish, shadowed ceiling, the scent of expensive cologne, the heavy silence, it all rushed back. She turned her head slowly, her breath catching in her throat.

Beside her, the man from last night was still fast asleep, his large, lethal frame buried beneath the dark sheets.

Terror hit her like a physical wave. She didn't think. She just moved. Amilah swung her legs out of the bed, but the second her feet touched the cold floor and she tried to stand, a sharp, agonizing cry died in her throat. She hissed out loud, her entire lower region flaring with a deep, raw pain that throbbed with every single shift of her weight. Her thighs trembled, her body screaming from the sheer intensity of how he had claimed her.

But she couldn't listen to the soreness. Not now. She had to run before this crazy psycho opened his eyes and trapped her here forever.

Swallowing the pain, she quietly slipped back into her white gown and undies, her hands shaking so badly she could barely pull the fabric over her skin. She scooped up her heels, holding her breath as she tiptoed out of the master bedroom, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. In the living room, her eyes frantically searched the space until she spotted her purse. She snatched it up and literally ran for her life, tearing open the heavy doors of the penthouse.

The cool, 5:00 AM air hit her face the moment she escaped into the morning light. Standing on the deserted pavement, she frantically opened her phone to request a cab. That was when she noticed the missed calls lighting up her screen, one from her mother, and another from her assistant, Beryl.

"I'll call them when I get out of this place," Amilah whispered to herself, her voice cracking.

She wanted to put on her heels, but she couldn't risk slowing down. Barefoot, her lungs burning, she sprinted down the long, winding driveway toward the main gate. She ran for nearly ten minutes straight before her legs finally gave out right at the security checkpoint. Desperate to look normal, she clumsily forced her feet into her heels just as one of the guards stepped out, blocking her path.

"Good morning, miss," the guard said, checking his watch with a deep frown. "Why are you leaving so early? It's barely 5:00 AM. Are you sure you'll even get a cab out here?"

"Good morning. Yes... yes, don't worry, I'll be fine," Amilah stammered, her voice completely ragged as she tried to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I can't let you through."

Amilah almost had a heart attack right then and there. A suffocating dread swallowed her whole.

"I'm sorry, what?!" She stepped closer, her eyes wide with desperation. "Please, I have to go. I have a flight to catch at ten o'clock." When the guard didn't move, she forced her voice to break, shoving her purse toward him. "Check my bag! I didn't take anything. Your boss and I... we had a horrible fight, and I just want to leave."

She let the hot, real tears of frustration spill over her eyelashes, playing the part of a deeply hurt, broken woman. The guard's strict expression instantly crumbled. Feeling a wave of pity for her, he stepped back and unlocked the massive gate.

Amilah let out a shaky sigh and rushed past him. But when she checked her phone, her stomach dropped. The cab was still thirty minutes away.

No. I can't just stand here and wait, that psycho might come looking for me.

She turned and began to walk down the empty, winding road, her heels digging into the asphalt. "All of this is happening because of that crazy psycho," she hissed under her breath, a toxic mix of anger and fear fueling her steps. "And who the f**k even is he?"

She walked until her legs felt weak, the blisters on her feet burning with every step. Just as her knees were about to give out and she was ready to collapse onto the dirt at the edge of the road, she recognized the approaching car. It was her cab. Amilah stood up quickly, waving her arms frantically until the vehicle came to a sudden halt. She threw herself into the backseat, the door slamming shut as the car sped away, finally carrying her back to her apartment.

---

Back at the penthouse, the heavy silence was shattered by the sharp, persistent ringing of a cell phone.

Lowin Vance stirred, a dark furrow appearing between his brows as he lifted his massive upper body off the mattress. He pressed his hand against his forehead, a vicious, throbbing headache taking root behind his eyes. He reached out, grabbing the vibrating phone and staring at the caller ID.

Victoria.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. In a cold, detached tone that could ffreezefreeze the entire room, he answered. "What do you want?"

Victoria's furious, high-pitched voice erupted through the speaker. "Why didn't you answer your phone last night, Lowin?! You left the gala without even telling me! Where are you?"

Lowin gritted his teeth, annoyance burning through his veins. "Let this be the last time you call me asking such useless questions."

He abruptly hung up, tossing the phone carelessly across the bed.

He turned his head to the side, expecting to see the soft, tangled hair of his little bird. The sheets were empty. He scanned the room her clothes, her shoes, her presence, everything was gone. Frowning, he slid out of bed, his naked chest gleaming in the dim light as he walked toward the bathroom. He knocked once, the sound echoing heavily. No response. He turned the knob and pushed the door open, but the massive marble room was completely empty.

He strode out into the living area. She wasn't there either, and her purse was gone.

"Did she run?" he murmured, a dangerous, dark smirk slowly forming on his lips.

He snatched the house phone and dialed the security gate.

"Good morning, sir," the guard answered, his voice instantly straight.

"The woman I came with last night," Lowin commanded, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "When did she leave?"

"S-she left this morning, sir. Around 5:00 AM."

"And why wasn't I notified?"

"Sir... I'm sorry. She said you two fought, so I thought... I thought maybe you were angry and wanted her gone."

Lowin's eyes narrowed into slits. "Let this be the last time you let someone out of this premises without my permission." He slammed the phone down, cutting the call.

"So you ran, little bird?" he muttered into the empty room.

He walked back into his bedroom, and the sheer memory of last night came rushing back to life, the echo of her soft, breathless moans, the intoxicating taste of her fair skin against his tongue. At the mere thought of her body beneath his, his manhood twitched, hardening instantly. "Seriously," he muttered, a low chuckle escaping him. The thought of her was already triggering his darkest instincts.

But past the desire, a cold, lethal anger took over. He needed to know who had the guts to drug him.

He took a quick, freezing shower, washing away the heat of the night before stepping into his massive walk-in closet. He selected a tailored gray suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly, satisfied he walked back to the bed to grab his phone, his eyes caught something on the pristine white fabric of the sheets.

Blood. Distinct, crimson stains smeared on the linen. Realization hit him like a physical blow. He froze, his fingers slowing as he loosened his silk tie. She had been pure. A virgin. And he had taken her like a beast driven by a drug.

His mind screamed with a new, feral possessiveness. I have to find her.

He quickly dialed a secure number, the line picking up instantly. "Meet me in my office. There is something we need to discuss." He ended the call before a reply could be made.

---

In the presidential suite of the Royal Palace Hotel, Victoria Jackson was sobbing hysterically.

For the first time in her life, she felt a cold dread in her stomach. She didn't know Lowin Vance at all. How could he speak to her with such chilling detachment?

Suddenly, her phone buzzed against the glass table.

[Unknown]: Paparazzi are ready as you instructed.

Victoria let out a breathless curse, slamming her fist against the sofa. Even if the press was ready, there was absolutely nothing for them to see. Lowin hadn't spent the night in her bed.

[Victoria]:The plan failed. Just tell them you were mistaken.

[Unknown]:Okay.

Wiping her face, she called her manager. "Bring a fresh change of clothes to my suite right now," she ordered, her voice hardening. She needed to get to the Vance Empire headquarters. She had to look Lowin in the eye and find out exactly what and who had happened last night.

---

High above the city, in the ultra-modern executive office of the Vance Empire, Lowin sat in his massive leather chair, a printed list of every single gala attendee gripped tightly in his hand.

The heavy glass doors suddenly flew open, and three men stormed into the room with synchronized, commanding authority. They looked completely alike, possessing the same sharp jaws and lethal builds, the Salvatore triplets: Debrin, Damien, and Dane. They were Lowin's inner circle, his best friends, and the only men on earth he trusted with his life.

"What happened?" Debrin asked, skipping any pleasantries as he sat across from Lowin.

"Someone managed to drug me at the gala last night," Lowin replied, his voice deadly calm.

Dane leaned against the edge of the desk, raising an eyebrow. "Damn. But you're alright?"

"Yes, I am," Lowin murmured, his eyes drifting to the window. "Thanks to a stubborn little bird I ran into."

A slow, genuinely amused smile formed on Lowin's lips. The three brothers froze, staring at him in complete, stunned silence. The ruthless, cold-blooded Lowin Vance was actually smiling over a woman.

Damien dramatically placed a hand over his heart, gasping. "Stop that right now, Mr. Vance. My poor heart can't handle that kind of shock this early morning."

Lowin shot him a warning glare that instantly silenced him. "I want the CCTV footage inside and outside the Royal Palace Hotel on my monitor in the next Ten minutes."

"Done," Debrin said, his fingers already flying across the keyboard of his laptop. Simultaneously, Damien made a direct call to the hotel's higher-ups. His tone left absolutely no room for negotiation; they were accessing the server drives immediately. Knowing better than to cross the big shots of the city, the hotel management complied instantly.

Lowin pressed the intercom on his desk. "Tom. Where is my driver?"

"He just clocked in, sir. Do you need him?"

"Send him in right now," Lowin commanded, his voice turning lethal.

Minutes later, the driver walked into the expansive office, bowing his head slightly. "Sir, you asked to see me?"

Lowin didn't even look up from the document in his hands. "Where did you go last night, James?"

"Madam asked me to leave, sir," James explained, his voice trembling. "She told me you were spending the night in her suite at the hotel."

The Salvatore triplets exchanged sharp, knowing glances. In a split second, the temperature in the executive office dropped to absolute zero.

Lowin slowly lifted his head, his gray eyes locking onto the driver like a predator cornering prey. "And when exactly did she become your madam? Who told you to take orders from her?"

"I'm so sorry, sir," James stammered, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "It won't happen again."

Lowin let out a low, dark chuckle. It was a terrifying sound that sent a violent shiver straight down the driver's spine. "You're right. It won't happen again. Because you're fired. Get out of my sight."

James opened his mouth to plead, but looking at the unyielding expression on Lowin's face, he knew it was worthless. He silently unclipped his employee ID card and walked out of the room.

"Lowin, I think you should see this," Debrin called out, splitting his laptop screen onto the massive wall monitor.

The screen flickered to life. The first footage showed Victoria Jackson standing outside the VIP restrooms, handing a small vial to a waiter, who then slipped back into the ballroom.

The next angle transitioned to the quiet, dimly lit corridor near the underground parking lot. The camera captured Lowin walking down the hall. He clearly saw a gorgeous woman in a white silk gown walking toward him, lost in deep thought. Instead of avoiding her, Lowin deliberately stepped directly into her path, forcing her to stumble right into his arms.

The triplets turned to Lowin in unison. "Is she the little bird?"

"Yes," Lowin murmured, his eyes locking onto her image on the screen. "And she disappeared before I even woke up this morning. I don't even know her name."

Damien leaned closer to the monitor, whistling low. "She is so f*****g beautiful."

Lowin shot him a cold, primal glare that made Damien instantly raise his hands in total surrender. Moving his sharp eyes across the screen, Lowin noticed Victoria hiding behind a marble pillar in the background of the footage. She had watched the entire interaction. A dark realization settled in his chest, no wonder she was hysterical on the phone.

"Your so-called girlfriend appears to be the main suspect," Dane noted, crossing his arms.

"I suspected it," Lowin stated flatly.

Debrin shook his head. "Why would she go that far without thinking of the consequences?"

Lowin let out a dark, ruthless chuckle. "She is desperate to make our relationship public. And there is no way in hell that is happening."

Debrin tapped a key, changing the feed. The monitor shifted to an archival broadcast of a red-carpet interview at the entrance of the Royal Palace Hotel from the night before. Lowin lifted his chin, his entire body going rigid as that soft, familiar voice echoed through the office speakers.

Reporter: "You designed this yourself? That's extraordinary. What's the name of your label?"

Amilah: "Amizee Trends."

Reporter: "Well, this might just be the most talked-about look of the evening. Enjoy the gala."

Lowin's eyes flared with a predatory light. "Amizee Trends? So she is a designer. Interesting."

He looked back down at the attendee list in his hand, his long fingers tracing down the columns until they stopped on a specific line: Amilah Miles - Amizee Trends.

A dangerous, intensely possessive smirk stretched across Lowin's face. He leaned back in his leather chair, his voice a low, gravelly promise.

"I finally found you, little bird. Let's see how far you can run now, sweetheart."

The Salvatore brothers stared at their friend in absolute disbelief. An ordinary designer had managed to capture the entire, hyper-fixated attention of the city's most ruthless billionaire. They honestly didn't know whether to be happy for him, or feel deeply sorry for the girl.

Suddenly, the heavy glass doors of the office flew open with a violent bang. Victoria Jackson stormed into the room, her eyes blazing with anger, only to freeze dead in her tracks as she realized Lowin wasn't alone.