Chapter 13
1007 Words
At Santorini Estate
The moment Elara stepped off the jet, she knew.
There was no escaping this.
Nicholas’s private estate in Santorini was a fortress—secluded, heavily guarded, untouchable.
The Mediterranean breeze carried the scent of salt and sun, but all she felt was trapped.
Because this wasn’t just a safe house.
This was a cage.
A beautiful, luxurious, inescapable cage.
And Nicholas?
He was its warden.
Elara turned to him, fire in her veins.
“I’m not a prisoner,” she snapped, stepping toward him.
Nicholas didn’t even blink. “Aren’t you?”
Her breath caught.
The bastard.
Her fists clenched. “You can’t just—”
He stepped closer, cutting her off—dark, dominant, unmoving.
His voice was quiet. Lethal.
“I can. And I did.”
Her stomach tightened.
Elara had never met a man like him.
Ruthless. Calculating. Obsessive.
And the worst part?
Somehow, it thrilled her.
Damn it.
She refused to let him have the upper hand.
Her chin lifted, defiance burning in her gaze.
“You can’t keep me here forever, Nicholas.”
A slow, dark smirk curved his lips.
“Sweetheart, I don’t think you understand.”
His fingers brushed her jaw—light, teasing, possessive.
“I have no intention of letting you go.”
Her breath shook.
Nicholas’s words settled over her like chains.
"I have no intention of letting you go."
Something dark and undeniable crackled between them—possession. Obsession. A claim she didn’t know how to fight.
But she had to.
She had to push back before he completely unraveled her.
Elara’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t own me, Nicholas,” she bit out.
His gaze darkened, but his smirk was slow, lethal.
“Don’t I?”
God, she hated the way her pulse skipped.
She took a step back. “This isn’t normal. You can’t just—just whisk me away to some private island and expect me to just… accept it!”
Nicholas exhaled sharply. His expression shifted—the playfulness draining, replaced with something colder.
Something that sent a shiver down her spine.
“You think this is a game, Elara?” His voice was low, controlled. Too controlled.
Her stomach twisted.
This was different.
This wasn’t just Nicholas being his usual dominant, controlling self.
This was something more.
Something deeper.
He ran a hand through his hair, his patience visibly thinning.
Then—his eyes locked onto hers.
“I didn’t bring you here just to protect you,” he said finally.
Elara stilled.
Her breath caught.
Nicholas stepped closer. Slow. Dangerous.
“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmured.
Her pulse pounded.
"Get what?" she whispered.
Nicholas tilted his head, his fingers brushing over her wrist—barely a touch, but enough to set her on fire.
“I’m not keeping you here because of the bounty, Elara.” His voice was quiet, lethal.
“I’m keeping you here because I won’t let you walk away.”
Elara’s stomach dropped.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
This wasn’t just about protection.
This wasn’t about keeping her safe.
This was about keeping her.
And Nicholas Wolfe?
He never let go of what was his.
"I’m not keeping you here because of the bounty, Elara."
"I’m keeping you here because I won’t let you walk away."
The words slammed into her like a blow to the chest.
Her fingers curled at her sides, nails digging into her palms.
Nicholas wasn’t just protecting her.
He was claiming her.
And God help her—a part of her wanted to be claimed.
But she couldn’t give in.
Not to him.
Not when she still didn’t understand what this was.
Her pulse pounded as she forced herself to hold his gaze.
“You don’t get to decide that, Nicholas.” Her voice was sharper than she felt inside, but she had to fight.
Nicholas tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.
Then—a slow, dangerous smirk.
“Elara,” he murmured, stepping closer. “You’re still pretending you have a choice.”
Her breath hitched as he lifted his hand, brushing his knuckles down her cheek.
A touch so light. So deceptively gentle.
And yet, it felt like a warning.
Or worse—a promise.
“You think I dragged you across the world just to let you walk away?” His voice was soft. Dangerous.
Her throat dried.
She had spent enough time around powerful men to recognize a threat when she heard one.
But Nicholas Wolfe?
He didn’t need to threaten.
Because when he spoke, he meant every word.
Elara inhaled sharply, stepping back, forcing distance.
She had to stay in control. Or at least make him think she was.
“You can’t just keep me here like some possession,” she said, pushing. Testing.
His smirk faded.
In its place?
Something darker.
Something that made her stomach tighten.
Nicholas studied her.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance she had created—until there was barely a breath between them.
He didn’t touch her.
Didn’t need to.
Because just his presence alone was suffocating. Consuming.
His voice was a whisper when he finally spoke.
“Sweetheart.”
Her breath stalled.
His eyes burned into hers, his next words sending a shiver down her spine.
“You are a possession.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She barely had a second to react before Nicholas reached out—his fingers curling around her wrist.
Firm. Unyielding.
A reminder of exactly who she was dealing with.
“I don’t share,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over her pulse. “I don’t negotiate. And I sure as hell don’t let go of what’s mine.”
She should have fought.
Should have ripped her hand from his grip.
But she didn’t.
She couldn’t.
Because despite everything—despite the fire in her veins, the warning sirens blaring in her head—
Elara knew one thing.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to escape.
And Nicholas Wolfe?
He knew it, too.
- Writer
