Chapter 5
1314 Words
The estate was silent, but tension crackled in the air.
Elara paced the grand living room, her nerves thrumming like a live wire. The walls were lined with art worth millions, the fireplace roared with a golden glow, and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the vast gardens stretched under the night sky.
It was beautiful. Lavish.
But all she could think about was that she was trapped.
She had tried the doors. Locked.
Had tried reasoning with the guards standing outside. Unmoved.
And Nicholas?
Nowhere.
She clenched her fists, frustration bubbling inside her.
What the hell was going on?
Then—
The front doors swung open.
Elara’s breath caught as Nicholas strode in, his presence sucking the air from the room.
He had shed his suit jacket, his white dress shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, veins flexing as he ran a hand through his dark hair.
He looked like a man who had just finished ruining someone’s life.
And from the cold, ruthless glint in his eyes, she was probably right.
Her pulse quickened.
Nicholas’s gaze landed on her, pinning her in place.
“Elara.” His voice was deep, unreadable.
She folded her arms, forcing herself to stay still. To not let him see the way he affected her.
“You had me brought here,” she said, keeping her voice even. “Against my will.”
Nicholas exhaled slowly, like he was barely holding on to patience.
“You’re not a prisoner.”
Elara let out a sharp laugh. “Then let me leave.”
Silence.
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s what I thought.”
Nicholas stepped closer, his gaze dark and assessing. “You’re here because it’s the safest place for you right now.”
A sharp pang of unease twisted in her stomach.
“Safe from what?” she demanded.
He didn’t answer.
Her frustration snapped. “Damn it, Nicholas, I deserve to know—”
“You deserve a lot of things, sweetheart.” His voice was low, edged with something dangerous. “But right now, what you don’t deserve is the weight of what’s happening behind the scenes.”
Elara’s nails dug into her palms.
There it was. The control.
The arrogance.
The way he dictated exactly what she could and couldn’t handle.
“I’m not some fragile little thing that needs to be protected,” she bit out.
Nicholas smirked, but it wasn’t amused.
It was dark. Dangerous.
“You have no idea what you are.”
Something in the way he said it made her breath hitch.
Because for the first time… she realized neither did she.
She wasn’t just some woman who had stumbled into his world.
She was part of it now.
Whether she wanted to be or not.
But before she could respond, Nicholas reached out.
And in one smooth motion—he pulled her against him.
Elara gasped, her hands landing on his chest, his body heat searing through his shirt.
His grip was firm but not bruising. A warning. A promise.
“Stop fighting me,” he murmured.
Her pulse hammered. “Let me go.”
Nicholas’s gaze darkened.
“Say it like you mean it,” he challenged.
Her breath caught.
Because they both knew—she didn’t.
She should have shoved him away. Should have hated the way her body reacted to his.
But instead…
She stood frozen, trapped in the pull of a man who had already ruined her.
Nicholas smirked, sensing her hesitation. “That’s what I thought.”
Then, before she could process what was happening—
He leaned in.
His lips brushed against her ear, his breath warm as he whispered, “You’re mine now, Elara. Start accepting it.”
And the worst part?
She already had.
Elara didn’t sleep that night.
She sat in the massive bedroom Nicholas had given her, staring out at the sprawling estate under the moonlight.
His words still echoed in her head.
“You’re mine now. Start accepting it.”
A shiver ran down her spine—not from fear, but from something far more dangerous.
Because the terrifying truth was… a part of her wanted to.
And that made her hate herself.
With a frustrated exhale, she pushed off the bed and paced the room.
She needed to get out of here. Needed to breathe, to think.
But Nicholas had locked her away in his world, surrounded by guards, his control tightening like a noose.
Her fists clenched.
No.
She refused to be another one of his possessions.
Elara turned to the door, testing the handle. Unlocked.
Her heart raced.
Maybe he had underestimated her. Maybe she could slip out, find her way back to her own life before it was too late—
A deep voice cut through the silence.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
She froze.
Nicholas leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her.
His sleeves were still rolled up from earlier, his tie loosened. But what sent her pulse spiking was the look in his eyes.
Sharp. Dark. Unamused.
Like he had been expecting this.
Elara swallowed hard. “How long have you been standing there?”
Nicholas smirked, but there was no warmth in it.
“Long enough.”
Heat rose to her cheeks, but she refused to back down.
“You can’t keep me here, Nicholas.”
His smirk faded. “I already have.”
Her stomach clenched.
“I’m not your prisoner.”
He stepped closer, his presence commanding. “Then stop acting like one.”
Her jaw tightened. “I want to leave.”
Nicholas exhaled, slow and measured, like he was barely holding on to patience.
“Do you?”
Elara’s breath hitched as he closed the distance, his body heat licking at her skin.
His eyes were locked on hers, searching. And damn it—she hated that he could see right through her.
She hated that he knew.
Knew that if she truly wanted to leave, she wouldn’t have hesitated.
Wouldn’t have let him get this close.
“Tell me, Elara.” His voice was smooth, taunting. “Are you really trying to run?”
Her throat went dry.
Because they both knew—
She wasn’t.
Not really.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
Nicholas’s gaze darkened.
“You want the truth?” he murmured.
She swallowed. “Yes.”
His fingers traced along her jaw, slow and deliberate, like he was branding her.
“The truth is…” His breath brushed against her lips. “You don’t want to leave.”
Her pulse spiked.
“And the more you fight it,” he whispered, “the harder I’m going to make you fall.”
A shudder ran through her.
Because the worst part?
She already was.
And Nicholas Wolfe was going to make damn sure she never stopped.
---
Meanwhile…
Nicholas sat in his private office, fingers drumming against the desk, his mind not on business—but on her.
Elara Sinclair.
His biggest distraction. His most dangerous weakness.
She thought she could fight him. Thought she could escape.
But she didn’t understand.
Nicholas had fought too hard, bled too much, built too much power to let something he wanted slip away.
And he wanted her.
More than he’d ever wanted anything.
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts.
His head snapped up. “Enter.”
The door swung open, revealing one of his men.
The expression on his face made Nicholas’s temper flare.
“What?” he asked, voice cold.
The man hesitated. Then—
“It’s Montenegro,” he said grimly. “He made his move.”
Nicholas stilled.
His grip tightened around his glass.
So. The bastard had finally decided to play.
A slow, deadly smirk curved his lips.
Then it was time to remind Victor Montenegro who the real king was.
- Writer
