BOUND TO THE DARKEST D'CRUZ

Chapter 3: choosing her

The preparation room in the sub-basement of The Vigna smelled heavily of expensive perfume, stale champagne, and anxiety.

Alicia sat on the edge of a plush velvet ottoman, her hands tightly folded in her lap. Her palms were slick with sweat, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird against her ribs. Every breath felt heavy, as if the reality of her decision was slowly suffocating her. Three million euros. Seven days. The numbers repeated in her mind like a rhythm, trying to drown out the terror settling deep in her stomach.

She was really doing this. She was offering her body to a stranger to buy her father’s life.

The door burst open, and a wave of laughter echoed into the room as three veteran escorts walked in. They wore skin-tight silk, heavy diamonds, and bold makeup. One of them, a tall blonde with dark red lipstick, paused in front of Alicia, her sharp gaze sweeping over Alicia’s modest clothes and trembling shoulders.

Without warning, the blonde reached out and gave Alicia’s breast a firm, lingering squeeze.

Alicia flinched violently, pulling back with a gasp, her hands instantly flying over her chest.

The girls erupted into loud, cruel laughter.

"Don't flinch, sweetie," the blonde giggled, winking at her companions. "If you react like that to a touch, you aren't going to last ten minutes with the men who come through those double doors."

"Welcome to the dark side, innocent," another girl chimed in, adjusting her low-cut gown. "Hope you brought your big-girl spine. These men don't pay millions for timid."

They laughed again, brushing past her toward the exit to head out for their night's bookings. Alicia watched their backs as they strutted down the hallway, her chest heaving. A terrifying mental image flashed across her mind—a vision of herself dressed in that same revealing silk, being touched by cold, nameless hands, laughing off her own degradation just to survive.

Is this really who I am going to become?

"Don't worry," a soft voice spoke from behind her.

Alicia turned to see Gia—a sharp-witted, dark-haired woman who worked as a low-level enforcer and companion inside the Vault. Gia pulled up a wooden chair and sat across from her.

"I know that look," Gia said gently, her voice devoid of the mock laughter from earlier. "You're feeling like the ceiling is caving in on you. But you get used to it. You numb yourself, you take the money, and you survive. You'll get used to it, Alicia."

Alicia didn't answer. She simply pulled her sweater tighter around herself, folded her arms over her chest, and stared at the floor, waiting for her fate.

Upstairs, in the private, soundproofed executive lounge of the Vault, the atmosphere was thick with smoke and quiet danger.

Julian D’Cruz leaned against a dark mahogany bar, his broad shoulders easily dominating the space. His crisp white shirt had the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, showing off the thick muscles and dark tattoo ink creeping down his right hand. A lit cigarette burned between his fingers, a trail of grey smoke curling up toward the ceiling.

Across from him, a corrupt city official slid a heavy leather briefcase full of unmarked cash across the table. In exchange, Julian tossed a dark, encrypted flash drive onto the wood—blueprints and clearance codes for the newly seized dock shipments.

"Always a pleasure doing business, Don D'Cruz," the politician murmured, taking the drive and slipping away into the shadows.

As the door clicked shut, the soft tapping of high heels echoed against the marble. Madam Vivienne stepped into the lounge, a glass of dark wine in her hand and a knowing smile on her red lips.

"If it isn't the mighty Julian D’Cruz," Vivienne purred, her eyes trailing over his imposing frame. "It's been far too long since we had you inside our walls."

Julian didn't reply. He lifted the cigarette to his mouth, inhaled deeply, and blew a quiet cloud of smoke past her face, his icy-blue eyes completely indifferent.

Vivienne didn't break her smile. "Not in a talking mood, as usual. Well, you're in luck. We have a fresh batch of recruits tonight. New chicks straight onto the roster. I could set up a lineup for you."

"Not interested," Julian said, his gravelly voice smooth and cold. "I didn't come here for women, Vivienne."

"You might actually be interested in this one," Vivienne countered, leaning slightly closer. "She came in desperate. Practically begging for immediate cash. And besides... it's been a long time since you did away with Lillian. You're due for a distraction."

Julian’s jaw tightened at the mention of the name, his blue eyes flashing with a sudden, lethal glare. But after a beat of heavy silence, he let out a low growl and flicked his cigarette ash into a crystal tray.

"Bring the tablet," he muttered grumpily.

Vivienne smiled, pulling a sleek digital device from her folder and handing it to him. Julian took the tablet, his thick, tattooed thumb casually swiping through the digital catalog of newly recruited women. He swiped past high-fashion portraits, lace corsets, and masked silhouettes with complete disinterest—until his thumb accidentally slid past one specific profile.

He stopped. His thumb slid backward, swiping back to the previous image.

Julian zoomed in.

On the screen was a high-resolution photo of a girl sitting against a black velvet cushion. Her long brown hair fell messily over her shoulders, her amber eyes wide, vulnerable, and unmistakably innocent against her soft porcelain skin.

A subtle, dark smirk tugged at the corner of Julian's lips as recognition clicked in his mind. The desperate girl who had dropped to her knees in the rain, begging at his shoes for her father's life just hours ago.

Julian looked up from the screen, his icy eyes locking onto Vivienne.

"I want this one," Julian said, his deep voice leaving zero room for argument. "And I want her tonight."

Ten minutes later, the door to the waiting room snapped open. Madam Vivienne stepped in, accompanied by three senior attendants holding silver trays filled with crystal bottles and fine silks.

"Get up, Alicia," Vivienne ordered smoothly. "Your profile was selected by a high-tier client. You go in tonight."

Alicia’s stomach plunged, but before she could speak, two attendants gently took her by the arms and led her into the private preparation bath.

For the next forty-five minutes, Alicia was subjected to an intense, overwhelming transformation. They bathed her skin in warm water infused with sweet lavender oil, rose petals, and crushed botanical extracts until her skin glowed like silk. They brushed her long brown hair into cascading, soft waves over her back and applied subtle, glowing makeup that emphasized the golden amber of her large eyes.

Finally, they draped her in a sheer, floor-length burgundy silk slip dress. The fabric clung to her natural curves, leaving her shoulders bare except for two thin straps—one of which deliberately slipped down her arm.

"He is waiting in the VIP suite at the end of the hall," an attendant whispered, escorting her down the silent, velvet-lined corridor.

Alicia stopped before the heavy mahogany door labeled The Private Sanctuary. Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely lift them. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady the frantic beating of her heart.

She raised her hand and knocked softly three times.

From the other side of the heavy door, a voice vibrated through the wood—shockingly deep, smooth, and laced with absolute authority.

"Come in."