Chapter 14

• The room suffocated her.
• It was far larger—and far more lavish—than the dressing chamber she’d been brought to earlier. The gown she now wore was without question the most elegant she had ever touched in all her forty-five years of life. The sleeves fell gracefully to her elbows, and the neckline plunged far too low, revealing a cleavage left unrestrained beneath the silky fabric.
• Her skin smelled like lavender—soft, clean, smooth. She didn’t even know what products had been used; the servants had handled everything, scrubbing her down as if she were a prized showpiece.
• Her long blonde hair had been brushed and curled, pinned delicately to the side with a silver clip.
• Before being led to this grand suite, she’d been presented with a full spread of food—sumptuous, rich, and warm. She’d devoured every bite without restraint. It was the first real meal she’d had since yesterday—if one could even count the raindrops she’d swallowed last night as sustenance.
• Every mouthful felt like a farewell. A final offering before the end.
• Bellamie had let go of the dream of ever seeing her son again. That hope had already been buried deep. She knew the man she would meet soon—Alexander Millian—was not the type to show mercy.
• In her hands, she no longer held the future.
• In just a couple of hours—perhaps less—she would face the man whose name echoed like thunder through the walls of every club, every street, every whispered conversation.
• Alexander Millian.
• If I must die, so be it, she thought quietly. At least I’ve tried. Again, I’ve tried to escape this place. God knows my efforts. Forgive me, my son. Forgive me...
• The soft scent of lavender lingered in the air, wrapping around her like a gentle lullaby. The temperature in the room was perfect. Not a trace of the cold she’d endured earlier remained. A luxurious bed stood waiting behind her, complete with plush pillows and a thick, inviting blanket.
• But she couldn’t bring herself to lie down.
• Instead, Bellamie chose to sit beside the window, hands folded, eyes blank.
• Then came the sound of the grand doors opening—heavy, ornate wood parting with a smooth groan.
• She turned.
• There he was.
• A tall, imposing man with eyes like shards of ice and long silver hair that swayed with his powerful strides. He didn’t walk—he owned the space he moved through.
• And with every step he took toward her, Bellamie felt her spine stiffen.
• She stood slowly, lowering her gaze. She didn’t need to be told. At Voce Club, when the master entered the room, everyone bowed.
• No exceptions.
• Bellamie had never met Alexander Millian in person during all her time working here. She was far too low in the ranks—someone like her wouldn’t even catch a glimpse of a man like him. And yet, she still bowed when his name was mentioned. Everyone did.
• Now, for the first time, the man himself stood before her.
• “Lift your head.”
• The command scraped down her spine like ice. Every nerve in her body sparked terror, and she suddenly wasn’t sure if her legs could hold her upright. Slowly, hesitantly, Bellamie raised her gaze.
• And froze.
• He was striking—almost unnaturally so. Aristocratic bone structure, piercing eyes as cold and unmoving as winter steel. His presence was towering, literally and metaphorically. She had to tilt her chin up just to meet his gaze. Dressed in an obsidian shirt and a long silver coat, he looked more like a monarch than a businessman. A man no one approached without trembling.
• With deliberate ease, Alexander slipped off his black leather gloves.
• Then, without asking, he reached forward and tilted her chin up with his bare fingers.
• “What’s your name?”
• Bellamie’s breath caught in her throat. Her knees wobbled, and the only thing keeping her from collapsing was the pressure of his grip. It was unbearable how effortlessly he dominated the space—and her. The air grew thick with dread.
• “B-Bellamie, sir,” she whispered.
• “That’s it?”
• Swallowing hard, she forced herself to speak again. “Bellamie Rosaline.”
• His hand fell away.
• For a moment—a heartbeat, barely more—his expression flickered. A trace of recognition passed through those frosted eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by a thin, dangerous smile.
• So it was true.
• He didn’t fully recognize her face. But her name was unforgettable.
• Bellamie Rosaline.
• The woman tied to his oldest enemy. The one man he had sworn to break: Xavier Horratio.
• How poetic. How perfect. To have the woman Xavier once loved standing right here, trembling in his grasp.
• If he crushed her now, Xavier would surely rise from the shadows with vengeance blazing in his veins.
• Or perhaps not.
• Perhaps Xavier would bargain. Negotiate. Trade what Alex had spent years chasing. The artifact Xavier still held, the one Alex had searched for over a decade to find.
• And now?
• With Bellamie in his possession, maybe… just maybe… Xavier would finally show himself.
• Why hadn’t he thought of this before?
• “Do you know what you did wrong?” he asked.
• Bellamie’s throat tightened. Her eyes dropped instantly, terrified of what she might see in his face if she looked again. Her hands trembled as she clutched them together.
• “No, sir,” she answered softly—too softly. She regretted saying anything the moment his laugh echoed through the room.
• A low, slow, terrifying sound.
• “You don’t know?” he repeated, voice thick with amusement.
• Bellamie’s chest rose and fell faster. Her lungs felt tight, the room suddenly smaller than it was. Then, just like that, he moved in—leaning down so close she could feel his breath ghost across her cheek.
• “I—I’m sorry, sir,” she stammered. “Please, I—”
• But he didn’t let her finish.
• Without warning, his lips crashed against her, violent and possessive.
• She gasped, but he didn’t stop—only pulled her closer, an arm wrapping tightly around her waist as if to keep her from fleeing. His mouth was ruthless, devouring her trembling lips like punishment. His other hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back, deepening the kiss until she thought she’d pass out from lack of air.
• He didn’t care.
• He took and took, pushing past her fear, her dignity, her silence—feeding off her helplessness like it thrilled him. And then, he tasted it.
• Salt.
• A tear? Her blood? He didn’t care.
• He pulled away just enough to whisper near her ear, breathless with the cruelest kind of promise.
• “Your apology,” he said darkly, “will depend entirely on how well you serve me… in bed.”
• His eyes bore into hers, emotionless and lethal. Bellamie stood frozen, gasping, lips swollen and heart pounding. She was no girl—he could see that. Her skin no longer held the glow of youth. She had lived. Suffered.
• And maybe that was what made her more enticing.
• There was something about breaking someone already cracked—a satisfaction he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
• Besides… he doubted this woman truly knew who Xavier Horratio had once been.
• Not really.
• His informants had confirmed it.
• Bellamie Rosaline. The soft-spoken, gentle woman Xavier had once gone to great lengths to protect—was now in his hands.
• "Well?"
• Alex could see it—the color draining from her face, her body tightening with dread.
• “Will I… be released after this?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.
• The smirk tugging at his lips deepened, sharp and triumphant. In one swift, deliberate motion, he lifted her off the ground and slung her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. She didn’t fight. Only a soft, broken sob escaped her lips.
• He didn’t care.
• As long as Xavier remained hidden, refusing to give him what he wanted, Bellamie would remain his prisoner.
• He tossed her onto the bed, rough enough that her body bounced slightly against the mattress. She barely had time to catch her breath before his mouth was on hers again—ravenous, greedy, merciless. His lips devoured hers with the kind of hunger that stripped away all air, all thought, all will.
• Bellamie’s heart cracked.
• In all her time working at Vore Club, she’d only ever served drinks, delivered food. No one had ever touched her—never been allowed to. That was the rule. That was her only protection.
• And now?
• Now she was beneath a man who gave her no choice. No pause. No room to resist.
• “Never turn your face away from me, Bellamie.”
• His breath ghosted over her skin, lips trailing from her mouth to the curve of her throat. Damp, demanding, maddening. His tongue played with the delicate flesh there, and still—she didn’t push him away. Couldn’t.
• It wasn’t because she wanted him. No. But her body… it remembered. It remembered warmth. It remembered the ache of longing. And now, it was at war with itself.
• Rough one moment, tender the next—Alex blurred the line between cruelty and seduction.
• “Look at me,” he ordered. “Don’t look away. I want you to see every second of what I do to you.”
• His fingers traced the curve of her cheek, down to her collarbone, and further—his touch deliberate, claiming. Bellamie’s breathing quickened, chest rising and falling in frantic waves.
• He could feel the thrum of her heartbeat under his fingertips.
• “Serve me well.”
• Her lips trembled. “A-and after…?”
• “There is no negotiation,” he cut her off coldly. “Your freedom begins and ends in this room… in my bed.”