Adelaide POV
Consciousness returned in slow, painful waves, accompanied by the rhythmic thud of a headache behind my eyes. I wasn't in my cramped room at the Hebert estate. The air here was different—crisp, filtered, and laced with a scent that made my inner alarms ring: rain, expensive scotch, and raw masculinity.
*Damien.*
I sat up, the silk sheets pooling around my waist. I was wearing a men’s silk shirt, the fabric swallowing my frame. Panic flared, cold and sharp, until I looked at the bedside table.
There, resting on the dark ebony wood, was a stack of items arranged with military precision. A black credit card with gold lettering. A sleek, encrypted smartphone. And a ring.
My breath hitched. I reached for the ring, my fingers trembling. It was heavy, ancient gold, set with a blood-red ruby engraved with the Maddox family crest—a lion rampant. It wasn't just jewelry; it was a shackle.
I slid it onto my left ring finger. It fit perfectly.
Next to it lay a set of clothes: soft cashmere, designer denim, and lace underthings. I dressed in a daze, the terror mounting with every button I fastened. Everything fit as if tailored for me. He knew my size. He knew my taste. How long had the Dark Don been watching me from the shadows?
The phone buzzed. I picked it up, the screen illuminating a single text message from a contact labeled *Underboss*.
*Legal documents filed. Welcome to the family, Mrs. Maddox.*
The reality of it crashed into me. I had traded a weak tyrant for a king of monsters.
The phone buzzed again, but this time it was a call. The screen flashed a name that used to make me flinch: *Andrew Hebert*.
Dozens of missed calls and texts cluttered the notification bar.
*Where are you?*
*You’re making a scene, Adelaide.*
*Come back, and I might forgive you.*
Forgive me? Rage, hot and purifying, surged through my veins, displacing the fear. Andrew thought he still held the leash. He didn't realize the leash had been severed by a predator far deadlier than him.
I didn't answer. I didn't type a reply. With a satisfying tap, I blocked the number.
*Goodbye, Andrew.*
*
Two hours later, I sought refuge in the one place that had always been my sanctuary: the university library. But even here, the shadows seemed deeper, the silence heavier.
"You must be the girl who made my father lose his mind."
I jumped, spinning around.
Leaning against a stack of history books was a girl who could only be a Maddox. Gracelyn. She had the same dark intensity as Damien, though her eyes held a spark of mischievous curiosity rather than an abyss. She was the Mafia Princess, untouchable and terrifying in her own right.
She held out a black envelope. "He told me to give you this. Unlimited limit. And he said if you don't buy something, he'll buy the store."
I took the envelope, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I... I don't need his money."
Gracelyn raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "So, what are you? His mistress? His charity case?"
"I'm his... art consultant," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "He hired me to appraise a new acquisition. This is an advance."
Gracelyn’s gaze raked over me, lingering on the cashmere sweater that smelled faintly of her father's house. She didn't buy it. I could see the skepticism in the tilt of her head. But she just smirked.
"Right. 'Art consultant.' Well, come on then. Let's go spend your 'advance'."
She led me out of the library and toward the student parking lot. I expected her to walk to her own car, but she stopped in front of a massive flatbed truck idling in the center of the lot.
Two men in dark suits—Maddox soldiers—stood at attention. On the back of the truck sat a car that looked more like a weapon than a vehicle. A silver Aston Martin, gleaming under the midday sun.
"No," I whispered, stepping back. "I can't accept this."
"Don't be stupid," Gracelyn said, her voice bored but amused. "It's armored. Bulletproof glass, reinforced chassis. My father doesn't do 'safe' halfway. And besides, a Don's Command doesn't have a 'no' option. You refuse this, and there will be two of them tomorrow."
Students were stopping, phones out, whispering. The flash of cameras blinded me. I wanted to disappear.
One of the soldiers stepped forward, holding out the keys with a bow of his head.
I looked at the keys, then at the ring on my finger. They were the same. Symbols of ownership.
"Take it," Gracelyn urged, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd. She grinned, a shark-like expression that mirrored her father's. "Congratulations, Mrs. Maddox."
The title hung in the air, louder than a gunshot. Every head turned. The whispers exploded into a roar.
I took the keys, the cold metal biting into my palm. There was no hiding now. The world knew who owned me.
