Let's start...
The interior of the Rolls-Royce felt like a tomb. After Liam's possessive declaration, Ava had pulled herself to the far corner of the seat, her spine straight, her professional mask firmly in place. She didn't cry. She didn't argue. She simply shut him out. To her, he wasn't the man who had almost kissed her in the shadows anymore; he was a stranger who had just bought her for twenty million dollars like a piece of livestock.
Liam noticed the shift. He sat with his legs crossed, his hands resting on his knees, radiating a dark, cold energy that seemed to dim the very lights of the car. He hated her silence. He preferred her fire, her defiance. This cold, professional wall she had built was a direct challenge to his authority.
"Say something, Ava," he commanded, his voice barely a whisper, yet it cut through the air like a knife.
Ava didn't turn. Her gaze remained fixed on the passing city lights. "There is nothing to say, Mr. Moretti. You made the terms of our 'arrangement' very clear at the office. I am an asset. You are the owner. Assets don't have conversations; they follow instructions. What is the next item on your itinerary?"
Liam's jaw tightened so hard it looked like stone. The way she called him 'Mr. Moretti' felt like a slap. He reached out, his hand moving with a sudden, violent speed to grab her chin, forcing her to face him. His eyes were no longer human; they were the eyes of a man who had clawed his way to the top by destroying everyone in his path.
"Don't play the martyr with me," he hissed, his thumb pressing firmly into her skin. "You knew what this was from the moment you signed that paper. You wanted the ten million. I wanted the image. Tonight, the image cost me more. That's business."
"Then treat it as such," Ava replied, her voice devoid of any emotion. She didn't flinch. She looked right into the abyss of his soul. "Take your hand off me. Unless, of course, the twenty million included the right to bruise your 'asset' before the wedding."
Liam's eyes flared with a mixture of rage and something that looked dangerously like respect. He let go of her as if she had burned him. He turned away, his heart hammering a rhythm he couldn't control. He was the Ice King. He was a tyrant. But this woman was the only thing in the world he couldn't conquer with a checkbook.
The rest of the drive was silent—a silence so absolute it was deafening. When they arrived at the mansion, the atmosphere changed. The staff was lined up in the foyer, but one look at Liam's face made them scatter like autumn leaves in a storm.
One young footman was a second too slow in taking Liam's coat.
"Is there a reason you're standing there like a statue, Lucas?" Liam's voice was a low growl.
"S-sorry, sir, I—"
"I don't pay for apologies. I pay for efficiency," Liam snapped, his eyes flashing with a predatory light. "If you can't perform a simple task, find a new profession by sunrise. Get out of my sight."
The boy vanished, trembling. Ava watched the exchange, her heart heavy. This was the real Liam Moretti—the man who ruled by fear, the man who crushed anything that wasn't perfect.
As they reached the top of the grand staircase, Liam stopped. He didn't look at her, but his presence felt like a physical weight pressing against her.
"The wedding is in three days, Ava," he said, his back to her. "From this moment on, you do not leave this house. You do not speak to anyone without my permission. You will be the perfect, silent bride the world expects. If you break the script again... if you ever provoke a man like Volkov again... I won't just bid for you. I'll make sure you never have a world to go back to."
He turned then, his face a mask of chilling detachment. "Goodnight, Miss Brooks. Try not to dream of your freedom. It's an expensive luxury you can no longer afford."
He walked away, his footsteps echoing through the hollow halls of the mansion, leaving Ava standing alone in her golden dress, a prisoner in a palace of ice.
The echo of Liam's footsteps faded into a terrifying, hollow silence. Ava stood at the top of the marble staircase, the weight of the gold gown suddenly feeling like a suit of armor that was too heavy for her soul. She looked down at her hands—they were trembling, not from cold, but from the realization that the man who had just spoken wasn't the man who had shared a tender, desperate moment with her in the shadows of the gala.
That man was gone. In his place was the CEO, the Tyrant, the Ice King who viewed human emotions as liabilities to be liquidated.
She walked slowly toward her bedroom, her heels making a lonely, rhythmic sound against the stone. The mansion, which had once seemed like a dream of luxury, now felt like a mausoleum. Every shadow seemed to be watching her, every portrait of the Moretti ancestors seemed to judge her for being an intruder who dared to think she could melt the ice.
As she entered her suite, the scent of fresh lilies—Liam's favorite—hit her. She hated them now. She walked to the large vanity mirror and began to tear the pins from her hair, letting the intricate bun fall in messy waves around her shoulders. She looked at the woman in the mirror and didn't recognize her. The diamonds around her neck felt like a leash.
"Twenty million," she whispered to her reflection. "You're just a number on a ledger now, Ava."
She moved to the balcony, needing air. The New York skyline was a distant, glowing promise of a world she could no longer touch. Below, she saw the security guards patrolling the perimeter with dogs—a silent reminder of Liam's command. She wasn't just a guest anymore; she was a high-value asset under lock and key.
Just as she was about to turn back inside, a flicker of movement near the estate's east gate caught her eye. It was a man, standing just outside the reach of the security lights. He was dressed in dark clothes, watching the mansion with an intensity that made the hair on the back of Ava's neck stand up.
He didn't look like a photographer. He didn't look like a fan. He looked like a hunter.
Before she could get a better look, the man stepped back into the shadows and vanished. Ava's heart hammered. Was it Volkov? Or someone else from the dark world Liam had dragged her into?
She hurried back inside and locked the balcony doors, her breath coming in short gasps. She needed to tell someone. She needed to tell Liam. But as she reached for the door to go to his study, she saw something that stopped her cold.
Slid under her bedroom door was a small, unmarked white envelope.
With shaking fingers, Ava picked it up. There was no name, no address. Inside was a single, grainy photograph. It was a picture of her, back at the Emerald Club, but taken from a distance she hadn't noticed. On the back, written in a sharp, elegant hand that was definitely not Liam's, were five words that turned her blood to ice:
"The King has many secrets."
Ava looked at the door, then at the photo. Her world was no longer just a fake engagement. It was a trap, and the man who had bought her for twenty million dollars might be the most dangerous person in it.