The gala was a nightmare dressed in silk and diamonds.
Hands shook hers. Eyes measured her. Whispers followed her every step.
"And who is she?"
"When did he marry?"
"She doesn't look powerful."
Nyangtsi's hand settled at the small of her back—firm, possessive.
"Smile," he murmured.
She did.
Cameras flashed.
That night, her face went viral.
The drive home from the gala was quiet, but the tension inside the car was anything but. Victoria sat stiffly, fingers clutching the edge of the leather seat. Her dress felt heavy, her heels tighter than usual, and every flash of her image on social media replayed in her mind like a relentless echo.
Nyangtsi Andesunn Tom remained silent, one hand resting lightly on the seat between them, the other on the wheel. His posture was calm, unshakable, as if he had mastered the chaos that followed them everywhere.
"You survived tonight," he said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was low, even, almost casual.
"I survived by pretending," Victoria replied sharply, her pulse still racing. "Pretending I'm comfortable in a world I hate. Pretending I'm… yours."
His eyes flicked to her briefly, dark and unreadable. "Pretending is a start," he said. "Next time, you'll be more than that."
She swallowed hard, unsure if she should feel relieved or alarmed. "Next time?"
"Yes," he said smoothly. "The world will not forget tonight, but you must learn to control what it sees. To control what they think of you… of us."
Victoria's stomach twisted. Control. That word hung between them, heavier than any dress, any camera flash, any whispered insult she had endured tonight.
He leaned slightly closer, the subtle scent of his cologne reaching her. The effect was immediate—her pulse quickened, her breathing hitched. She hated herself for responding to it.
"You're thinking too much," he murmured, as if reading her mind. "Focus on survival. Always on survival."
"I survived," she said through clenched teeth. "I smiled. I played the role. And you… you watched."
"I observe," he corrected, his gaze locking on hers. "And you performed well. Far better than expected."
Heat spread across her cheeks—not embarrassment, not shame—but a dangerous awareness of how much he could unsettle her with a single glance.
The car pulled up to the penthouse, and the driver opened the door silently. Victoria stepped out carefully, heels clicking against the marble. Nyangtsi followed close behind, hand grazing the small of her back—a subtle reminder of possession, of control.
Once inside, the doors closed with a quiet click, sealing them in the massive, silent penthouse.
Victoria let out a shuddering breath, finally letting herself drop into the oversized sofa in the living room. She felt drained, exposed, and yet… there was a spark of exhilaration she couldn't deny.
Nyangtsi remained standing, watching her like a predator assessing his territory. "Do you understand now?" he asked softly. "The world is not kind to the unprepared. Tonight, you were unprepared. Tomorrow… you will be ready."
Victoria swallowed, meeting his eyes. "And if I'm not?"
"You won't have the luxury of failure," he replied evenly. "I will not allow it. Not for you. Not for anyone."
She wanted to argue, to reclaim some shred of defiance—but the intensity in his gaze froze her words. There was no threat there, only certainty. Absolute certainty.
"You're learning quickly," he said, finally moving closer to sit opposite her. "And that frightens me… and excites me."
Her pulse jumped. Excites? The word hung between them like a live wire, impossible to ignore.
"I… don't understand you," she whispered, voice trembling. "I hate that I…"
"Feel what?" he interrupted, leaning forward. "Attraction? Fascination? Fear?"
She shook her head, but her body betrayed her. Her breath hitched, her heart raced.
"You cannot fight it," he said softly, almost gently. "Not yet. And perhaps… not ever."
Victoria looked down at her hands, trying to steady herself, but the warmth of him, the dominance, the proximity… it was overwhelming.
Nyangtsi stood, closing the distance between them in a single measured step. He crouched slightly, until their eyes were level. "Do you understand what you've signed, Victoria Diva?"
"Yes," she whispered, voice tight. "One year. My life. My… compliance."
He smiled faintly, a ghost of a smile, enough to make her shiver. "Not compliance," he corrected. "Survival. Control. Power. Desire. You'll learn all of it… and it will change you."
Her chest tightened. She wanted to pull back, to escape, to reclaim her life. And yet… a part of her ached for it—the danger, the thrill, the pull of him that she could not resist.
He leaned closer, voice a low murmur. "Tonight was the first test. There will be more. And you will rise… or fall."
Victoria's stomach twisted, but her mind whispered something she didn't dare say aloud.
I will rise.
And deep down, a darker, unspoken truth simmered:
I will survive him… even if I fall in love in the process. The penthouse was quiet when they returned, but Victoria could still feel the weight of the gala pressing on her. Every flash of cameras, every whispered question, every scrutinizing gaze replayed in her mind. Her polished smile, the way she had leaned into Nyangtsi's hand at her back—it had been perfect for the outside world. But inside, her nerves still burned like fire.
She sank into the velvet armchair near the window, the city lights sparkling below like a thousand tiny accusations. Nyangtsi didn't sit immediately. He remained at the edge of the room, watching her with the same precision that had unnerved her all evening.
"You did well tonight," he said finally, his voice low, even, almost casual. "Better than expected."
Victoria turned her head slowly, meeting his gaze. "I performed," she said flatly. "That's all. I don't… enjoy this."
He studied her silently for a long moment, eyes dark, calculating. "Enjoyment is irrelevant," he said finally. "Control is everything. And tonight, you demonstrated both restraint and adaptability."
Her stomach twisted. That was the closest he had come to complimenting her—and yet it didn't feel like praise. It felt like assessment. Evaluation. Judgment.
"You're still tense," he said, taking a single step closer. "Your body gives you away."
Victoria stiffened, trying to force her posture back into control. "I'm not tense."
"You are," he said softly, leaning slightly closer. His dark eyes bore into hers. "Your pulse is uneven. Your breathing shallow. Every inch of you betrays what your mind refuses to admit."
Her breath caught. There was a thrill in his observation, terrifying as it was. He had seen her—truly seen her—and she hated herself for the shiver that ran down her spine at the thought.
"Do you enjoy pointing out my weaknesses?" she asked sharply.
"I'm not pointing out," he said quietly, almost gently. "I'm preparing you."
She tilted her head, heart racing. "Preparing me for what?"
"For everything," he said, stepping closer, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around her like a dangerous promise. "The cameras, the investors, the people who will try to destroy you… and me. You are mine for one year, Victoria. But during that year, you will either survive—or you will falter."
His voice lowered, intimate, dangerous. "And you should know something. Survival… sometimes requires learning to want what you fear."
Victoria felt her pulse spike. Fear. Desire. Everything tangled together into a dangerous knot she couldn't untangle.
"I… I don't understand you," she whispered, her fingers curling into the arm of the chair.
"You will," he replied, eyes glinting. "And perhaps before you realize it, your heart will betray your mind."
She wanted to step back, to put distance between them. But her body refused. Every instinct screamed warning, yet she found herself leaning slightly forward, drawn into the magnetic pull of him.
"You're reckless," she said, voice trembling. "You use your presence to intimidate—and seduce."
He smiled faintly, a shadow of something dark and knowing. "I call it efficiency. You, on the other hand… are fascinating because you resist."
Victoria's chest tightened. Fascinating. The word set her nerves on fire in a way she didn't want to admit.
He stepped closer still, and she could feel the heat radiating from him. The faintest touch of his hand at the small of her back was enough to make her knees weaken slightly.
"You're learning quickly," he murmured. "And that frightens me… and excites me."
Her breath hitched. She wanted to tell him to stop. She wanted to reclaim her composure. And yet… a dangerous part of her wanted him to continue, wanted the tension, wanted the pull.
"You… you're impossible," she whispered, shaking her head.
He leaned slightly closer, dark eyes locked on hers. "I am," he said softly. "And you're going to learn that being with me… changes everything."
Victoria's hands shook slightly as she sat back, struggling to regain control of her racing heart. The room seemed impossibly silent now, the hum of the city below fading into the background.
She wanted to escape. She wanted independence. She wanted her old life back.
But one look at him—the way he dominated the space without touching her, the calm certainty in his gaze—made her pulse betray her, made her stomach tighten with a dangerous mixture of fear and desire.
"I will survive this," she whispered to herself. "I have to."
And deep down, something she refused to admit whispered back:
I will survive him… even if it destroys me in the process.
The night stretched on, quiet, heavy, intimate. Victoria couldn't shake the sense that the rules, the contract, the possession—they were only the beginning.
And when she finally laid down in the luxurious bed, staring at the ceiling above, she knew something chilling yet exhilarating:
Her life had been taken, reshaped, and bound to Nyangtsi Andesunn Tom.
And she was already craving the storm.