When Silas opened his eyes, the world was a blur of bright white light. His head felt like it was exploding. Every bone in his body ached. He tried to move his hand, but it felt heavy.
"Careful," a voice said. "You had a very nasty fall."
Silas blinked until his vision cleared. He was in a massive bedroom. The bedsheets were made of the softest silk he had ever felt. He looked to the side and saw the blond Prince, Alaric, sitting in a chair next to him. The Prince was watching him with an expression that Silas couldn't understand.
Silas felt a surge of panic. He remembered the palace. He remembered the theft. He remembered the Prince catching him. I have to get out of here, he thought. If they know I'm a Mafia spy, they'll execute me.
But then, he saw an opportunity. If he couldn't fight his way out, maybe he could lie his way out.
"Where... where am I?" Silas asked. His voice was raspy and weak. He made his eyes look wide and confused. "Who are you?"
Alaric stood up and walked to the edge of the bed. He stared deep into Silas's eyes, searching for something. Silas kept his face blank. He had been trained by the Mafia to lie under pressure. He had to act like he knew nothing.
"You don't know who I am?" Alaric asked softly.
"I... I don't even know who I am," Silas whispered. He gripped the blankets. "Everything is blank. Please... tell me. Why am I here?"
A strange, dark light flickered in Alaric's gray eyes. He knew Silas was a thief. He had the digital drive in his pocket to prove it. He knew this man was a dangerous criminal. But looking at Silas now—pale, vulnerable, and smelling of sweet distress—Alaric felt a possessive hunger he couldn't control. This was his fated mate. And he wasn't going to let him go back to the Mafia.
Alaric sat on the edge of the bed and took Silas's hand. His touch was warm, but his grip was firm.
"Your name is Silas," Alaric lied. His voice was smooth and convincing. "And you are in the Royal Palace because this is your home. You are my fiancé."
Silas's heart hammered in his chest. Fiancé? He almost laughed at the absurdity, but he kept his "Amnesia" mask on. "Your... fiancé? But I'm just an Omega. You're a Prince."
"You are my fated mate," Alaric continued, leaning closer until Silas could feel the Alpha's heat. "We have been together for two years. You were walking on the balcony tonight, waiting for me to return from a meeting, when you tripped and fell. I've been so worried about you, my love."
Silas looked at the Prince's handsome face. He knew it was a lie. He knew the Prince was playing a game. But Silas realized he was trapped. If he admitted he remembered, he would go to prison. If he played along with the lie, he was the Prince's prisoner in a golden cage.
"I don't remember our love," Silas said, forced to play the part.
"That's okay," Alaric whispered, his lips inches from Silas's ear. "I remember enough for both of us. And I'm going to make sure you never forget who you belong to ever again."
Silas shivered. He was a 30-year-old killer playing a game with a 25-year-old King. Two liars, one bed, and a secret that could destroy them both. The game had officially begun.