If I were to consider him a prince, it would be the prince of hell itself. And in that case, Alexander didn't just fit the role; he seemed to embody it. A question rose in my mind and loomed over me like a shadow: what part did that leave for me to play?

  Was I meant to be some pitiful damsel in distress, bound by circumstances beyond my control, waiting for salvation or ruin in an opulent cage doubling as my palace? Or was I being groomed to become the queen, a role that felt both chilling and strangely compelling?

  The answers seemed just out of reach, shrouded in the same mystery that enveloped everything else on this Isle. I swallowed around a hard lump in my throat. The space between us, marked only by a few plates and the breadth of the table, seemed to shrink with every passing second.

  Seizing upon the first topic that would move us away from the current discussion, I blurted out, “So there’s an actual prison out here?”

  His brow furrowed for a second, then smoothed. He took a moment as if considering how much to reveal.

  "It's not the kind of place you might be picturing," he began to explain, his voice thoughtful. "'Carcerem,' as we call it. It's a stone fortress, like a relic.”

  “Why would you need a jail at all?” I pressed, unable to hide my curiosity.

  His lips quirked up in a half-smile. "Because, deliciae, even in a place governed by our own rules, there must be a system to manage those who step out of line. A way to enforce our laws." His gaze hardened slightly. "And then there's the matter of tourists. Not everyone appreciates the privilege of being allowed to step foot on Stygian. Some get... overly curious, or disrespectful. They forget they are guests here."

  I absorbed his words, trying to imagine this fortress-like jail on an island that already felt so removed from the world I knew. "And what happens to these... rule-breakers?"

  "They're reminded of the price of their indiscretion. We take our hospitality very seriously, and in turn, we expect our guests to respect our ways. Those who can't... well, they learn the hard way that there are consequences for every action."

  That was more or less what Nicolette had said.

  “Is Anya—?”

  “I’d rather not discuss her while eating. For all of our sakes.”

  I refrained from biting back at him, if for nothing else than Anya’s wellbeing. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. He truly despised her. I had to wonder if it went beyond her sexual inhibitions.

  "What's the most interesting thing you learned today?" he inquired, smoothly changing the subject.

  "That I wasn't chosen at random." The words hung in the air, a statement of fact that carried with it an undercurrent of bewilderment and a silent plea for understanding.

  “You certainly weren’t,” he murmured, taking another sip of his wine.

  I didn’t know what that meant. If this was tied into bloodlines, then I was equally as lost, because I was more or less Annie. But I wouldn’t be shocked if he knew who my family was. Actually, I was sure he did.

  I failed to see the likelihood of them being linked to his. Everything I’d learned—from the little I’d seen—conveyed how secretive and well-guarded the Isle was. They were all about tradition and heritage. I highly doubted my mother or father would’ve given me up for adoption if they were part of their community.

  The sound of glass shattering somewhere in the house pulled me from my thoughts. I looked at Alexander, who was already sliding his chair back.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” he said politely, exiting the room in the direction Esther and Nicolette had gone.

  I heard Alexander speaking to someone. His words were indistinct, and the tone was calm. I couldn't make out the conversation. Everything fell silent after that. Five, maybe even ten minutes passed when a muffled cry reached my ears. I sat up, straining to listen, questioning my own perception.

  The cry came again, unmistakable this time. Propelled to my feet, I followed the sound, my steps cautious but resolute. I found myself in the hall that led to the room where I had first woken up.

  A cry echoed once more, chilling my veins. Esther was standing alone, just outside the door, her expression conflicted. If she was out here, then was Nicolette the one inside? I quickened my pace. What was he doing to her?

  As I approached, Esther tried to stop me with a raised hand, her eyes pleading. "Please, wait—"

  I couldn't. My concern for Nicolette outweighed any reservations. Ignoring her, I shouldered her out of the way and pushed the door open, just to freeze.

  The sight before me was both bewildering and unsettling—not at all what I’d been expecting.

  Nicolette was bent over in front of the chair, gripping its velvet arms so tightly there was an indent from her nails. Her face was pale and streaked with silent tears. The skirt of her dress was lifted, exposing her ass and the deep, bloodied marks now marring her skin where it had split apart.

  My arrival didn’t stop whatever was happening. Alexander landed another painful blow to the back of her thighs. The blackened instrument in his hand resembled an iron rod with a serpent wound around it. As it made contact, Nicolette stifled another cry and my heart clenched, pushing me into action.

  “Stop it!” I rushed across the room without thinking and grabbed Alexander by the arm. He turned towards me and I braced myself, expecting the worst, sucking in a surprised gasp when he simply pulled me into an embrace with one arm.

  I could hear Nicolette’s ragged breaths but could no longer see her.

  "Get her out of my house.” With an authoritative command, Alexander directed Esther to escort Nicolette away, their exchange carrying an unspoken understanding.

  He didn’t release me until they were both gone. When he stepped back, I stood there in the aftermath of the tense encounter.

  “What—?”

  “Come with me.” His voice cut through the charged air, silencing me before I could question what I’d just seen. He gently guided me away from the room, setting the sinister-looking rod down just inside the door. I followed him numbly, my mind racing to process what had just unfolded.

  He led me to the upstairs bedroom, the darkness outside providing a stark contrast to the warmth within.

  Carefully, he sat me on the chaise and settled himself beside me. Flames danced in the fireplace a few feet away, casting their warm glow across the room. Alexander's voice broached the quiet as he posed a question that he likely already knew the answer to. "What did you think was happening?"

  I didn’t answer straight away, forcing myself to remain staring at the flames as the intensity of his gaze seemed to pierce through any pretense, prompting me to admit the truth that had flitted through my mind. "I thought... I thought it might be... something much worse.”

  “Did you think I was fucking her?”

  My face felt hot, but I would be blaming the fireplace for that. “I had a different word in mind.”

  A deep, resonant chuckle rumbled from his chest. “I think you’ve been given the wrong impression of me.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “I could have her legs spread and begging for me with a few words, deliciae, without having to touch her. Even now.”

  I swung my gaze to his. “That’s disgusting.”

  He reached out and caught my chin. "I haven’t laid as much as a finger on another woman in a very long time, and I never will. Not when I have you," he stated, his tone carrying a firm conviction and sincerity that I couldn't dismiss.

  I found myself caught between the conflicting currents of his magnetic allure and the reality of my captivity. Before I could further analyze his words, he continued, addressing the topic that had unnerved me.

  “Why did you do that to her? What did she break that was so important?”

  “You are adorably naïve.” He leaned in and kissed me, his lips gently pressing against mine.

  Drawing back, he shook his head slightly, a subtle smile teasing his mouth.

  "Nicolette’s discipline was a result of your emotional distress.”

  “What do you mean? She didn’t do anything to me.”

  “We both know that’s not true. She made remarks to you throughout the day that—” He stopped himself abruptly and took a breath. “She shouldn’t be alive at all. I saw that look on your face and wanted to tear her apart for putting it there.”

  Confusion creased my brow, and my lips parted slightly in astonishment. It was only the second time I had witnessed this man, usually so composed, show signs of disturbance. Both instances were related to what he perceived as my suffering. At any other moment, his calm and collected demeanor was so steadfast, he might as well have been sculpted from iron, given his unyielding composure.

  “How is it you can hurt me but no one else can?”

  “It’s completely different.”

  “Because I’m yours?”

  “Yes,” he replied swiftly, either missing my bitter sarcasm or ignoring it. “I’ll do anything to keep you safe, both mentally and physically.”

  Did he not realize the contradiction in his statement? He must’ve, because his next words showed he was well aware.

  “I will hurt you. I won’t pretend otherwise. And more often than not, the pain will be intertwined with pleasure, even if you bleed for it. But I would never intentionally harm your heart.”

  There was a disturbingly endearing quality to his honesty. His emotions and ways of thinking were not bound by conventional norms and defied simple classification.

  His promises of devotion, the way he persistently declared his claim over me… it was all too overwhelming.

  “What will happen to Nicolette now? Will she be okay?” Her situation was a safer anchor for my thoughts right then, a much-needed lifeline in the tumultuous sea that was Alexander.

  “She’ll be fine. It's not an unusual occurrence, Lolita. It was actually requested by her betrothed."

  His casual tone did little to quell the shock that rippled through me. The notion that such punishments were commonplace here left me reeling. "Why didn't he handle it himself?" I asked, trying to grasp the logic.

  "Being disciplined by me is seen as a privilege," he explained. "It's a way to ensure she doesn't falter in her responsibilities."

  I was dumbstruck. The concept was beyond my comprehension.

  The thought that I might someday face such a punishment, the crack of a cane against my skin until it split open…

  "I would never do that to you," he stated firmly, as if reading my thoughts.

  His assurance didn't quite convince me, but I knew better than to challenge his perspective. My mind was more occupied with Nicolette's fate. "So, what happens to her now?"

  "She'll receive care and then return to assist you. I’d prefer she cease to exist, but her father is a good man and would somehow feel responsible for her failure. Esther also intervened."

  “They seem like good friends.”

  "She didn’t do it for her. She did it for you.”

  “Me?” I questioned disbelievingly.

  “If Nicolette were to be reassigned, it would be seen as a direct affront to you.”

  “And that would mean?”

  “It would mean she offended you, and offending you is one of the greatest disrespects to me. She’d be ostracized, which is as good as being dead.”

  I took a breath and ran a hand through my hair, carefully choosing my words. “That seems rather extreme.”

  He scoffed in clear disagreement and wrapped an arm around my waist. “She got off far too lightly.”

  “But you did let her off,” I pointed out.

  “Are you trying to humanize me, deliciae?” he asked with a hint of amusement. “The only reason she is still breathing is because my sister didn’t want her death on your conscious. I happened to agree.”

  “How kind of you.” Leaning back into the chaise, I processed his words, a tumult of thoughts swirling in my head. The doctrine's teachings echoed in my mind, yet the sheer extremity of it all was hard to digest.

  Wronging me, even in a petty manner, was apparently an offense grave enough to warrant death.

  That was madness.

  I didn't want this kind of power, this responsibility that came with one man’s obsession. My emotions were a rollercoaster, far from his steady control. At the rate I was going, I’d have a dozen people dead within a week’s time.

  “She upset you.” His voice cut through my thoughts. A statement, not a question. I felt compelled to respond, anyway.

  Nicolette's words seemed like something I’d heard eons ago instead of hours. The thought of her possibly suffering further because of them, and thanks to me, was unbearable. "Yeah, she said something that got under my skin, but it wasn’t so bad that she deserved what just happened to her."

  His smile was faint, knowing. "Aren’t you curious how I knew?"

  "I assumed Esther told you.”

  His chuckle was deep and resonant, the kind that vibrated through the air and settled somewhere deep within me. "My sister is diligent in keeping me updated, but my methods of staying informed extend beyond her.”

  As he spoke, his hand found mine, encasing it with a touch that was both tender and assertively possessive. It didn’t take long for me to understand what he wasn’t saying outright.

  "Cameras?"

  He nodded, completely unapologetic. “They’re placed throughout our home. Inside and out." He spoke with a sense of pride, as if the very notion of such constant vigilance was another testament to his devotion.“I’m always watching you, Lolita. I cherish every moment I can lay my eyes on you."

  His words were a reminder of the inescapable reality that I would never truly be alone.

  His presence, whether in physical form or through the lens of a camera, was always there. A promise of protection and yet another declaration of his ownership. I sighed and closed my eyes. His thumb drew small circles on the back of my hand, a soothing contrast to the turmoil inside me. Abruptly, he stood, and my eyes snapped open in response.

  “You’re alright,” he said, his voice a soft murmur. He lifted my hand, brushing a feather-light kiss against the skin. "I have something planned for us. Something special." His tone was like velvet against my heightened senses. There was a promise in his eyes, a hint of something significant on the horizon. He let go of my hand and exited the room, leaving me in a state of wary anticipation.

  I watched him, a mix of apprehension and curiosity brewing. This felt like the lull before a storm, a moment of deceptive peace before he turned my world upside down again.

  When he returned not even two minutes later, it was with a black cloth wrapped around an object in his hand. He unraveled it, revealing a curved silver blade with his family emblem intricately etched onto its handle.

  My eyes widened at the sight, its beauty contrasting with its ominous presence. He moved toward the fireplace, a hook catching my attention as he placed the knife onto it with a certain reverence. The firelight danced off the blade, casting eerie shadows across the mantle.

  He returned to my side and wordlessly lifted me off the chaise along with one of the decorative pillows.

  “What are you doing?” I questioned more calmly than I felt.

  “Finishing what I started.”

  I had a good idea of what was coming. My nerves tangled in knots. One side of my mind telling me to fight was easily subdued while the other told me I could handle this.

  I didn’t have a choice.

  I instinctively knew struggling would make things worse for me, better for him. This wasn’t a battle I would win. Alexander slowly removed my dress, his fingers travelling across every inch of my skin. I forced myself to ignore the enticing scent of his cologne that seemed to wrap around me, intensifying his already dominant presence.

  The way he held himself, so close and looming above me, felt like an extension of his control, a silent assertion of his power. I struggled to keep my expression neutral as he scrutinized my face, noting my every reaction as his fingers continued their subtle, seductive dance.

  Each gentle touch sent a ripple of unwanted awareness through me, betraying my attempt at indifference. When I was finally naked, I dared to look at myself and see what I had refused to earlier. There were bruises on my hips in the shape of his hands. Not as permanent as the brand on my shoulder, but still a mark of his no less.

  “I’ve dreamt of these moments for years,” he confessed, gently easing me down until I was flat on my back, the decorative pillow beneath my head. “I should be fucking you in every room of this house.”

  He stood then and took a step away, staring down at me. I lay there, acutely aware of my vulnerability. My skin felt like an open canvas under his scrutiny, every curve and contour on display for his beautiful eyes to trace.

  My heart raced in response, the rush of blood echoing the heightened awareness of my own body. I instinctively shifted my gaze upward, fixing my attention on the vaulted ceiling above. The patterns and designs etched into the wood became my point of distraction.

  He turned and began to remove his shirt. I watched from the corner of my eye, seeing the scratches marring his back. It was a satisfying sight. I refocused on the ceiling as he began to turn my way again. He moved away momentarily, his form fading into the shadows. When he returned, the silver blade was in his hand. I watched as he handled it with care, so he didn’t burn himself on the handle.

  It was then I noticed his pants were off. I hadn’t heard him remove the belt he was wearing, let alone the slacks. He was left in only his black briefs.

  There was a conflicting sense of resentment and reluctant admiration at how physically striking he was. It felt shallow and absurd to consider when thinking of my current situation, but I couldn't help but acknowledge that facing all this would have been even more challenging if he hadn't been so compellingly attractive.

  As he settled beside me, the way his golden-brown skin glowed with a sun-kissed hue made him even more enticing. His dark hair was still styled the same as usual, and I found myself wanting to touch it. My attention drifted to the intricate tattoo that adorned his skin, the devil in his likeness.