The Soren ancestral estate was a fortress of cold marble and ancient bloodlines. As the heavy iron gates swung open, Mika felt the oxygen leave his lungs. He was wearing the diamonds Soren had forced upon him, the cold stones resting against his skin like tiny shards of ice.
"Stay close," Soren commanded, his hand gripping Mika's waist with a bruising possessiveness. His amber eyes were scanning the grand hall, looking for the vipers he called family.
The Family Confrontation
Standing at the top of the stairs were Soren's sisters and his cold-eyed mother. They looked at Mika not as a person, but as a stain on their silk rugs.
"So, this is the little 'investment'?" Soren's eldest sister, Celeste, purred, her eyes raking over Mika's slender frame. "A paycheck wife to satisfy a temporary urge. Honestly, Soren, Viktor was already groomed for the position. He understands our traditions. This one... he smells like the gutter."
Mika flinched, his fingers trembling. Soren's aura suddenly exploded—a dark, suffocating wave of Raw Alpha Power that made the chandeliers rattle.
"Careful, Celeste," Soren hissed, his voice like a blade. "He is my mate. If you speak to him like that again, I'll strip you of your inheritance before the night is over."
The Sinful Ghost
In the middle of the crowded ballroom, a waiter approached Mika with a glass of champagne. As Mika reached for it, the man's fingers lingered on his skin. Mika froze. He knew that touch. He looked up into eyes he hadn't seen in years—Liam, his childhood sweetheart.
"You look beautiful in chains, Mika," Liam whispered, his voice a sinful tease. He leaned in far too close, his breath warm against Mika's ear. "I heard you were sold. I've been looking for you. Meet me in the gardens... if the monster lets you out of his sight."
The Spicy Recapture
Soren saw it. He saw the way the waiter lingered. He saw the flash of recognition in Mika's eyes. He didn't wait for an explanation. He grabbed Mika's arm and dragged him into a private study, slamming the door and locking it with a violent click.
"Who was he?" Soren roared, pinning Mika against the dark wood of the desk. The "sweet-spice" was gone, replaced by pure, acidic jealousy.
"He's nobody!" Mika cried, but Soren was already tearing at the fine silk of Mika's Gala shirt.
"He touched you," Soren groaned, his mouth crashing onto Mika's neck, biting the mark until it bled again. "I can smell his common scent on your skin. I should kill him. I should kill everyone who looks at you."
The love-making that followed was the most detailed, possessive, and "long" encounter yet. Soren was a beast driven by the fear of losing his prize. He claimed Mika right there on his father's desk, his thrusts deep and punishing, his hands marking Mika's body so everyone at the Gala would know who he belonged to. It was a spicy, desperate battle of wills that left Mika sobbing and shivering, his body forced into a surrender he couldn't escape.