Chapter 1 The Mistake That Changed Everything

The storm rolled over the city like a living beast—thunder growling, lightning splitting the sky in jagged bursts. Isla Maren pulled her coat tighter around her slender frame, her fingers trembling as she clutched the straps of her satchel. It was past midnight. She shouldn’t have stayed so late at the gallery, but when the world faded and she had her paints, time ceased to exist. Her world was color and emotion—until she stepped outside and remembered the real one. And the real one was dangerous. The back alley shortcut behind West Hollow was narrow, dimly lit, and soaked in slick rainwater. But it cut her walk home in half, and on most nights, that was enough. She’d taken it dozens of times. Tonight, she wished she hadn’t. Her boots splashed through a puddle, and as she reached the midpoint of the alley, she heard it—raised voices, sharp and angry, echoing just ahead. Her steps slowed. Don’t get involved. She was turning back when the deep voice cut through the night. “You had your chance, Luca.” It wasn’t shouted. It was spoken calmly. Coldly. With a finality that made Isla freeze. She crept forward instinctively, staying in the shadow of the brick wall, her breath held tight in her chest. That was her mistake. A man knelt in the alley, soaked in rain, blood running from his mouth. Another stood over him—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a black coat that fluttered slightly in the wind. His gloved hand gripped the hilt of a blade. No hesitation. No mercy. Isla’s eyes widened as she saw the blood pooling beneath the kneeling man. “You know the rules,” the one in black said. “You break them, you bleed.” “Please—Dom—I didn’t know she was yours,” the man whimpered. “It wasn’t like that—” Dominic. That name sent a chill through her. And then the blade flashed. The sound it made was dull. Wet. Final. Isla gasped. It was soft, unintentional—but in the suffocating silence that followed, it rang like a gunshot. The man in black turned. Slowly. Like a predator sensing prey. Their eyes met. He was beautiful in the way monsters sometimes were. Sharp cheekbones, slick dark hair matted with rain, a face that was chiseled from stone and shadow. But it was his eyes that caught her—dark, cold, and wholly inhuman in their stillness. For a moment, neither moved. Then Isla did the only thing her body remembered how to do—she ran. --- Her heart pounded in her ears as she flew through the alley, her boots slipping on the wet pavement. She didn’t stop when she reached the street, didn’t look back as she tore down the block and stumbled into her apartment building. Her fingers fumbled with the key, almost dropping it twice before she got the door open, slammed it shut, and locked it. One bolt. Two bolts. Chain latch. She collapsed against it, gasping for air, soaked to the bone. What had she just seen? She staggered to her tiny living room, clutching her sides. Blood. A murder. A name. Dominic. Dominic who? She forced her hands to stop trembling long enough to dig out her phone. She opened the browser and typed Dominic Virelli. The results came instantly. Dominic Virelli, 34. Billionaire. Reclusive CEO of Virelli Enterprises. Known for acquiring companies and burying his enemies. Alleged criminal ties—unproven. Unreachable. Unstoppable. Her stomach dropped. That’s who she’d seen. And he had seen her. --- The following two days were torture. Isla didn’t sleep. Every creak of the floor, every shifting shadow made her heart lurch. She kept the curtains drawn. Checked the locks a dozen times. Her art sat untouched on the easel as she sat curled on the couch, a knife from the kitchen clenched in her hand. But no one came. By the third night, her eyes began to burn with exhaustion. Maybe he hadn’t followed her. Maybe— The door clicked. Soft. Precise. Isla froze. No one had a key. No one should have been able to open it. Then she heard it—the deliberate sound of the lock turning. The creak of the door swinging open. She rose, slowly, the knife trembling in her grip. And then he stepped inside. He didn’t rush. He didn’t threaten. He didn’t even speak right away. Dominic Virelli was as imposing in the dry warmth of her apartment as he was in the cold alley rain. He was dressed in black again—tailored shirt, dark slacks, not a drop of water on him despite the storm still raging outside. His hair was neatly combed back, his eyes fixed on her like a hawk circling prey. “You’ve been hiding,” he said. “I didn’t tell anyone,” Isla whispered, the knife raised. He smiled slightly. Not kind. Not amused. Icy. “I know.” “Then what do you want?” Her voice cracked, but she held the knife tighter. He took a step forward. She stepped back. Another step. Another. “You saw something you weren’t meant to see,” he said, voice smooth as velvet and just as dangerous. “Now I have a choice.” She hit the wall behind her, the knife still between them. “You don’t have to kill me,” she said. “I won’t talk. I swear.” His head tilted slightly. “You think this is about keeping you quiet?” She frowned. Dominic reached out and with one quick motion, disarmed her. The knife clattered to the floor. She gasped, frozen as his hand came to her jaw. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but no less terrifying. “You’re not a threat,” he said quietly. “You’re... a curiosity.” She tried to jerk her head away. He held her still. “I’ve been watching you, Isla Maren.” Her eyes widened. “Two days. I know you work at the gallery. I know you paint. I know you don’t have friends nearby. You don’t talk to your family. You live alone.” “You’ve been—what—stalking me?” He didn’t flinch at the word. “I had to know if you’d talk. If you were reckless. But you’re not. You’re obedient. Quiet. Isolated. I like that.” She was shaking now, her voice rising. “You’re insane—” “I’m thorough.” He stepped back then, just a pace. Enough to let her breathe. Enough to make her wonder if she’d imagined the nightmare. But then he spoke again. “You don’t belong here anymore, Isla.” “What are you talking about?” “You’re coming with me.” “No—I’m not going anywhere with you—!” Before she could scream, his hand covered her mouth. His other arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her effortlessly as she kicked and struggled. The last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed her was the calm, calculated hunger in his eyes. --- Somewhere Unknown – Hours Later Isla woke to silence. Her head throbbed. Her mouth was dry. She sat up slowly, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings. The bed was enormous, covered in black silk sheets. The room was dimly lit by sconces on the stone walls. No windows. Just a heavy door and a sense of suffocating luxury. She stumbled to her feet, heart hammering. Where was she? The door creaked open. Dominic entered, and she backed away instinctively. “You drugged me,” she spat. He nodded. “It was the only way to ensure your cooperation.” “This is kidnapping!” “No. This is protection. Yours—and mine.” “I don’t need your protection!” “You witnessed a murder. If I let you go, someone else will silence you eventually. Someone far less... accommodating.” She stared at him, stunned. “So your solution is to keep me? Like some pet?” His expression didn’t change. “No. A pet is caged without purpose. You, Isla, are... art I haven’t finished studying.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “What do you want from me?” Dominic stepped closer. His hand brushed her cheek. She flinched, but he didn’t stop. “I want to see what makes you break. And what makes you bloom.” She shuddered under his touch. “I want to unravel you slowly, Isla Maren.”