"I don't care what your mother says, Dom! My body is my asset. The moment I get pregnant, my contracts with Vogue and Paris Fashion Week are done. You want me to become some boring housewife who loses her figure?" Clara's voice cut through the silence of the study like a blade.

Clara stood in the center of the room, still wearing a blood-red silk gown that hugged her slender frame to perfection. There was nothing maternal about her — only blazing ambition.

Dominic didn't move from his leather throne. He sipped whiskey from a crystal glass, his ice-cold eyes fixed on his wife.

"Five years, Clara. Five years I've given you room to chase your ambitions. But my mother is right — an empire without an heir is just waiting for its turn to crumble."

"Oh, so now you're listening to that old woman's nagging?" Clara laughed bitterly, stepping closer and bracing her hands on his desk. "Your mother just wants a new doll to mold into a monster like you. I'm not a baby factory, Dom!"

Crack!

The glass in Dominic's hand slammed against the desk. Whiskey splashed across important documents, but he didn't care.

Dominic rose to his feet, and Clara instinctively stepped back — the sheer intimidation radiating from his powerful frame demanded it.

"Don't ever talk about my mother like that again," he hissed, rounding the desk and cornering Clara until her back hit the bookshelf. "You knew exactly who I was when you accepted this ring. You knew that in my world, loyalty and bloodline are the highest currency. You've enjoyed every privilege of being Dominic's wife. You've enjoyed the protection of my name. But you refuse your obligations?"

Clara lifted her chin, fighting to preserve her dignity even as her breathing quickened.

"I'm your wife, not your servant! My career is at its peak, Dom. I was just selected as an international brand ambassador. You think I'd throw all that away just for morning sickness and a swollen belly?"

"Then how long am I supposed to wait?" Dominic asked, his face only inches from hers. "Until you're wrinkled and no camera wants to look at you anymore? By then your womb will be too old to give me what I need."

"Then find another woman to do it!" Clara screamed, frustrated. "Rent a womb, or sleep with whoever you want. I don't care — just don't mess with my life!"

Dominic stared at Clara with an expression that was hard to read — a mixture of contempt and deep disappointment.

"You just gave me permission you'll never be able to take back, Clara," Dominic said calmly. Too calmly — and that was far more terrifying than his anger.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Dominic didn't answer. He turned, picking up his phone from the desk. "Leave. I have a meeting to finish."

"We're not done talking!"

"I said leave!" Dominic snapped.

Clara flinched, her eyes glistening with fury, but she knew when to stop before Dominic truly exploded.

With a low growl, she snatched her bag and stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard the vibration rattled through the walls.

Dominic let out a long breath and dragged a rough hand down his face. He hadn't expected that a marriage he'd once believed would be a powerful alliance had become a suffocating burden.

His thoughts drifted to his mother, who had called again that afternoon — crying, begging him to give her a grandchild before her health declined further.

Two sharp knocks on the door broke through his thoughts.

"Come in," Dominic ordered.

Marco, his right-hand man and most trusted confidant, stepped in with a serious expression. He held a slim folder.

"Sir, there's trouble at the nightclub owned by Miss Clara's family," Marco reported curtly.

Dominic raised an eyebrow. He rarely dealt with his wife's stepfamily, whom he considered parasites. "What's that got to do with me?"

"They're trying to set someone up to cover their casino debts. Someone who apparently has high value on the black market. Her name is Miss Keyla."

Dominic paused. The name was unfamiliar, but his instincts reacted. "Keyla? Who is she?"

"Miss Clara's stepsister. The one they've been hiding in the back of the house."

Dominic leaned back and lit a cigar. "Send someone over. I'm tired of Clara's drama tonight. Maybe watching her family's mess will be entertainment enough."

"Yes, sir."

Dominic didn't know that his decision to witness that mess would lead him to a girl who would change all of his plans.

*

*

"Please, Mother... I'm begging you, don't do this. I'll do anything — wash dishes, clean the club every day — please don't sell me!" The girl's cry broke through the air, raw and devastating.

She knelt on the floor, clutching the hem of the short red dress that had been forced onto her body.

The dress was far too revealing, exposing her delicate skin, which now trembled violently.

Siska, her stepmother, merely took a drag from a slim cigarette pinched between her fingers, eyeing Keyla with undisguised disgust.

"Do what? Your dishwashing salary won't come close to covering your family's casino debt, Keyla. That body of yours is an asset — the only valuable thing you have."

"Dad... Dad, please help me..." Keyla's swollen eyes turned to the middle-aged man standing frozen in the corner of the room.

The man — her own father — just hung his head low. His fists were clenched, but his mouth stayed locked shut. He couldn't meet his daughter's eyes.

"Don't bother hoping your father will help. He already agreed," Siska cut in coldly. She signaled to two large men standing behind her. "Hold her!"

"No! Please!" Keyla struggled, but her arms were seized with enough force to leave red marks.

Siska approached, carrying a glass filled with a clear liquid that reeked sharply of alcohol. Inside, a small pill had already dissolved completely.

"Drink this. So you won't be too tense when you're serving our special guest later," Siska said with a devil's smile.

"I don't want to... please, don't... hic... I'm begging you..." Keyla shook her head hard, tears flooding her cheeks.

"Open her mouth!" Siska barked.

One of the men yanked Keyla's hair back, forcing her face upward while the other pried her jaw open.

Keyla was trapped, her breath ragged with overwhelming terror.

"Swallow it, or I'll make sure your family rots in prison tonight!" Siska threatened, her face inches from Keyla's.

The bitter, burning liquid was forced down Keyla's throat. She coughed violently as heat spread from her throat to her stomach.

"Good. Now lock her in Room 404. The guest will be here soon," Siska ordered without a shred of emotion.

Keyla's consciousness began slipping away. An unnatural heat blazed through her chest, sending her heart into a wild, erratic rhythm.

"You're all monsters..." Keyla sobbed as the door sealed shut, leaving her utterly alone.

"Sir, this is the room. Number 404," Marco said with a respectful bow, holding the electronic key card he'd just received from the receptionist.

Dominic stood before the door, his face unreadable, jaw clenched tight. "You're sure this is the right move, Marco? Buying a woman from that worthless family?"

Marco gave a faint shrug. "You need to blow off steam, sir. And honestly, after hearing Miss Clara screaming earlier, I think you need something far quieter than a model who talks too much."

"Women are all the same, Marco. Every last one of them. They only want money and power," Dominic hissed coldly. He snatched the card from Marco's hand. "Wait here. Don't let anyone disturb me — including my wife if she calls."

"Understood, sir. Enjoy your evening."

The door opened. Dominic stepped into the darkness, lit only by a dim lamp in the corner of the room.

At first, he'd planned to simply sit down, smoke, and let whatever woman was in here cower in the corner. He had no interest in cheap gratification.

But a small, pained whimper from the bed stopped him in his tracks.

"So hot... someone help me... anyone... it's so hot..."

Dominic moved closer. There, on white sheets now twisted into chaos, a girl lay curled in a ball, her body trembling violently.

Long hair covered her face, but the exposed skin of her shoulders was flushed red, as though a fire was burning from the inside out.

"What's wrong with you?" Dominic asked.

The girl looked up. Her eyes were glazed and glassy from the drug her stepmother had forced on her.

When she saw the tall, imposing man standing before her, Keyla didn't run. Instead of fear, she crawled toward him, her small hands reaching for the edge of his expensive shirt.

"Please... help me... I can't take it..." Keyla rasped, her voice raw with agony and an uncontrollable need that wasn't her own.

Dominic looked down at her with contempt. "So this is how you seduce your customers? Playing the overheated damsel?"

"No... hic... they gave me something... please, my head is going to split open..."

Without warning, Keyla's trembling hands began pulling at the zipper of her red dress. With desperate, clumsy movements, she tore the thin fabric free and let it fall to the floor, leaving her body bare.

Keyla didn't care about shame — she only wanted the burning sensation on her skin to stop.

Dominic swallowed hard. His eyes, usually cold as ice, suddenly caught something different. He studied Keyla's eyes — clear despite the drug clouding them, radiating a deep sadness and an innocence he had never encountered before.

Something inside Dominic's chest detonated. It wasn't mere lust, but a wild, possessive urge.

His thoughts drifted to Clara — the woman who always rejected him, who was selfish, who was cold. And now, standing right in front of him, was a girl begging for his help in the most primal way imaginable.

"You don't know what you're asking for, little girl," Dominic hissed. He gripped Keyla's jaw, forcing her to look at him.

"Do... anything... just make the burning stop..." Keyla whispered, her tears falling onto his thumb.

"I have to serve you... so my family will be safe... please..."

Hearing the words serve* and family*, Dominic's fury surged. He hated how this world worked, and he hated that he suddenly wanted this girl so badly.

With one rough motion, Dominic shoved Keyla back onto the bed and pinned her beneath him.

He silenced her lips with a brutal kiss — crushing, consuming every trace of alcohol and desperation from her mouth.

Keyla cried out into the kiss, her hands clinging to Dominic's solid shoulders, grasping for anything to anchor herself in the storm slamming into her.

When Dominic entered her with one fierce thrust, a gut-wrenching scream filled the room.

"Aahh! It hurts... stop... please, it hurts so much..." Keyla sobbed, her body going rigid. Fresh blood seeped across the white sheets.

Dominic froze. His breath came hard and fast against the curve of Keyla's neck. "You're still a virgin?"

In his entire life, Dominic had never touched a woman other than his wife. And he knew for certain that Clara had never given him a first gift like this.

This girl was his second, yet she was the first to truly give him her crown — unconditionally, even if it was under force.

"Hic... it hurts... but don't stop..." Keyla babbled, the drug robbing her of all reason. "Keep going..."

Dominic couldn't hold back any longer. The tightness gripping him felt as though it had locked down his very soul.

He moved with an accelerating rhythm, pouring out every frustration he harbored toward Clara, toward his mother, toward the entire world — through Keyla's small body.

Every moan she made became a new addiction.

He was thirsty — devastatingly thirsty — and only the girl beneath him could quench it.

*

*

Meanwhile, outside the door, Marco leaned against the wall scrolling through his phone. Suddenly, the device buzzed violently.

Clara's name flashed across the screen.

Marco let out a long sigh, then slid the green button.

"Yes, Miss Clara?" Marco said in a tone of exaggerated politeness.

"Marco! Where is Dominic?! Why isn't he answering my calls? Put him on the phone right now!" Clara screamed — no speakerphone necessary.

Marco pulled the phone away from his ear and winced. "Oh, Miss. Mr. Dominic is currently... ah, he's in a sudden meeting. Very sudden. And he can't be disturbed."

"A meeting at this hour?! I know he's angry about earlier, but this is childish! Tell him to come home now!"

"Well, I'm afraid this particular meeting will require the entire night, Miss. You know how it is — lots of technical issues that need to be handled... manually," Marco replied, barely containing his laughter.

He imagined Clara's face — probably wearing a face mask that cost a small fortune while her heart burned with jealousy.

"What are you talking about, Marco? You think I'm stupid?! Tell me where you are!"

"We're at... oh dear, terrible signal here, Miss. Ksshh... ksshh... Seems like we've entered a dead zone. See you in the morning!"

Click.

Marco killed the call and immediately blocked Clara's number — temporarily. He leaned his head against the wall, listening to the faint sounds drifting through the door of Room 404.

"Poor Miss Model," Marco murmured, shaking his head. "Won't let her own husband touch her, and now he's tasting a dessert that's far sweeter. Goes to show — don't get too proud of what you've got, or someone else might borrow it without asking."

Keyla opened her eyes. Her body felt destroyed — as though every inch of bone had been snapped apart and forced back together.

She glanced at the white sheets, now bearing a dried crimson stain — a silent witness to the honor she'd traded for a pile of her family's casino debts.

Beside her, the man was still asleep. His hard-edged face, shadowed with faint stubble along his jaw, looked strangely peaceful — a stark contrast to the madness he'd unleashed the night before.

Keyla held her breath, trying to rise without a sound.

I need to go. Mother needs to know the job is done. I'm free, she told herself.

But the moment her feet touched the floor, a deep voice — rough with sleep — froze her mid-motion.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Keyla flinched, instinctively yanking the sheet to cover her bare body. She turned and found the man already propped on one arm, watching her with razor-sharp eyes.

"I... I'm going home. My job is done, isn't it?" Keyla answered softly, her voice barely surviving her own throat.

Dominic scoffed. He sat up, letting the sculpted muscles of his chest catch the light without a care. "Who said your job is done? Clean yourself up. I'll be waiting downstairs in thirty minutes."

Keyla's brow furrowed — confused and afraid at the same time.

"What do you mean, sir? I don't want anything more to do with you. My family's debt has been paid off, hasn't it?"

Keyla knew her stepmother's nature. If she kept any connection with this man, Siska would never stop wringing her dry — turning her into a cash cow with no end in sight.

All Keyla wanted was to go back to her normal life. Classes. Studying. And forgetting this nightmare ever happened.

Dominic stood and moved toward her, his aura of intimidation sucking the oxygen out of the room. "We're getting married."

"W-what? Married?" Keyla shrieked, her eyes going perfectly round. "Are you insane? I am not marrying you! I'm still in college, I have a future, and... and I have a boyfriend!"

At the word boyfriend, the corner of Dominic's mouth lifted into a cold, mocking smile.

"A boyfriend? What kind of girl has a boyfriend but sells herself to a stranger like me for money?" Dominic caught Keyla's chin, forcing her face up. "That boyfriend of yours would be pretty disgusted if he knew what we did — repeatedly — last night, don't you think? He wouldn't touch another man's leftovers."

Thud.

Keyla's heart seemed to stop. Those words drove straight into her chest like a blade.

It was true — if her boyfriend found out, their world would be destroyed. But marrying this stranger? That was just walking into a different lion's den.

"Stop arguing. I hate waiting more than anything. Get into the bathroom now, or I'll drag you in there myself," Dominic said coldly, then began dressing as if Keyla's presence in the room were nothing more than a breeze.

For Dominic, his life philosophy was simple but ironclad. His father and mother had raised him with a rigid code of honor — if you break something, you take responsibility.

And last night, he hadn't just broken something. He'd taken something that could never be given back.

If his mother found out he'd abandoned a virgin he'd slept with, his head would quite literally roll under their family traditions.

"Damn it. I shouldn't have gotten tangled up with this girl," Dominic muttered, pressing his fingers to his temple as he stepped out of the room.

But deep down, he couldn't deny it — Keyla's scent and the sounds she'd made last night had already become an addiction that was starting to poison his logic.

*

*

Outside the room, Marco stood at attention in a slightly rumpled suit. His bloodshot eyes and the dark circles hanging beneath them proved he hadn't slept a single minute.

"All done, sir? Can we please go home now before I pass out from caffeine deprivation?" Marco said, his voice limp with exhaustion.

Dominic pulled out a cigar and lit it calmly. "Idiot. You could've waited in another room and enjoyed the women at this club instead of standing here like a statue in front of my door."

Marco rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't do street food, sir. I have standards. If I'm going to do it, I want it with a woman I actually like — and more importantly, one who actually wants me back. Not one I have to guard the door for so she doesn't escape."

"Save the speeches. Get the paperwork ready. I'm marrying the girl inside."

Dominic stopped abruptly, and Marco crashed straight into his back.

"Ow! My nose... Wait, what? What did you just say?" Marco blinked his drowsy eyes, instantly jolted awake by shock. "You're serious about marrying her? Making her your second wife? Are you still sane, sir? What happens when Miss Mod— I mean, your wife finds out? She'll turn your house into World War Three!"

"She's the one who gave me permission yesterday, isn't she? Told me I could sleep with whoever I wanted as long as I didn't bother her," Dominic replied casually, continuing toward the elevator. "It would be a waste to let a green light like that go unused."

"But what about your parents? This isn't about your wife's permission — this is about bringing a stranger into the family bloodline, sir!" Marco hurried alongside him, his steps frantic.

"Their concerns are tomorrow's problem!" Dominic stopped in front of the elevator doors and fixed Marco with a sharp look. "What matters right now is that this girl carries my heir. She has what Clara doesn't — obedience and purity. That's enough."

Marco could only stand there, mouth hanging open. He stared at his boss's back with a tangled mess of emotions.

Dominic — the man who once worshipped Clara — was now willing to take a second wife and risk everything just for an heir.

"Dear God... my world is about to end," Marco muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "After this I'll need to prepare a marriage certificate, then tomorrow probably a divorce decree, or worse — a coffin for myself when the two of them start clawing each other's hair out. Or maybe a shootout. An aide's salary really doesn't cover this kind of mental damage!"

Dominic paid no attention to his assistant's rambling. His mind had already locked onto one thing — Keyla. The girl who would become his escape.