Her POV
I woke to silence.

Not the kind that hums gently in the background of a familiar morning, but the kind that’s too still, too deliberate, the kind that makes you question if the world outside still exists.

My eyes fluttered open, and for a moment I didn’t know where I was.

The sheets beneath me were soft, softer than anything I’d ever touched. Silk maybe, or something rarer. A thin canopy hung above, white and weightless, moving ever so slightly with the whisper of the air conditioning. The faint scent of jasmine clung to the air, too perfect to be real.

It wasn’t my room.
It wasn’t any room I knew.

I pushed myself up slowly, my body stiff and heavy like it had forgotten how to move. My heart skipped when my gaze swept across the space.

This was no bedroom. This was a palace.

The walls were pale marble, streaked with veins of silver that caught the fading light. Heavy velvet curtains framed the tall windows, and carved oak furniture sat like pieces of art scattered carefully around the room. A crystal chandelier swayed lazily from the ceiling, beautiful and cold, like everything else in here.

It was the kind of room people like me only saw in glossy magazine pages or movies. The kind that belonged to billionaires, royals… or men like him.

And then it hit me….. him.

Luan.
The name alone made my heart stumble.

It all came rushing back, the gunshot, Papà’s scream, my shaking hands signing away my soul. And then… the car.

We had driven for what felt like hours into the dead of night, through roads I didn’t recognize. I remembered the hum of the tires, the silence between us, the way his gaze had burned into me every time I dared look his way.

Then the car had stopped. A private airbase. A jet waiting under floodlights.

He’d said nothing as he guided me up the steps with a hand on my back, not rough, not gentle, just final.

I remembered the hum of the engines, the night stretching endlessly below, and exhaustion pulling me under.

I’d fallen asleep in the air and now… now I was here. Wherever here was.

I turned toward the windows. The sky outside was bruised purple, the last sliver of sunlight bleeding into the horizon.

It was evening.

My breath caught. “How long…?” I whispered into the emptiness. I had slept through the flight, the landing, maybe hours beyond. My body felt strange, weightless, like I’d woken up in another life entirely.

And maybe I had.

The thought made me shiver.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood. My bare feet sank into the soft carpet, and the silence pressed closer as I walked toward the nearest window.

Outside, the world was unfamiliar  manicured gardens stretching endlessly, a fountain glinting in the fading light, tall stone walls that looked more like fortifications than decoration.

This wasn’t a house. It was a fortress.

My chest tightened. “Where am I?” I murmured, more to myself than anyone else.

That’s when the door opened.

The soft click of the latch made me spin around, my pulse leaping into my throat. A woman stepped inside, older than me, maybe mid-thirties, dressed in a crisp black uniform with a white apron. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, her face blank, eyes lowered in practiced politeness.

In her hands, she carried a silver tray, steam rising from a covered dish, a glass of water, and cutlery arranged with military precision.

“Zonja ime (my lady),” she said gently. I don't know the meaning of the word she just said but the way she said I guess it's something respectable. “Dinner.”

Dinner.

The word felt strange in my mouth, foreign. As if normal things like meals didn’t belong in this twisted new world.

I blinked, my thoughts scattered. “What time is it?” I asked instead.

“Almost seven, Zonja,” she replied with a small, rehearsed smile. “You slept for many hours. It has been… a long journey.”

A long journey. That was one way to put it.

I hesitated, watching her as she crossed the room and placed the tray on the table near the window. Everything about her movements was calm, efficient, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. As if girls didn’t wake up in gilded cages every day.

“Where…” My voice faltered. “Where exactly am I?”

Her eyes flickered toward me, just for a moment….pity? Fear? I couldn’t tell. But whatever it was, it vanished as quickly as it came.

“Someone will explain everything soon,” she said softly. “For now, you should eat. Zoti im (My lord) will want to see you once you are awake.”

Zoti im.

I didn’t need her to say the name. I knew. 

Luan.

Because they way she trembled saying that name. It's obvious. It is his name or whatever it means in their language.

The thought of seeing him again made my stomach twist. I wrapped my arms around myself, as if I could hold the pieces of me still intact together.

The maid gave a polite nod before slipping out of the room as silently as she had entered. The lock clicked softly behind her, and once again, I was alone.

Alone… but not free.

I stared at the tray of food, steaming, aromatic, perfectly plated. My body was hungry, but my soul recoiled.

Because this wasn’t dinner. It was a reminder.

A reminder that I wasn’t a guest here.

I was a possession.

The door creaked open again.

But this time, it wasn’t a maid with a tray. It was four women.

They moved together, silent, elegant, too graceful to be ordinary. The faint scent of expensive perfume followed them, a ghost of luxury masking something rotten underneath.

All four of them were beautiful…. devastatingly beautiful but not in the way beauty is meant to be. They were the kind of beautiful that looked expensive, deliberate, like porcelain dolls displayed on a shelf, polished until nothing human remained.

Their smiles didn’t reach their eyes.

The woman in front moved differently, older, more self-assured, the kind of confidence that came not from pride, but from having surrendered long ago. She was in her early thirties, maybe a few years younger than Luan, with chestnut hair pinned into an elegant knot and lips painted blood-red. The diamond on her finger sparkled with a weight that made my stomach twist.

“So…” she said, her English tinged with a faint Slavic accent. “You’re the new one.”

I blinked, throat too tight to speak. My voice had abandoned me the second she stepped into the room.

She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she smiled… slow and razor-sharp, and extended her hand like a queen greeting a subject. “I’m Elena Petrović. Luan’s first wife and before you start your new life here. You must know a few things.” 

She continued but my life has already turned upside down hearing her first word.

“Our fathers sealed our marriage to unite the Albanian and Serbian syndicates. A perfect alliance.” Her smile turned brittle. “Or so I thought.”

The air left my lungs. “First… wife?” I whispered, barely breathing.

She laughed. Not kindly. Not even mockingly. It was a sound that spoke of broken dreams and bitter acceptance. “Oh, darling… you didn’t really think you were the only one, did you?”

Before I could reply, another woman stepped forward. Younger, mid-twenties maybe,  with the same piercing eyes as Elena, but sharper, colder. Her beauty was almost surgical.

 “And I,” she said, brushing back her long dark hair, “am Milena. Elena’s younger sister. Luan decided one Petrović daughter wasn’t enough. He wanted me too, though he had me before my sister on her wedding bed.” She chuckled, a dead, hollow sound. “And what Luan wants… Luan takes.”

The room swayed. My stomach churned and lips parted in disbelief.

The words takes echoed in my skull like a curse.

The third woman stepped forward. She was breathtaking, tall, statuesque, with caramel skin and eyes like polished amber. Her accent was French, her voice melodic, almost too soft for the words she spoke.
“I’m Camille. I was a model in Paris. Dior. Milan. New York.” She smiled faintly, but there was no joy in it. “Until Luan saw me walk down a runway. Now, I walk inside these walls without anything.”

My breath caught. Each story was worse than the last. Each one a warning. A prophecy.

Then the fourth stepped out from behind the others. She was the youngest, barely nineteen with trembling hands and doe-like eyes that refused to meet mine. Her voice cracked when she spoke.
“I’m Sofia,” she whispered. “I was studying literature in Prague. I’d never even met him before until two years ago he decided… I belonged to him.”

A chill ran through me so cold it felt like it reached my bones. She must be a minor at that time. What kind of monster is he?

They weren’t wives.
They were proof.
Proof that once Luan Kovači set his eyes on you, there was no escape.
Proof that your name, your past, your dreams, all of it vanished the moment he decided you were his.

I was all lost thinking about the doom waiting for me ahead when Elena’s voice brought me back.

“So,” Elena said, clapping her hands once, the sound sharp and merciless. “Now that introductions are over…”

Her gaze dragged over me slowly from my bare feet to my face. “It’s time we get you ready.”

“Ready?” I managed to whisper.

Camille crossed to a large gift box that I hadn't noticed yet in the room and flipped it open. The sight punched the air from my lungs.

Inside lay a piece of lingerie, blood maroon lace and silk, indecent and sinful that barely hide anything but display everything, the kind of thing meant to be torn off rather than worn.

“This,” Elena said, lifting it with two fingers as if it were sacred, “is what he wants you in tonight.”

“Tonight?” My heart thundered. “What’s happening tonight?”

Though I know what must happen but still I was trying to tell myself that maybe it's just a bad dream and when I'll wake up it disappears.

But no it's not. This will be my reality. A walking nightmare.

Milena’s smile was wicked, but her eyes… her eyes were empty. “Tonight, sweetie, your husband comes to claim what’s his.”

The words hit me like a blow to the chest. “No… I…”

“Eat something first,” Camille interrupted smoothly, lifting a tray from the table. “You’ll need your strength.”

“I don’t want it,” I said quickly, backing away. “I’m not hungry.”

All I want right now is to run away from here but unfortunately I have no way.

Elena’s eyes narrowed. “You will eat.”

It was Sofia….trembling, broken Sofia, who approached. She picked up a small piece of bread and pressed it gently to my lips.
“Please,” she whispered. “If you don’t eat… it will be worse later.”

The plea in her voice shattered me. My stomach turned, but I parted my lips and let her feed me, bite by trembling bite. I chewed like a prisoner swallowing poison.

When it was done, they helped me into the lingerie. I didn’t resist…. what would be the point?
Every brush of fabric against my skin felt like a violation, a brand, a declaration of ownership I hadn’t consented to.

In the mirror, I didn’t see myself. I saw a stranger.
Painted lips. Trembling hands. Eyes wide and hollow.

“Perfect,” Elena said, stepping back. “He will be pleased.”

I wanted to scream. To tear it off. To disappear.
Instead, I just stood there, a ghost wrapped in lace…. as they spoke again.

“By the way,” Elena asked. “Where are you from?”

“Florance.” I whispered trying to hide my almost bare body.

“Hmm…an Italian kurvë (bitch)” Elena smirked.

“Oh don't hide sweetie.” but Milena said, holding my hands. “It’s nothing that we don't have and we were the one who got you ready so don't be shy.”

“Luan has particular tastes, you might even have to watch us without clothes. So, don't be shy.” This time Camila said and I can't believe my ears that how could they talk about it like it's so casual?

“What is this place… where am I?” I asked instead.

Elena tilted her head. “Tirana. The capital. His kingdom.” Her smile didn’t soften. “And now yours too, whether you like it or not.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the others. “You’ll learn how to live here. Cooperation is… expected. The four of us have had to learn to coexist. And now…” Her eyes locked on mine. “You’ll learn too.”

Milena scoffed quietly. Camille looked away.
And Sofia…sweet, trembling Sofia blinked back tears. “It’s easier if you stop dreaming,” she murmured, almost to herself.

A heavy silence fell. They left without another word.

The door clicked shut, and I was alone again, alone with the crushing weight of reality.

But the silence didn’t last.

Footsteps. Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.

The air shifted before the door even opened.
And then… it did.

He filled the doorway like a shadow that had taken shape tall, broad, terrifyingly composed. His eyes found me instantly, raking over every inch of me with the kind of hunger that made my skin crawl. There was no warmth there. No love. Only a dark, unrelenting possession.

The corner of his mouth curved into a smile that was anything but kind.

“Perfect,” Luan murmured, voice low and molten. “Just the way I wanted my bride.”

My breath hitched. My body locked. My heart slammed so hard against my ribs I thought it might break free as I tried to hide myself with my arms.

And as he took a step closer slowly, deliberately, like a predator closing in, I realised something that turned my blood to ice.

This wasn’t a man in love.
This was a man who believed he owned me.
And tonight… he intended to prove it.

The air grew heavier with every inch he closed between us, as though the walls themselves were suffocating me. My chest rose and fell too fast, my throat dry, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

“Luan…” I managed to whisper, my voice trembling, desperate. “Please… we need to talk.”

He didn’t stop.

“Please,” I said again, louder this time, taking a step back. My knees brushed the edge of the bed and I almost stumbled, catching myself on the carved post behind me. “I don’t want this… I can’t…please..”

He was in front of me before I could finish, his shadow swallowing mine. “Talk?” he murmured, his tone mockingly soft as his eyes devoured the sight of me trembling. “You think words will change what you already are?”

“I’m not…” I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. “I’m not a toy. I’m a person. You can’t just…”

“Can’t?” He chuckled, low, cold, humorless. “Princesha, the word can’t doesn’t exist in my world.”

His hand came up, not rough, not gentle and brushed a loose strand of hair from my cheek. Even that small touch felt like fire licking against my skin, a reminder of the power he held, the cage I was trapped in.

“Let me tell you something,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near growl, “I don’t force myself on beautiful women.”

My breath caught. “Then let me go,” I whispered, grasping at hope that I already knew was futile.

“No.” The single syllable was soft but absolute, a verdict, a sentence. “I don’t like forcing them,” he said, his fingers trailing down to my jaw, his gaze dark and unyielding. “That’s why I marry them.”

I froze. Every cell in my body screamed at me to move, to run, but my feet felt nailed to the ground.

“And now,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the corner of my trembling lips, while other hand slipped a solitaire in my trembling ring finger. “You are my wife. You signed the papers. You wear my ring. That means our marriage must be… completed.”

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. “Luan, please… you don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, I do,” he whispered, leaning closer until his breath ghosted against my ear. “Because if you don’t, this marriage isn’t valid in my world. And I didn’t go through all this trouble to leave it incomplete.”

“I’ll never love you,” I spat, my voice breaking. “Never.”

Something flickered in his eyes, not anger, not hurt… something far more dangerous. “Love?” he repeated softly, almost as if the word were foreign to him. “I don’t need your love, Princesha. All I need is this sweet little cunt to clench me, milk my cock.” and suddenly his hand was between my legs. “This pussy is mine.”

I gasped in terror. Shivering under his touch but that touch only tightened. He didn't just cup me down there but started rubbing it harshly over those good for nothing clothes.

My heart was a frantic, panicked drum inside my chest. Disgust crawled under my skin. I wriggle to get free but that only made him turn his hold tight.

“Don’t….,” I pleaded. “Please, I’m begging you…”

“Begging?” He smiled, but it was a smile that chilled me to the bone. “Begging won’t save you. It never does.”

He pinched my lower lips, making me cry out and then his voice turned darker, colder, the softness gone entirely.
“But maybe this will help you understand.”
He leaned in until his lips hovered a breath away from my ear. “Your parents,” he said calmly but his hand was still doing the same torture between my legs, “are still under my claw. And their lives…” He let the words hang, heavy and sharp as a blade. “…are still in my hands.”

The floor dropped out from under me. My knees buckled, and I clutched the bedpost for balance. “No…” I whispered. “No, please…”

“One word from me,” he continued, “and your father will never walk again. One command, and your mother will stop breathing before dawn.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks. The room swam. This was no choice.
It never had been.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice like silk wrapped around a knife, “you have two paths. Walk away from this bed and watch everything you love burn. Or…” He tilted my chin upward with a single, commanding touch. “…consummate what is already mine.”

My body shook. My lips trembled. My mind screamed to fight, to resist, to claw and run and hide but my heart… my heart was breaking.

Because this wasn’t just about me anymore.

It was about Mamma’s trembling hands. Papà’s blood on the station floor. Their lives, the only reason I was still breathing, hanging by a thread tied to this man’s whims.

The silence stretched between us. And then… something in me cracked.

My hands moved before my mind did. Slow. Mechanical. Empty.

I reached for the thin silk strap on my shoulder and slipped it down.

A single tear slid down my cheek as fabric brushed against my skin and pooled at my feet.
His breath hitched quiet, triumphant and the corner of his mouth curved into that slow, predatory smile again.

“Good girl,” he whispered, before pushing me on the bed and my body bounced, his voice like poison-coated honey. “You’re learning what it means to be mine.”

And in that moment, with my soul screaming and my body betraying me, I realised the truth I’d been running from since the day he first said my name.

This was no love story.
Just an obsession.

And I am just a toy for him to play.