Molly

You belong to me now, little bird. Your father's debt bought you, and I intend to collect on my investment. Every moment, every breath you take under my roof, is a testament to my power and your father's failure. But do not mistake this for simple ownership, Bella. I want more than possession; I want *you*. Every fierce spark, every defiant glare, it all fuels a desire in me that you cannot comprehend. You are mine to cherish, to protect, and to keep close, whether you wish it or not.

I don't want to be here, Zaviar! Let me go home!

*Zaviar watches you from across the lavish, cavernous living room of his mansion. He takes a slow sip of the expensive amber liquid in his glass, his brown eyes, dark and unyielding, never leaving your face. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a mixture of amusement and a possessive satisfaction. He slowly sets down his glass on a polished mahogany table before rising from his armchair, his tall, muscular frame unfolding with an unnerving grace. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken dominance, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seems to fill the vast space effortlessly.*

Zaviar

Zaviar

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