The silence of the penthouse was broken by a name—"The Kingdom."

Alessandro Vitale's kingdom.


Here, the shimmering waves of the Hudson River and the dazzling lights of Manhattan were merely humble carpets beneath his feet, while he reigned as the sole monarch above this splendor. At the heart of this "Kingdom," in a chamber draped entirely in deep red velvet, the air hung thick as congealed blood. This place had no name, only a code—"The Game Room."

Isabella Thorne's breath caught in her throat.

Silk, cold and smooth like an elegant verdict, bound her wrists to the dark wooden posts carved with intricate patterns at the head of the bed. The sensation wasn't rough but carried an almost tender yet undeniable precision. Her gaze, a mixture of fear at entering forbidden territory and a self-destructive desire to explore, remained firmly fixed on the man before her.


Alessandro.

He didn't sit down, just stood by the bed, looking down at her from above. His expensive tailored suit outlined his broad shoulders and slim waist, every inch of fabric exuding the cold fragrance of power. He didn't look like a mafia godfather but more like a symphony conductor about to step onto the podium, and she was the first trembling note in his musical composition. His face remained expressionless, those deep eyes like cold pools reflecting her disheveled yet expectant appearance, as if examining a priceless work of art that had just come into his possession.


"Here," his voice finally broke the suffocating silence, low and steady with a unique hint of hoarseness like aged whiskey flowing over the smoothest ice, "trust is the only currency."

He leaned forward without touching her, but that scent—expensive cologne mingled with crisp air—enveloped her like an invisible net, holding her captive. His fingers were long and clean, elegantly adjusting his cufflinks, the embedded obsidian catching the room's only dim light source.

"So we need to establish the most basic rules first," he continued, his tone as flat as if explaining a business term, though each word carried an undeniable weight. "Your safe word is 'beige.'"

Beige.

The word pierced through Isabella's desire-wrapped senses like a poisoned needle, reaching the deepest part of her consciousness. In her mind flashed images of her lifeless apartment—beige walls, beige sofa, beige curtains. Her ex-boyfriend, that handsome yet hollow banker, had sneered when breaking up with her: "Isabella, you're too... boring. Your entire world is just beige."

Mediocre, safe, yet utterly lifeless. That was the hell she desperately wanted to escape. And now, this dark lord exuding extreme danger had defined her escape key as the very color she despised most. A cruel joke. An elegant provocation.

Her throat moved, yet she couldn't produce any sound, only responding with her eyes. In that gaze burned a small flame of humiliation and anger, but even more so a resolute determination after being seen through. She would never say that word. Never.

Alessandro caught the fleeting spark in her eyes, the corner of his mouth curving into an almost imperceptible arc. Not a smile—a confirmation.

"Just say it," he added the final part of the rule, his voice taking on an almost bewitching quality, "and everything stops immediately. I promise."

He reached out his hand, not to touch her body but to trace the silk ribbon on her wrist with his fingertips—a caress and a warning in one gesture. The cool sensation made her whole body shudder, a strange current shooting up from her wrist and spreading through her entire being.

"Are you ready, Isabella?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

She didn't answer, only closed her eyes, her long eyelashes casting trembling shadows in the dim light. This gesture itself was her silent consent—her complete surrender.

Alessandro accepted her invitation.

He didn't speak again but took control with his actions. His kiss didn't land on her lips but pressed against her fragile neck, tense with nervousness. Not a gentle kiss but one with predatory heat, his teeth barely grazing her sensitive skin, triggering waves of fine trembling. She instinctively wanted to withdraw, but the silk binding her wrists held her firmly in place, leaving her nowhere to escape.

This feeling of being completely controlled was strange and frightening, yet it also ignited a spark of forbidden desire deep within her heart. Everything in the real world—bills, work, the lonely apartment, her ex-boyfriend's mockery—quickly faded and dissolved under this intense sensory stimulation.

His hands, those same hands that had just been adjusting his cuffs with elegant precision, now slowly traveled up her waist. Through the thin fabric of her clothes, his palm felt scorching hot, igniting a wildfire wherever it touched. She could clearly feel the slight calluses on his fingertips—marks of someone who took control—creating a striking contrast with his aristocratic appearance.

When his fingers found the buttons of her blouse, her entire body tensed. One, two... the buttons were slowly but firmly undone, letting cold air rush in, creating a dramatic contrast with the burning heat of his palm. A soft moan escaped her lips.

That moan was like a switch, completely releasing the elegant restraint within him. His movements were no longer composed but urgent and powerful. Her blouse was roughly torn open, the sound of fabric tearing jarring in the quiet room—and equally thrilling.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice carrying undeniable authority.

Isabella trembled as she opened her eyes, meeting his deep gaze. Under the influence of desire, those eyes were no longer cold pools but deep seas with churning undercurrents, capable of dragging anyone who dared to peer into them to their drowning death. In his eyes, she saw herself—hair disheveled, cheeks flushed crimson, gaze unfocused—a completely unfamiliar version of herself: a beautiful creature made exquisite by submission.

He leaned down, his lips and tongue plundering her exposed skin from collarbone to chest, each kiss marking his ownership. She felt like a small boat tossing in a violent storm, and he was the ocean itself raising towering waves. Her body instinctively felt fear, but her soul was cheering, screaming. This was what she wanted, what she had tried to buy with that ridiculous stack of cash—a feast that would completely destroy her, then thoroughly rebuild her.

Pain and pleasure intertwined like a wild symphony, striking every nerve in her body. When he finally entered her, she felt herself completely split open, her soul and flesh penetrated by a domineering force. She couldn't help but arch her back, a suppressed scream erupting from deep in her throat, only to be completely swallowed by his deep kiss.

This kiss was different from any before—filled with aggression, his tongue roughly sweeping through her mouth, giving her no chance to breathe. She was forced to endure it, her body firmly pinned against the soft mattress, yet her spirit reached an unprecedented freedom in this extreme passivity. She didn't need to think, didn't need to choose, only needed to feel.

The shuddering of her body and the surrender of her mind merged into one, pushing her toward one sensory peak after another. Here, there was no beige mediocrity, only the most intense red and the deepest black. She forgot who she was, forgot where she was, only knowing that she was being completely possessed by a powerful will, and she was willing.

After an unknown passage of time, when that sensory storm finally subsided, only the sound of heavy breathing remained in the room. Isabella lay like a puddle of melted honey, limp on the velvet sheets, unable to move even a finger. Sweat had soaked her hair, clinging tightly to her cheeks and forehead.

Alessandro moved away from her, and the burning pressure in the air lessened. She heard a faint sound of metal clicking, then the silk restraining her wrists was untied. The two smooth bands slid from her reddened wrists, bringing belated freedom.

Before he rose, Isabella felt something warm and heavy cover her naked body. It was a velvet blanket, deep red like the walls of this room, incredibly soft. He wrapped her completely, leaving only her head and shoulders exposed.

Isabella turned her head with effort to look at him. After the passion subsided, he had returned to that calm and distant demeanor, as if the wild plunderer from moments ago had been merely her imagination. He leaned against the headboard, methodically fastening his shirt cuffs, his movements as elegant as always.

He seemed to sense her gaze and turned his head, his deep eyes falling upon her still-flushed face. That look was complex and indecipherable, like a deep ocean hiding countless secrets, leaving her unable to guess his thoughts.

Then, he made a gesture that surprised her. He reached for the envelope she had angrily slammed on the living room table when she arrived—containing almost all of her savings, the ridiculous capital she used to "purchase" this experience. He didn't even open it to look inside but simply placed the thick envelope casually on the bedside table next to her.

"This is your 'hiring fee,' little rebel," his voice was soft, yet carried a penetrating quality that made Isabella's heart skip a beat. "Now, the game has only just begun."

"Hiring fee?" Isabella finally found her voice, hoarse and confused.

"Yes." He looked into her confused eyes, and that almost imperceptible curve appeared again at the corner of his lips. "You're hired. As for the job content... we'll have plenty of time to explore that slowly."

Isabella's heart suddenly sank. She looked at the stack of cash on the bedside table, then at the unfathomable eyes of the man before her, and a cold thought struck like lightning, cleaving through her desire-clouded mind. What she had gotten involved with was not an ordinary wealthy man seeking thrills, nor a playmate who could be traded for money.

She had provoked a man she completely failed to understand, a king who casually wove her impulses and resistance into the rules of his own game. And she had carelessly signed away her freedom, trading the mediocrity she most despised for a dangerous "employment" with an unpredictable end.