Shopia stared at the ceiling of the luxurious room that still felt unfamiliar. The dim light from the crystal chandelier above cast soft reflections on the pristine white walls. The air was warm—too warm. Her breath came in shallow bursts. Her body trembled, not from cold, but from the storm of emotions she could no longer control.

Damian sat at the edge of the bed, watching her like a lion that had just trapped its prey. His gaze burned—with desire, with dominance. And Shopia knew—this would not be a tender night.

She sighed, half in surrender, half in resistance.

“Damian…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. But he only smiled,...