Thirteen Years of Obsession

The Charity Case

I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, that dark, commanding voice echoed in my mind, promising things that terrified and excited me at the same time.

At 7:45 a.m., a sleek black Rolls-Royce waited outside our brownstone like a predator. Two stone-faced men in suits stood beside it.

I had packed one small suitcase — jeans, sweaters, my only decent black dress. A pathetic act of rebellion.

The taller guard opened the door without a word.

Inside the car, the scent of rich leather and dark sandalwood wrapped around me, making my stomach twist.

We drove in heavy silence until the car descended into an underground garage beneath Voss Tower — a skyscraper that pierced the clouds like a black dagger.

They escorted me straight to a private elevator. No stops. No questions.

When the doors opened on the 78th floor, I stepped into a world of cold luxury and raw power.

Black marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Minimalist furniture that screamed billions.

And there he was.

Standing at the windows with his back to me. Tall. Broad shoulders in a crisp black shirt. Dark hair. One hand in his pocket.

“Leave us,” he commanded quietly.

The guards vanished instantly.

Lucian Voss turned.

My breath caught painfully.

He was devastating — sharp jaw, storm-gray eyes that pinned me in place, a faint scar through his left eyebrow. Early thirties, but he looked like a man who had already conquered death itself.

His gaze dragged slowly over my body, possessive and hungry, like he was already imagining stripping me bare.

“Seraphina,” he murmured, voice rich and dangerous. “Finally.”

I lifted my chin, refusing to cower. “Mr. Voss. Or should I start calling you master already?”

A slow, predatory smile curved his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“You can call me Lucian. For now.”

He stalked closer, each step making the air thicker. He stopped inches away, towering over me, his heat radiating like a threat.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” he observed, eyes tracing my lips. “Were you thinking about me?”

“I was thinking about why a billionaire needs to blackmail a wife instead of buying one like a normal psychopath,” I shot back.

His eyes darkened with raw hunger. “Because bought women are boring.” He leaned in, breath brushing my ear. “I prefer the ones who fight. The ones who tremble when I touch them… even while they hate me.”

My pulse raced wildly. Heat pooled low in my belly despite my fury.

Lucian’s hand rose, fingers hovering near my cheek without touching. “Rules, little wife. You sleep in my bed. You wear what I choose. You don’t speak to other men without permission. And when I want you wet and begging, you will be.”

Before I could spit a reply, the elevator dinged.

A stunning redhead in a skin-tight designer dress stepped out, red lips curved in a possessive smile.

“Darling,” she purred at Lucian. “The ceremony planner is here. Shall we finish what we started in your bed last night?”

My stomach dropped like lead.

Lucian didn’t even glance at her. His storm-gray eyes stayed locked on mine, burning with dark obsession.

The redhead finally noticed me. Her smile turned venomous.

“Oh. The charity w***e has arrived.”