Chapter 1 - The Very Beginning

Lucia’s POV

“Kneel!” His voice echoed through the hall. My entire body shook in fear as tears stung my eyes, but I bit down hard on my lower lip, refusing to let them fall. The sharp taste of blood only reminded me of how real this nightmare was.

Laughter erupted from the men around him. They all mocked me. My shoulders slumped in defeat as Dante moved to pick up the heavy chains lying in the corner of the room.

The air reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. Soft Latino music played from the speakers, creating a bizarre contrast to the suffocating tension. To them, it was a paradise, but for me, it felt like hell.

“I said kneel, you crazy bitch.” His voice was colder this time. Before I could react, he stormed toward me and yanked my hair, forcing me down.

I yelped in pain, gritting my teeth as his grip tightened. The men laughed harder, their amusement feeding his cruelty.

The saddest part was that it wasn’t always like this. Just yesterday, I was the happiest woman alive. My boyfriend of five years had finally proposed, and for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to dream of a better future.

But that hope crumbled in less than 24 hours. Today, I was a prisoner. A slave.

I slowly sank to my knees, the cold marble floor biting into my skin. Humiliation washed over me as Dante released his hold on my hair, smirking as if he’d won some twisted game.

“Good girl,” he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. He didn’t even try to hide the satisfaction in his eyes.

“Now strip,” he ordered, his tone as casual as if he were asking for a drink. The men roared in approval, their voices echoing around me.

I blinked my eyes twice as I felt a wave of shame wash over me, but I refused to let him see the tears forming in my eyes.

Memories from just a few hours ago flooded my mind, hitting me all at once. This nightmare started because of my father.

If only the fire hadn’t started.

My father has been battling severe PTSD ever since the robbery that took my mother and younger sister. I was in college at the time, far from home, when the tragedy struck. The robbers had taken everything—our possessions, my family’s safety, and two lives. My father barely survived.

Since then, it’s been just the two of us. I worked part-time jobs to finish school while trying to keep us afloat. My fiancé, Daniel, had been my rock through it all, helping me when I thought I couldn’t go on.

Absentmindedly, I touched my engagement ring. It was the only piece of my old life that remained, the only thing Dante hadn’t stripped from me.

But now, here I was, kneeling before him in his mansion. A prisoner in every sense of the word.

“Did I stutter?” Dante snapped, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “Strip. Now. And dance. Give us what you got!" He yelled. His boys cheered in agreement.

My hands trembled as I slowly undid the buttons of my shirt.

With every piece of clothing that fell to the floor, I felt my dignity slipping away. The men continued to cheer and holler, their voices loud and vulgar. My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my gaze on the floor, unable to look at them.

When I was down to nothing but my bra and panties, Dante’s eyes gleamed with triumph. He nodded, a cruel smirk curling his lips.

“Not bad,” he said, his voice low and taunting.

I felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly powerless. My body trembled as I walked toward the pole in the center of the room, Dante’s laughter echoing in my ears.

I swayed awkwardly to the music, my movements stiff and robotic. Tears streamed down my face, but I kept going. Every second felt like an eternity.

Suddenly, Dante stood and walked toward me, the chain in his hand gleaming under the dim light.

My heart raced extremely fast as i wondered what his next command would be.

“Enough,” he said, his voice softer but no less commanding.

With no power of my own, Dante slowly began to chain me to the pole, i could feel his hot breath tingling on my bare skin. His body was so close to mine, I could feel the warmth coming from him.

He turned to his men. “Get out. All of you.”

The room fell silent as the men hesitated. One by one, they filed out, their smirks lingering as they glanced at me.

The sound of the door locking sent a chill down my spine. My heart raced even faster as his boys left. I was scared of being left alone with Dante because that only meant that he was up to no good.

I wanted to run, to scream, but I was trapped—physically and emotionally.

Without warning, he closed the distance between us and crushed his lips against mine. It wasn’t a kiss—it was a claim. Rough and punishing, as if he wanted to erase every piece of me that existed before him.

I struggled, pushing against his chest, but it was futile. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer as his lips trailed down to my neck, claiming every inch of me with a dark determination.

I felt like I was suffocating, trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

My father had gotten a job at Dante’s warehouse to help us stay afloat. He’d been trying so hard to rebuild our lives after the robbery. But his PTSD betrayed him.

He told me he’d heard gunshots and panicked. In his terror, he’d knocked over a keg of oil, starting a fire that destroyed thousands of dollars’ worth of goods.

Dante had barged into our home with his men this evening, furious. He pointed a gun at my father’s head, shouting about the damage and the press hounding him for answers.

He was ready to pull the trigger. I could see it in his eyes that he wasn’t bluffing.

I couldn’t let that happen, my father was the only family I had left.

Desperate, I offered myself in his place.

Dante’s smirk had been cruel. He agreed without hesitation, knowing the pain it would cause my father. My father was stunned, his shock palpable, but he was helpless to stop Dante.

It was clear that taking me would break him even more. 

“You’ll pay for this loss with your sweat and blood, and when I'm done with you, you'd wish you were never born,” he’d said. And just like that, I became his prisoner, bound to him for a year to atone for my father’s mistake.

Now, as his hands gripped me tightly and his cold lips marked me, I realized that my nightmare was only beginning.