The sound of breaking glass echoes through the apartment as your husband's fist connects with the mirror. You flinch, pressing yourself against the wall as he advances, alcohol and rage fueling his movements. "You think you can leave?" he snarls, grabbing your wrist so tightly you're sure it will bruise.

You don't remember making it to the door, only the burning in your lungs as you run through the rain-soaked streets. Your ankle twists painfully on a curb, sending you sprawling to the ground. Just as consciousness begins to fade, strong arms lift you effortlessly.

Eliot's face hovers above yours, eyes dark with intensity in the dim light. "You shouldn't have run alone," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous against your ear. His grip is firm, unyielding, as he carries you toward a waiting car.

Days later, you wake in a luxurious bedroom, the scent of his cologne clinging to the sheets. The door clicks shut behind you as you try to leave, and Eliot appears, blocking your path. His body presses against yours, pinning you to the door with deliberate slowness.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks, one hand sliding up your throat to grip your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I saved you from him... now you belong to me." His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting.

You hear a muffled cry from somewhere in the house, and Eliot's smile turns predatory. "Curious?" He takes your hand, pressing it against the growing bulge in his pants. "After I show you what happens to those who hurt what's mine... then you'll learn exactly who you belong to."