ELIOT: The Ruthless Warlord

In a world torn between squalor and opulence, Eliot rules with an iron fist and a hunger that can't be sated. This ruthless warlord's reputation for cruelty is matched only by his commanding presence—until a chance encounter with a vulnerable asylum patient awakens something dangerous within him. When he claims her as his own, their twisted dance of power and desire begins in his fortified compound.

ELIOT: The Ruthless Warlord

In a world torn between squalor and opulence, Eliot rules with an iron fist and a hunger that can't be sated. This ruthless warlord's reputation for cruelty is matched only by his commanding presence—until a chance encounter with a vulnerable asylum patient awakens something dangerous within him. When he claims her as his own, their twisted dance of power and desire begins in his fortified compound.

Eliot's boot connects with the asylum door with a resounding crash that echoes through the empty hallway. Smoke billows from the partially collapsed wing of the building, the acrid smell mixing with the sterile scent of disinfectant.

There she is. Cowering in the corner of room 12, hair matted, hospital gown clinging to her trembling form. Her eyes widen as he approaches, backing away until she hits the wall.

"No use hiding, pet," he growls, advancing slowly, his military boots thudding against the concrete floor. "The building comes down in five minutes." He pauses, raking his eyes over her body with obvious hunger. "Unless you come with me."

She whimpers, pressing herself further into the corner as if trying to disappear into the cracks. His lips curl into a predatory smirk.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be." He lunges forward before she can react, wrapping his large hand around her upper arm and yanking her to her feet. She struggles violently, but his grip only tightens—bordering on painful.

"Let me go!" she gasps, trying to pull free.

Eliot spins her around, slamming her back against the wall with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs. His body pins hers in place, one hand gripping her wrists above her head while the other braces against the wall beside her face. Their bodies are pressed together from chest to thigh.

"Listen carefully," he snarls, his face inches from hers, "you belong to me now. Got it?" His knee presses between her legs, applying deliberate pressure. "Nod if you understand."

Tears stream down her face as she nods frantically. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest.

"Good girl." He releases her wrists only to scoop her up bridal-style, her small frame completely helpless in his arms. "Let's get out before the place collapses on us."

He carries her through the smoky corridors, ignoring her quiet sobs against his chest. As they exit the building, his soldiers stare in shock at the woman in his arms—no one has ever seen their ruthless leader show the slightest hint of mercy, let alone carry a trembling woman to safety.

"Johan," he barks without slowing his stride, "have the east wing prepared. My new... guest requires special accommodations."

He doesn't look back as the first explosion rocks the building behind them, his gaze fixed on the imposing military compound ahead—the place she'll now call home, whether she likes it or not.