His Favourite Sin

"You're mine."

He said it coldly.

Elora stared at him, waiting for the slightest indication that he was joking. A smile, perhaps. A twitch of his lips. Anything that might suggest the words had not been meant quite as seriously as they sounded.

But the man standing before her wore an expression so composed that it frightened her more than anger would have.

"And you'll do absolutely anything I ask."

His fingers rested beneath her jaw, his touch almost casual. Elora could feel her heartbeat in her throat. She wanted to move away, to put some distance between herself and the stranger who had apparently decided that he could dictate her life, but her body seemed unwilling to cooperate.

She had never been particularly good at handling fear.

She could handle exhaustion. Hunger, even. She could endure an entire day of rude customers, return home with aching feet, and still find the energy to prepare dinner if her aunt demanded it.

But this?

Waking up in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by strange men, with no memory of how she had arrived there?

This was different.

"Excuse me?" she managed.

The man's dark eyes remained fixed on hers.

"You heard me."

Elora swallowed.

Then, because the situation was so absurd that her mind seemed incapable of accepting it, she laughed.

It was brief and nervous, an unfortunate little sound that died almost immediately when he failed to react.

"You're serious."

"Very."

His hand fell away from her face.

Elora took a step backwards.

Only then did she properly notice the other men in the room.

There were four of them.

Two sat on a long leather sofa near the windows, one rested against a dark wooden cabinet, and the fourth occupied an armchair with his ankle resting casually on his knee. They were dressed differently, but there was something similar about the way they carried themselves. They looked comfortable in their surroundings, confident in a way that suggested they had very little reason to worry about the consequences of their actions.

One wore a perfectly tailored suit. Another had rolled the sleeves of his black shirt to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms. The man by the cabinet held a glass in one hand, while the fourth watched Elora with undisguised curiosity.

They had been laughing before she began speaking.

Now, they were watching her.

The man in front of her followed her gaze.

"Something interesting?"

Elora immediately looked back at him.

"No."

"Then pay attention when I'm speaking to you."

The command was delivered without a raised voice.

She fell silent.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then the man on the sofa with the rolled-up sleeves chuckled.

"She's terrified, Adrian."

Adrian.

The name settled somewhere in Elora's mind.

It should have meant nothing to her, yet something about it seemed to brush against a memory she couldn't quite reach.

Adrian turned his head.

"Did I ask you, Matteo?"

Matteo raised his glass in surrender, still wearing the faintest trace of a smile.

"No, you didn't."

"Then be quiet."

The smile disappeared.

Elora stared at Adrian.

He was young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with broad shoulders and a tall, athletic frame. His black shirt fitted neatly across his chest, and his dark trousers were pressed without a single visible crease. A silver watch rested against his wrist.

Everything about him suggested money.

Not the loud, showy kind that demanded attention, but the quiet, unquestionable sort that allowed a man to enter a room and expect everyone else to adjust accordingly.

His features were striking. A sharply defined jaw, straight nose, dark eyebrows, and eyes that seemed almost black beneath the room's lighting.

He was undeniably handsome.

But there was nothing comforting about his face.

If anything, the contrast between his appearance and his cold expression made him more unsettling.

"What is your name?" he asked.

Elora blinked.

"You kidnapped me and you don't even know my name?"

Something changed in his eyes.

It was small, but she noticed it.

"I know your name."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Elora Hayes."

Her stomach tightened.

He said it with complete certainty.

Not as though he had read it on a document, but as though the name belonged somewhere familiar to him.

She searched his face.

"Have we met before?"

For the first time, Adrian paused.

It lasted only a second.

Then he stepped away from her.

"That is irrelevant."

"It isn't irrelevant to me."

"Unfortunately for you, Elora, your opinions are not the priority here."

She stared at him in disbelief.

"Where am I?"

"My residence."

"Where?"

"California."

Her breath caught.

California.

The word seemed to echo inside her head.

She remembered the airport, the enormous windows, and the nervous excitement that had made her fingers tremble as she presented her boarding pass. She remembered clutching her handbag and checking her documents repeatedly, terrified that something would go wrong at the last minute.

She remembered the flight.

The arrival.

The unfamiliar city.

And then—

A black jeep.

Men standing beside it.

A voice telling her to stop.

She had been confused. She remembered asking a question, perhaps two.

Then everything had gone dark.

Elora's gaze snapped back to Adrian.

"What happened to me?"

"You were brought here."

"I know that! I want to know what happened before that."

"You were unconscious."

"Why?"

"Because you lost consciousness."

She stared at him.

"Are you deliberately trying to frustrate me?"

"No."

"Well, you're doing a wonderful job."

One of the men laughed.

Adrian turned his head slightly.

The laughter stopped.

He looked back at Elora.

"Sit down."

She glanced at the chair behind her.

"I'd rather stand."

"That wasn't a request."

Her lips parted.

She wanted to argue. She wanted to tell him that he had no right to speak to her like that, that she was a person rather than an object he could move around at will.

But the words caught somewhere in her throat.

There were five men in the room, including Adrian. She had no idea how to get out of the building, where her belongings were, or whether anyone knew what had happened to her.

She was alone.

And she was beginning to suspect that Adrian knew it.

Slowly, she lowered herself into the nearest chair.

"Good."

He sat opposite her, resting one arm on the back of his chair.

"Now, we can talk."

Elora clasped her hands together in her lap.

"Please tell me why I'm here."

"Your tuition has been paid. Your flight was arranged, and your accommodation has been secured."

She frowned.

"What?"

"Your education at Westchester Academy. Everything has been taken care of."

For a moment, she couldn't speak.

Westchester Academy.

Her academy.

The one she had dreamed about for years.

She had applied to drama colleges for as long as she could remember. Every application had been a small act of faith, a declaration that she was not prepared to abandon the future she wanted simply because her present circumstances were difficult.

Most of the answers had been rejections.

Some had arrived by email. Others had come in envelopes she had been afraid to open.

Each time, she had told herself she would try again.

She had worked in shops, cafés, and restaurants. She had helped local businesses with promotions, taken temporary jobs, and accepted whatever honest work she could find. Sometimes she worked two jobs in a single week, sleeping so little that she struggled to keep her eyes open during the journey home.

She had saved what she could.

Her aunt, with whom she lived, had made sure that very little remained.

There was always something to pay for. Groceries. Electricity. Household expenses. An unexpected bill that somehow became Elora's responsibility.

Her aunt was not an affectionate woman, and gratitude was not something she expressed often.

Yet Elora had continued trying.

She had wanted to become an actress since she was a little girl. She loved the way a single performance could make an audience laugh, cry, or fall silent. She loved the idea of becoming someone else for a few hours, of stepping into a story and making it feel real.

It was the one dream she had never managed to outgrow.

Then, on an ordinary afternoon at work, the letter had arrived.

She had assumed it was another rejection.

She had nearly left it unopened until her shift ended.

But something had compelled her to tear the envelope apart.

And there it was.

Her admission.

She had read the letter once, then twice, then a third time because the words refused to feel real.

She had cried in the staff room.

She had called her closest friend.

She had spent the entire evening smiling until her cheeks hurt.

For the first time in years, she had believed that her life was finally moving in the right direction.

Now Adrian was telling her that someone had paid for everything.

"How do you know about my admission?" she asked.

"I know quite a lot about you."

Her fingers tightened together.

"How?"

He ignored the question.

"Your place at the academy is secured. Your expenses have been arranged."

"But I didn't ask you to do any of that."

"No. You didn't."

"Then why would you?"

Adrian regarded her silently.

She waited.

When he finally spoke, his answer was so simple that she almost wished he had said nothing at all.

"Because I wanted to."

Elora stared at him.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't have to make sense to you."

"Of course it does! You can't just spend thousands of pounds on a stranger and expect—"

"I can."

The interruption was quiet and absolute.

Elora stopped speaking.

Adrian leaned forward slightly.

"And you would be wise to remember that."

She looked down at her hands.

Elora had been living with Adrian De Luca long enough to understand three things about him. He liked silence. He hated being questioned. And he expected everyone to do exactly what he wanted. Unfortunately, Elora had never been particularly good at the third one. “Why are you wearing that?” She glanced down at her dark jeans, cream top, and white trainers before looking back at him. “Good morning to you too.” “Change.” “I'm sorry, did I miss the part where you became my father?” Adrian slipped his phone into his pocket. “I'm taking you somewhere tonight.” “Oh, really? And where might that be?” “A party.” “What kind?” “The kind where people pretend to like each other while discussing money.” “So, your natural habitat?” His expression remained unreadable, although something flickered in his eyes. “Keep talking like that, and you'll regret it.” “Is that a threat?” “A promise.” He walked away. Elora rolled her eyes. She had no idea why he was suddenly taking her to a party, but she susp