As Emily lay unconscious in Richard's arms, her body limp and fragile, he found himself staring at her longer than he intended. There was something about her — a stubborn spark, an unyielding spirit — that amused and intrigued him. She wasn't like the others he had encountered. Most prisoners screamed, begged, or broke within days. But this one? She fought. Even half-conscious, she had muttered another man's name, not his.
He felt a strange twist of something deep inside him — irritation, curiosity, and something far more dangerous he chose not to name.
One of his guards, Patrick, hurried toward him, casting a wary glance at Emily before speaking. "Boss, should I take her back to her room?"
Richard shook his head slowly, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "No," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I'll do it myself."
Without another word, Richard turned and carried Emily through the dimly lit hallways of his mansion — but not toward the guest quarters. Instead, he brought her to his own lavish suite. Laying her gently on the enormous bed, he stepped back, folding his arms as he studied her. Her face was peaceful in sleep, completely vulnerable — a stark contrast to the fiery woman who had glared at him just hours before.
Before he could lose himself in thought, a sharp knock came at the door.
"Come in," Richard barked.
Patrick entered, holding a sleek black phone in his hand. "We found this on her," he reported. "And… she destroyed the cameras you had installed in her room."
At this, Richard laughed — a short, humorless sound. "She's a feisty one, isn't she?" he muttered more to himself than to Patrick. He took the phone and waved Patrick off.
As the door clicked shut, Richard glanced down at the device. Password-protected, of course. He tucked it into his pocket, making a mental note to have it hacked later. For now, he was more interested in the unconscious woman sprawled across his bed.
Just then, Emily stirred, her brow furrowing as she whimpered something almost inaudible. Richard leaned closer, curiosity sparking anew when he caught the name again.
"Liam," she murmured.
Richard straightened, his interest piqued. Who the hell was Liam? A lover? A brother? A friend? Whoever he was, the man clearly meant something to her. Enough for her to call out for him in her most vulnerable state.
Richard's jaw tightened slightly. He turned away from the bed, his mind racing. "Find out everything you can about this Liam," he muttered to himself before sending Patrick a text with the order.
He needed information. Information was power — and in Ashwood, power was everything.
---
The next morning, the first rays of sunlight filtered into the room, casting a golden glow across the bed. Emily stirred, groaning softly as consciousness returned. She sat up abruptly, her instincts kicking in as her gaze darted around the unfamiliar space.
Her heart pounded as she scanned her body first, checking for any signs of violation. Relieved to find herself untouched, she swung her legs off the bed, only to freeze when she noticed a dark figure standing silently in the corner of the room.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," came Richard's voice, smooth and mocking. He stepped into the light, his expression unreadable. "I see you're feeling better."
Emily scrambled to her feet, her muscles tense and ready for a fight. Her memories from the night before came rushing back — the growling dogs, the terror, the strong arms catching her.
"Was it you?" she demanded, her voice hoarse. "Was it you who...?"
Richard gave a single nod. "It was me. Caught you just before you became dog food," he said with a smirk. Then, his tone turned sly. "You kept mentioning someone. Liam, was it? Were you expecting him to come to your rescue?"
Emily clenched her fists, her mind racing. She couldn't show weakness — not now, not ever.
"Oh, yes," she said sarcastically, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "I was expecting him to gallop in on a white horse, sword raised high, slay the villain, and ride off into the sunset. You know, just like in the fairytales."
Richard chuckled darkly, unbothered by her sharp tongue. "Fairytales," he repeated, almost tasting the word. "This isn't a fairytale, Emily. This is Ashwood."
He crossed the room, his steps deliberate, predatory. Emily forced herself not to back away.
"You see," he continued, his voice low but steady, "in Ashwood, there are no knights in shining armor. No heroes. Only survivors and predators." His eyes glinted dangerously. "And I, Emily, am the king of predators."
"I want to go to the station," she demanded, trying to maintain her composure. "I demand to speak to whoever's in charge."
At that, Richard burst into genuine laughter — a deep, cold sound that sent chills down Emily's spine.
"You still don't get it, do you?" he said, his amusement fading into a grim seriousness. "I am the one in charge. There is no 'station' that isn't under my thumb. No 'officer' who doesn't report to me. I own Ashwood — every corner, every shadow, every life."
Emily's stomach twisted in disgust and fear, but she kept her face neutral. Showing fear would only give him more power over her.
"You think you're clever," Richard said, stepping closer until only inches separated them. "Destroying cameras. Plotting escape. Cute, really. But futile. Nothing happens in my city without my knowledge. Your little adventures? I let them happen. For my own amusement."
Emily's chest tightened, but she forced herself to speak.
"And what now?" she asked. "What do you plan to do with me?"
Richard tilted his head slightly, regarding her the way a cat might study a trapped mouse.
"Oh, I have plans," he said smoothly. "Plans that involve breaking you down, bit by bit. Plans that will teach you the real rules of this city."
Emily stared into his cold eyes, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on her. But instead of backing away, she took a bold step forward.
"You know, Richard," she said, her voice calm but laced with steel, "I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of your little mind games or your threats. And I'm certainly not afraid of becoming one of your pawns."
Richard's eyebrows lifted slightly, intrigued despite himself.
"Oh?" he drawled, crossing his arms. "And why is that, sweetheart?"
Emily squared her shoulders, her entire being radiating defiance.
"Because I'm a police officer," she said fiercely. "And I've stared down men far more dangerous than you. Men who thought they were invincible. Men who thought they were gods in their own twisted worlds. And you know what happened to them?"
Richard didn't answer, but his gaze sharpened.
"They fell," Emily continued, her voice unwavering. "Every single one of them. Because the law — real justice — catches up with everyone eventually. Even monsters like you."
For a moment, there was only silence between them. A crackling tension filled the room, heavier than any words.
Richard studied her, and for the first time, Emily saw something flicker behind his mask — something raw, something dangerous.
But then it was gone, buried beneath that same mocking smirk.
"You're brave," Richard said, almost admiringly. "Stupid... but brave. I like that."
He smirked.