---
His voice wrapped around me like chains.
"As expected."
I gripped the phone tighter, every instinct screaming at me to hang up.
But my mouth moved before my brain could stop it.
"I..."
I cleared my throat.
"I need help."
A soft chuckle rumbled down the line.
"No," Riven said, voice dark and amused.
"You need me."
I squeezed my eyes shut, hating the truth in his words.
There was a long, heavy pause.
For a moment, I thought maybe — maybe — he would let me go.
But then he spoke again, voice low and commanding:
"Come to the address I'll send you. Fifteen minutes. No excuses."
The line went dead.
---
The message popped up immediately after:
Warehouse 9. Dockside. 15 minutes.
Don't make me come find you.
A shiver slid down my spine.
I knew that area.
Rusting warehouses.
Empty streets.
Places where people vanished and no one asked questions.
This is insane, I thought.
I'm insane.
But I was already pulling on my jacket.
Already shoving my feet into sneakers.
Already moving.
Like a puppet.
Like a fool.
Like someone already caught in a trap he couldn't escape.
---
The city was wet and cold as I ran.
Each step echoed in the empty streets, the mist swallowing me whole.
I reached the docks in twelve minutes flat — panting, heart hammering.
Warehouse 9 loomed ahead:
A massive, crumbling building with broken windows and a metal door hanging slightly ajar.
It looked abandoned.
It felt...hungry.
I hesitated at the threshold.
Every part of me screamed turn back.
But something stronger pulled me forward.
I slipped inside.
---
The warehouse smelled of rust and salt.
My footsteps echoed in the cavernous dark.
At first, I thought it was empty.
Then a figure stepped from the shadows.
Riven.
He wore all black — jeans, boots, jacket — blending into the gloom like he belonged to it.
His hair was slicked back messily, his expression unreadable.
When he saw me, his mouth curled into a slow, dangerous smile.
"You came."
I swallowed hard.
"You said—"
"I didn't say," he cut me off, voice sharp.
"I commanded. And you obeyed. Remember that."
Heat flushed my face — anger, shame, fear — all tangled together.
"I need your help," I said, forcing the words out.
He stepped closer.
I stepped back.
A silent dance.
Predator and prey.
"You need more than help, Ashir," he murmured, voice low and intimate.
"You need training."
I stiffened.
"Training?"
He smiled coldly.
"You're weak," he said simply.
"Stupid. Reckless. Easy prey."
Each word struck like a slap.
"And in my world," Riven continued, circling me slowly, "weakness is fatal."
I turned, keeping my eyes on him.
"I didn't ask for this," I muttered.
He laughed — a short, sharp sound.
"Doesn't matter what you asked for," he said.
"You're mine now."
The air thickened between us.
He stopped in front of me — too close — staring down with a gaze that stripped me bare.
"You want protection?" he asked.
I nodded stiffly.
"Then you'll earn it."
I hesitated.
"How?"
A slow, cruel smile spread across his face.
"You'll do everything I say."
---
He stepped back, raising one gloved hand.
"First lesson," he said.
I waited, heart pounding.
Then —
"Hit me."
I blinked.
"What?"
"Hit me," Riven repeated lazily.
"Right now. Hard as you can."
I stared at him.
"You're serious?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Fifteen seconds," he said.
"Or you regret it."
I clenched my fists.
This was insane.
But something in his eyes told me he wasn't bluffing.
I took a shaky breath — and swung.
---
He caught my wrist mid-air.
Effortlessly.
Like snatching a falling leaf.
Before I could react, he twisted — spinning me around, pinning my arm behind my back with brutal efficiency.
I gasped, struggling, but he had me locked tight.
His breath was hot against my ear.
"Pathetic," he whispered.
He shoved me forward — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send me stumbling.
I turned, fury burning through my fear.
"You said to hit you!" I snapped.
"I said to hit me," Riven agreed calmly.
"Not to telegraph it like a scared little boy."
He circled me again, eyes gleaming.
"You think anyone out there will give you time to hesitate? Time to think?"
His voice was low, lethal.
"They won't."
He stopped in front of me again.
"Again."
I stared at him.
Chest heaving.
Hands shaking.
But this time — I didn't think.
I moved.
Fast.
Low.
A punch aimed at his ribs.
---
He dodged — just barely.
A flash of approval crossed his face before he swept my legs out from under me.
I hit the ground hard, pain jolting through my side.
Before I could scramble up, he was on me — one knee on my chest, pinning me down.
His gloved hand wrapped lightly around my throat.
Not squeezing.
Not yet.
Just a warning.
"You're improving," he murmured.
I glared up at him, gasping.
"I hate you."
He smiled.
"No," he said, voice like silk over steel.
"You fear me."
His thumb brushed lightly against my throat — almost gentle.
"And soon," he whispered,
"You'll need me."
---
He let me go abruptly.
I coughed, rolling over, clutching my ribs.
Riven stood, towering above me, radiating dark satisfaction.
"Lesson one," he said, voice cold and final.
"Trust no one."
He tossed something at my feet.
A small black phone.
Burner.
Untraceable.
"From now on," he said, "you answer when I call."
I stared up at him, chest burning with humiliation and rage.
"And if I don't?" I rasped.
Riven crouched down — a slow, lazy movement — until we were eye-level.
"If you don't," he said softly,
"I'll remind you why you should."
His hand brushed my hair back — a strangely tender gesture that only made me shudder harder.
He stood again.
"Go home," he ordered.
"Don't talk to anyone.
Don't trust anyone.
Don't even think about running."
He paused.
"You're already too deep."
I struggled to my feet, burning with fury and shame.
But I knew — deep down — he was right.
I had crossed a line I couldn't uncross.
---
Outside, the night swallowed me whole.
The city seemed darker.
Colder.
Less forgiving.
I clutched the burner phone tightly, heart pounding.
Somewhere in the shadows, I knew he was still watching.
And even though every fiber of my being told me to throw the phone away —
I didn't.
I couldn't.
---
Back in my apartment, I stood in front of the mirror.
Bruises bloomed along my arms.
A thin red line traced my throat where his hand had rested.
I should have felt disgusted.
Terrified.
Instead, I touched the mark lightly —
And shivered.
---
That night, I slept fitfully.
Dreams coiled around me — dark and vivid.
Dreams of being hunted.
Of being caught.
Of a voice whispering in my ear:
"Mine."
---
Morning came.
And with it — a message.
The burner phone vibrated sharply against the nightstand.
I picked it up with trembling fingers.
One line.
From Riven.
"Ready for your next lesson, pretty boy?"
---
I stared at the screen, heart hammering against my ribs.
Because despite the fear, despite the rage, despite every desperate instinct trying to claw me away —
A single, forbidden thought echoed in my head:
Yes.
---
[End of Chapter 3]
---