Ava / Ana's POV
The first thing I felt when I woke up was weight.
Not physical pain.
Not confusion.
But weight.
Something heavy wrapped around me, holding me in place, restricting even the smallest movement. My brows furrowed slightly as my senses slowly returned, and a faint warmth brushed against the back of my neck.
Breathing.
Someone was breathing… against me.
My entire body went still.
For a moment, I didn't dare to move. My heart began to pound rapidly against my chest, each beat louder than the last, echoing in my ears like a warning I couldn't ignore.
Where am I?
The question surfaced, but before I could think further, I tried to shift—just slightly.
And that's when the arm around my waist tightened.
Not gently.
Not harshly either.
But in a way that said one thing very clearly
Don't move.
"Stay still."
The voice was low, deep, still laced with sleep, yet it carried an authority that made my breath hitch instantly.
I froze.
My fingers curled slightly against the soft fabric beneath me as panic slowly began creeping in. This wasn't my room. This wasn't my bed. And the man holding me—
I didn't know him.
Or… I shouldn't.
I swallowed hard and gathered the courage to slowly turn my head.
Just a little.
Just enough to see.
And the moment my eyes met his face—
My breath caught.
He was… striking.
Not in a delicate way.
Not in a soft, comforting way.
But in a way that felt… overwhelming.
Sharp features, strong jawline, slightly messy hair falling over his forehead, and a calmness in his expression that didn't match the situation at all. His eyes were closed, but there was something about him—even in sleep—that felt controlled.
Like even unconscious, he was aware.
I shifted again, trying to move his arm away.
A mistake.
His grip tightened instantly, pulling me closer against him.
My back pressed fully against his chest now, and I felt his breath deepen slightly.
Awake.
He was awake.
"Trying to get away already?" he murmured, his voice now clearer, rougher.
My heart skipped.
"I—" my voice faltered. "I don't—"
His hand moved.
Slowly.
From my waist to my wrist.
Firm.
Restricting.
He pulled my hand back, holding it in place as if he didn't trust me even for a second.
"You're restless today," he said quietly.
There was no anger in his tone.
But there was something else.
Something heavier.
Possession.
I swallowed hard and finally turned slightly, enough to face him.
His eyes were open now.
Watching me.
Not surprised.
Not confused.
Just… observing.
And that made it worse.
"I don't know you," I said, forcing the words out, my voice trembling despite my effort to keep it steady.
Silence.
He didn't respond immediately.
His gaze lingered on my face, scanning it slowly, carefully, as if searching for something.
Something that wasn't there.
Or something that had changed.
"You're acting strange," he said finally.
Calm.
Too calm.
"I don't—" I tried again, but my words got stuck in my throat when his hand suddenly moved to my chin.
He tilted my face up.
Not harshly.
But firmly enough that I couldn't look away.
"Look at me when you speak."
My breath hitched.
There it was again.
That control.
That quiet dominance that didn't need force to feel threatening.
"I said I don't know you," I whispered.
This time, his expression changed.
Just slightly.
His brows drew together almost imperceptibly, his eyes darkening as he studied me more closely.
For a moment, I thought—
He knows.
He knows I'm not her.
But then—
A faint smile touched his lips.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Just… knowing.
"You've said worse things before," he murmured.
My stomach dropped.
Before I could react, he pulled me closer again, his arm sliding back around my waist, holding me firmly against him.
Too close.
Too intimate.
"You don't get to push me away after last night," he added, his voice lower now, almost dangerous.
My breath became uneven.
Last night.
That word again.
I could feel my heartbeat racing uncontrollably, my thoughts spiraling.
This wasn't right.
Nothing about this was right.
I tried to push against his chest lightly.
"Let go," I said, my voice gaining a bit of strength.
For a second—
Just one second—
He didn't move.
And then slowly—
His grip loosened.
But only slightly.
Not enough for me to escape.
Just enough for me to realize—
He was allowing it.
Not releasing me.
Allowing me.
"There's something different about you today," he said quietly, his gaze still fixed on me.
A chill ran down my spine.
Different.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Men like him—
They don't miss details.
I looked away, trying to steady myself.
"I'm just not feeling well," I said quickly.
A weak excuse.
But it was all I had.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Then suddenly—
His fingers tightened around my wrist again.
Stronger this time.
I gasped softly.
Before I could react, he pulled me toward him again, forcing me closer until there was barely any space left between us.
My heart slammed against my chest.
"Don't lie."
His voice was no longer calm.
It was still controlled.
But there was an edge now.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
My breath hitched.
"I'm not—"
"You are."
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
The certainty in his tone was enough.
His gaze dropped to my lips for a brief second before returning to my eyes.
And in that moment—
I felt it.
That shift.
That subtle change in the air.
Not just suspicion.
Not just curiosity.
But something darker.
More possessive.
As if he was trying to confirm something that belonged to him—
And wasn't aligning the way it should.
"You're mine," he said quietly.
The words weren't dramatic.
They weren't loud.
But they settled deep.
Heavy.
Final.
"And I don't like things that belong to me… changing without reason."
A shiver ran through my entire body.
This wasn't affection.
This wasn't love.
This was control.
Ownership.
I tried to pull my hand back again.
But this time—
He didn't let go.
Instead, his grip tightened just enough to remind me—
Escape wasn't something I could do so easily here.
"You'll tell me what's wrong," he continued, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. "Or I'll find out myself."
My breath caught.
Because something in his eyes—
Something in the way he looked at me—
Told me one thing clearly.
He wasn't guessing.
He was observing.
Analyzing.
And sooner or later—
He would know.
Not because I told him.
But because he would figure it out.
And when that happened—
I didn't know what he would do.
But I knew one thing for sure.
A man like him—
Doesn't let go of what he thinks is his.
And right now—
That was me.