Chapter 2 The Caged Beast Returns

The drive to my estate took forty-five minutes – the longest we'd been in each other's presence in three years. Rowan sat across from me in the limousine, wrists still bound, the collar at his throat gleaming dully in the passing streetlights. He wore the black silk robe they'd provided after the auction, the fabric parting to reveal glimpses of his chest, the lean muscle that hadn't been there before.

Neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us like a living thing, breathing and pulsing with unasked questions.

I studied him openly, cataloging the changes. A new scar along his collarbone. Hair longer than he'd ever worn it before. The way he held himself – coiled, ready, dangerous – nothing like the polished venture capitalist who'd slipped a three-carat diamond on my finger and promised forever.

"Take a picture," he finally said, voice low. "It'll last longer."

"I own the real thing now," I replied coolly. "No need for pictures."

His eyes flashed. "You think you own me?"

"I have the paperwork that says I do." I took a sip of the bourbon I'd poured from the car's bar. "Ten million dollars' worth of ownership, to be precise."

"Money well spent," he said with a bitter smile. "Tell me, Cassia, did you miss me? Or just the control you had over me?"

Before I could answer, the car turned through the wrought iron gates of my property – not the downtown penthouse where we'd once planned to live together, but my secluded estate outside the city. The place I'd purchased after he disappeared, when I couldn't bear to stay in spaces that held our shared memories.

"Welcome to the Compound," I said as the car stopped before the main house. "Though I suspect you'll be spending most of your time in the east wing."

The east wing – originally built as guest quarters – had been converted into what I euphemistically called my "rehabilitation center" for auction acquisitions. High security, fully monitored, and completely escape-proof.

Two security guards approached as the driver opened my door. Marcus, my head of security, extended his hand to help me out.

"Everything is prepared as requested, Ms. Rothschild," he said, his eyes flicking briefly to Rowan in the car. "The chamber in section C."

"The glass room," I clarified. "And make sure the monitoring systems are fully operational. I want eyes on him at all times."

Marcus nodded, then gestured to the other guard. Together they extracted Rowan from the car, flanking him as we walked toward the east wing entrance.

"Are the restraint systems in place?" I asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Neural sensors have been embedded in the walls and floor as instructed."

Rowan's head turned sharply at this. "Neural sensors?"

I smiled thinly. "A precaution. Any aggressive movement triggers an electrical response. The more violent the action, the stronger the current."

"Thoughtful," he muttered.

We entered through a biometric security door, passing through a series of checkpoints before reaching the central corridor of the east wing. Unlike the warm, traditional decor of the main house, this section was all sleek modernism – polished concrete, steel, and glass. Clinical. Impersonal.

"First stop," I announced, pausing before a door marked 'Processing.' "You'll need to be cleaned up before entering the living quarters."

Inside, bright lights illuminated a space that resembled a high-end spa merged with a medical facility. A uniformed attendant waited beside a large shower enclosure.

"Remove his cuffs," I instructed Marcus. "But keep the collar active."

As the restraints came off, I addressed the attendant. "Full decontamination protocol. Hair trimmed, but not too short. And use the products I selected."

I turned to leave, but Rowan's voice stopped me.

"Not staying for the show?" There was challenge in his tone.

I faced him again, noting how he stood taller now, shoulders back despite his circumstances. "I'll see the finished product. Enjoy your bath, Rowan. It might be your last moment of privacy for quite some time."

In my office, I reviewed the security feed while waiting. The shower enclosure offered no modesty – clear glass on all sides. Rowan didn't seem bothered, stripping off the silk robe without hesitation. My breath caught despite myself. His body had changed dramatically – leaner, harder, marked with scars I didn't recognize. Whatever had happened during those three years had remade him physically.

I switched off the monitor when the attendant began washing his hair. Some things I preferred to save for our face-to-face reunion.

An hour later, Marcus escorted me to the glass chamber – the centerpiece of my containment system. Unlike traditional cells, this was a fully transparent enclosure within a larger room, allowing observation from any angle. Inside was a minimalist living space: bed, seating area, bathroom facilities behind a partial privacy wall.

Rowan was already there, dressed in the clothes I'd selected – black drawstring pants and a matching v-neck shirt that clung to his torso. His hair was shorter now, though still longer than the corporate cut he'd once worn. He paced the perimeter, fingers trailing along the glass walls.

"Leave us," I told Marcus, who hesitated briefly before nodding.

"The emergency protocols are active, Ms. Rothschild. Press the button on your bracelet if you need assistance."

After he left, I approached the glass, stopping a foot away. Rowan mirrored my position on the other side, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Quite the setup you have here," he said. "Do you collect many strays?"

"Only the interesting ones." I crossed my arms. "You should be flattered. This is my most secure accommodation."

"I'm touched by your consideration." His gaze traveled around the room. "The neural sensors – nice touch. Thinking of training me like one of Pavlov's dogs?"

I smiled. "If necessary."

I pressed my palm to a scanner beside the door, and a section of the glass slid open. Rowan's eyebrows rose slightly as I stepped inside his enclosure, the door sealing shut behind me.

"Brave," he commented.

"Not really." I held up my wrist, showing the slim platinum bracelet. "One press and you'll be on the floor before you can touch me."

I walked to the small table in the corner where I'd instructed staff to leave a bottle of Macallan 25 and two crystal glasses. I poured two fingers in each, offering one to him.

"A welcoming drink?"

He took the glass, our fingers brushing briefly. The contact sent electricity up my arm that had nothing to do with the neural sensors.

"To reunion," I said, raising my glass.

He didn't drink. "What do you want from me, Cassia?"

"That's a complicated question." I took a seat in one of the two chairs, crossing my legs. "Initially? I wanted answers. Why you left. Where you went." I sipped my whiskey. "Now I find myself curious about how you ended up on that auction block."

"Maybe I've developed expensive tastes. Needed to pay off some debts."

"Don't insult my intelligence." I set my glass down. "The Blood Banquet doesn't accept volunteers. Every person on that stage is there through coercion, capture, or criminal sentencing."

Rowan took a long drink, then set his glass down with deliberate care. "You really want to know why I'm here?"

"Enlighten me."

He moved suddenly, crossing the space between us in two strides. Before I could activate the bracelet, he'd gripped my wrists, pinning them to the chair arms as he leaned over me.

"I'm here for you, Cassia," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "I always have been."

The proximity was overwhelming – his scent, his heat, the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, I forgot to breathe.

Then the neural sensors activated.

Rowan's body jerked, his grip on my wrists loosening as electricity coursed through him. He stumbled backward, teeth gritted against the pain.

I rose slowly, smoothing my dress. "That was ill-advised."

He straightened as the current faded, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Some things are worth the shock."

"You haven't changed as much as I thought," I said coldly. "Still impulsive. Still thinking you can overpower situations instead of navigating them intelligently."

"And you're still trying to control everything and everyone around you," he shot back. "How's that working out for your personal life? Still sleeping alone in that massive bed of yours?"

The barb hit its mark. I stepped closer, refusing to show how it affected me. "You seem to be operating under the delusion that you have any power here. Let me be clear: You are my property now. You will answer my questions. You will obey my commands. And eventually, you will tell me why you really disappeared three years ago."

His eyes darkened. "And if I don't?"

I moved to the door, pressing my palm against the scanner. "Then your stay here will be considerably less comfortable."

As I stepped out, I heard his voice behind me.

"Do you ever wonder, Cassia, if I was deliberately placed on that auction block? If someone wanted you to find me there?"

I turned. "What are you implying?"

Rowan smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. "Just a thought. Sleep well, Cassia. I know I will."

As the door sealed between us, I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that despite the collar around his neck and the glass walls surrounding him, Rowan wasn't truly the captive here.

He'd wanted me to buy him. The question was why.