I wasn't sane either if anybody talked about how I came into this mess. Well everybody's life was like that some make their life bed of roses and cry under the bedsheet to not ruin the delicate roses around them and some took thousand times and opportunities to have bed of roses only to sleep in the crimson blood all spread in the bed and that's exactly how my life is after meeting CORSHLAN GONAY.

6 years of me crying and crying I was mature I realised that time how my parents died. It was too much painful when my aunty made fun about me in a call she thought I won't hear her or I wasn't there and she said everything which happened to my parents. My mom Miya Morrison and dad Alfred morrison both are best match and ideal couple of America. My mom married him when she was nineteen they love each other crazily that my mom tried thousand times for a baby but she wasn't able to. But dad he never left mom's side and told her that they will adopt baby but dad marrying another women for child? Hell he will die before leaving Miya Morrison and my mom finally got pregnant when she is twenty seven dad is thirty two it was the best moment of their life. And nine months it was heaven for mom that dad did everything he can do to make her feel better each of her cravings get fulfilled. And she was in hospital giving birth to me.

My dad was sending sweets in everyone's house and all I know he didn't came back he died and admitted to same hospital i was just born and my mom died after looking at me her heart beat stopped.

I was bad luck. No matter who says I'm not I'll always call myself bad always just because of my birth my dad and mom both died. The last perfect couple of America who rule the whole industry.

And my aunty took me in her same voice always said one thing more like whispered “this beauty of yours need to grow so I can sell and have money “

I let her say anything just to get a bit love from her but she played my pain like it was the most satisfying thing happened to me and she is happy.

The grandfather clock in the marble foyer struck seven-thirty, its deep chimes echoing through the sprawling penthouse like a warning bell. I adjust the silver tray which is in my hands a cup of plain black cofee no sugar three slices of brown bread with cucumber and tomatoes. Most healthiest meal for corshlan gonay.

the fine china rattling slightly as I made my way down the hallway toward the master bedroom. My bare feet made no sound against the cold marble floors i learned long ago that unnecessary noise in the morning was unwelcome.

Fourteen years. Fourteen years since I had first walked through these halls as a six-year-old orphan, clutching my aunt's hand with trembling fingers. Now, at twenty, i moved through Corshlan Gonay’s domain with the practiced grace of someone who knew every shadow, every corner, every dangerous mood that could shift like storm clouds across his face.

I paused outside the bedroom door, drawing in a steadying breath. The heavy oak barrier was slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of morning sunlight to escape into the hallway. Through the gap, I could see the outline of his form sprawled across the king-sized bed, dark hair tousled against white silk sheets.

I pushed the door with my free hand and came inside. I saw the time it's seven thirty one. Just one minute late because my mistake of making cofee with more sugar now who will leave the habit of giving sugar in cofee? I can't. I can't leave cofee with sugar atleast never. And that's what he doesn't like about me he is perfectionist.

There he is sleeping in the king size bed all half shirtless it's his habit he can't sleep with clothes.

Corshlan lay on his stomach, the sheets tangled around his waist, leaving the broad expanse of his back exposed to the morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. At twenty six, his body was a testament to violence and powerâ€"scarred flesh stretched over corded muscle, each mark telling a story she knew by heart. The bullet wound below his left shoulder blade from the Torrino incident three years ago. The knife scar that curved along his ribs from his first kill at sixteen. The burn mark on his lower back from a torture session that had gone wrong or right, depending on how I see it. How I feel it and sometimes all I feel is love unconditional love for him what he have been gone through. Our life was same.

I lost my parents because they died. He lost his parents because his parents was living but not for him for money hunger and something to kill. Illegal.

I knew them all. Every flaw, every imperfection that made him human despite the monster that lived beneath his skin.

"You're late," he said without opening his eyes, his voice rough with sleep and something darker.

Author p.o.v

Ashley set the tray on the nightstand, her movements careful and deliberate. "It's seven-thirty-one. You said seven-thirty."

"I said seven-thirty. Not seven-thirty-one." He rolled over slowly, like a predator sizing up potential prey, and Ashley's breath caught despite herself.

Even after all these years, Corshlan Ashworth was devastating to look at. Dark hair that fell carelessly across his forehead, sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, and those eyes"God, those eyes. Gray like storm clouds, and just as unpredictable. They could be warm as summer rain one moment and cold as winter steel the next.

Right now, they were neither. They were calculating.

"Sit," he commanded, patting the edge of the bed beside him.

Ashley hesitated for just a fraction of a secondâ€"long enough for his eyes to narrow dangerously.

"I said sit, Ashley."

She perched on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle the tray, and reached for the coffee pot. "Turkish coffee, black, no sugar" she recited, pouring the dark liquid into his cup. "Fresh cream on the side, though you never use it. Eggs benedict with hollandaise made from scratch, Canadian bacon"and fresh fruit. Strawberries, because you like watching me eat them."

Corshlan p.o.v

The last part slipped out before she could stop it, and she felt heat creep up her neck. My lips curved into something that might have been a smile on anyone else. On me , it looked predatory I hope she is used to it. She was with me when i was twelve. Fourteen years with me.

"You know me so well," I murmured, sitting up against the headboard. My mom maybe doesn't know me this much she knows how to run for money fucking everywhere but seeing Ashley I only remember one thing.

Life. Breath,

I was eleven my mom taken me to somewhere what I never had liked those persons that place ciago. Aunty Charlie's house when I got inside my expression was never that much clear for no one.i used to think I was normal person but when nobody understood me i caged myself.

There was Charlie aunty's daughter rivana. She is nine but talks like a joker she cling to my arms hugs my waist. And I know from nine she has no good intentions towards me..

And there i am forced to play doll house with her. I always told mom i don't like it try to understand but my mom she uses them as money power because rivana s mom was rich that's why I have to be her pet.

And she did the most cruel thing with me. She drugged me and the next five hours later I was in shock my mom slapped me and told me I'm a rapist.

From that day I was always prefer to stay alone now only with Ashley. She is mine.

The sheet slipped lower, revealing the defined lines of my abdomen and the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the silk. "Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself."

Ashley concentrated on cutting eggs, her knife movements precise and efficient. She'd learned to cook for me by watching YouTube videos in secret, practicing until she could prepare My meals exactly how I wanted them. Mine to order she will only work for me shower wearing me shirt or anything only for me. It had taken months to perfect the hollandaise alone.

"Try it," I said, watching her with those storm-gray eyes she thinks I have.

" Cosh" she mutters when I bandaged her tiny fingers which got cutted because my baby is so dumb and clumsy.

"Hmm"

"You have great eyes i always think why you always avoid eye contact? If I had these eyes i would have shown off till I die" she muttered clutching my shirt collar with her tiny fingers as I carried her in bridal style when she was seven. We just cutted her cake and this tiny girl can't even cut the cake properly and hurted her own finger.

"That's why you don't have eyes like me useless and I don't avoid eye contact don't ever mutter those words ever again or I'm smacking u till u learn how to talk" she pouts but obeyed.

I tucked her in my bed waits for her to sleep and she slept she is heavy sleeper it's like just put her in bed anytime and she will sleep like a pig. My pig.

I kissed her forehead.cheek . Lips too "happy birthday ms mine not just today you will spend every birthday of yours with me only seven to forever "

She took a small bite of the eggs benedict, tasting it for seasoning and temperature. "It's good."

"Good?" My voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Just good?"

"It's perfect," she corrected quickly, and saw something flicker across My expression. Satisfaction, maybe. Or possession. She observes me my everything. That's why she knows me well and I am not complaining she is here to only observe me serve me and cry only for me smile only for me every emotions just for me.

Author p.o.v

He ate in silence for several minutes, and Ashley remained perched on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap. She'd learned not to move, not to fidget, not to draw attention to herself when he was in one of his moods. And he was definitely in a mood this morningâ€"she could feel it radiating off him like heat from a flame.

When he finished eating, he set the plate aside and leaned back against the pillows, studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

"Come here," he said softly.

Ashley scooted closer, close enough to smell the expensive cologne that clung to his skin, mixed with something darker and more primal. Close enough to see the way his pulse beat steadily in the hollow of his throat.

His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing across her lower lip with devastating gentleness. "You cut your hair."

It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "Just a trim. An inch, maybe two."

"I didn't give you permission to cut your hair."

The words were spoken quietly, conversationally, but Ashley felt ice form in her stomach. "I... I thought"

"You thought what?" His thumb pressed against her lip, not hard enough to hurt but firmly enough to silence her. "That you could make decisions about your body without asking me?"

"Corshlan""

"What did you call me?"

Ashley's breath hitched. "Sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"That's better." His thumb traced the line of her jaw, and she fought the urge to lean into the touch. "You know how I feel about changes, Ashley. How I feel about... surprises."

She did know. Corshlan Ashworth was a man who thrived on control, who needed to know every detail of every situation before it happened. Surprises meant variables, and variables meant potential threats. In his world, potential threats ended up buried in shallow graves.

"I won't do it again," she whispered.

"No, you won't." His hand slipped into her shortened hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands. "Because next time, you'll ask. Next time, you'll remember who you belong to."

The possessiveness in his voice should have terrified her. Should have sent her running for the door and never looking back. Instead, it sent heat pooling low in her stomach, a reaction she'd been fighting for years.

"I need a shower," he said suddenly, releasing her hair and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The sheet fell away completely, and Ashley quickly averted her gaze, though not before catching a glimpse of powerful thighs and the dangerous confidence with which he moved through the world naked and unashamed.

"I'll wait in the kitchen," she started to say, but his voice stopped her.

"You'll wait in the bathroom."

Ashley's eyes snapped back to his face, searching for some sign that he was joking. There was none.

"Corshlanâ€"sir, I don't thinkâ€""

"I don't pay you to think, Ashley." He was already walking toward the en suite bathroom, seemingly unconcerned with his nudity. "I pay you to do what you're told."

Technically, he didn't pay her at all. She lived in his penthouse, wore clothes he bought for her, ate food he provided, and had access to more luxury than most people saw in a lifetime. But she'd never seen a penny of actual money, never had her own bank account or credit card. She existed entirely within the sphere of his influence, as dependent on him as she'd been at six years old.

She followed him into the bathroom, keeping her eyes fixed on the marble floor as he stepped into the massive glass shower. The sound of water hitting tile filled the silence, along with the subtle scent of his expensive body wash.

"Hand me the soap," he called out, and Ashley reached for the bar of imported sandalwood soap he preferred, extending it toward the shower without looking up.

"Look at me, Ashley."

The command was quiet but implacable. Slowly, reluctantly, she raised her eyes to meet his through the frosted glass. Water streamed down his body in rivulets, highlighting every scar, every defined muscle, every dangerous curve and angle that made him the predator he was.

"I need you to wash my back," he said simply.

Ashley's mouth went dry. "I can'tâ€"I'm dressed."

"Then undress."

The words hung in the steamy air between them like a challenge. Ashley felt her heart hammering against her ribs, felt heat and panic warring in her chest.

"Sir, pleaseâ€""

"It's just skin, Ashley." His voice was maddeningly calm. "You've seen it before."

She had. During medical emergencies, when he'd come home bleeding and needed stitches. During recovery periods when he'd been too weak to care for himself. But this was different. This felt different.

"I'll turn around," she whispered.

"You'll do what you're told."

There was steel in his voice now, the kind of steel that had built an empire and destroyed anyone who stood in his way. Ashley's hands trembled as she reached for the hem of her silk nightgownâ€"another thing he'd chosen for her, another way he controlled even the most intimate aspects of her life.

The fabric whispered as it fell to the floor, followed by the delicate lace of her undergarments. She stood naked in his bathroom, vulnerable and exposed, while he watched her with those calculating gray eyes.

"Better," he murmured, stepping back to make room for her in the shower.

The water was almost too hot, steam rising around them like smoke. Ashley kept her eyes fixed on his back as she took the soap from his outstretched hand, working up a lather between her palms.

His skin was warm and slick beneath her touch, and she traced the familiar landscape of scars with practiced efficiency. The bullet wound. The knife scar. The burn mark. Each one a reminder of the violence that surrounded him, that surrounded her by extension.

"You're shaking," he observed, not turning around.

"The water's hot."

"Liar."

His hands came up to brace against the shower wall, and Ashley found herself staring at the powerful line of his shoulders, the way water droplets clung to the dark hair at the base of his neck. She'd known this body for fourteen years, had tended its wounds and memorized its scars, but she'd never touched it like this. Never been so aware of the heat radiating from his skin, the way his muscles moved beneath her palms.

"Lower," he said quietly.

Ashley's hands stilled. "Sir?"

"You missed a spot. Lower."

Her hands moved down his spine, following the elegant curve to the base of his back. The soap made her palms slippery, and she had to concentrate to keep her touch clinical, professional. But there was nothing clinical about the way he hummed low in his throat when her fingers found a particularly sensitive spot, nothing professional about the way her body responded to the sound.

"Turn around," she whispered when she finished.

"No."

"Please, sir. I need toâ€""

He spun around so suddenly that Ashley stumbled backward, her bare back hitting the cool tile wall. Water cascaded over both of them, and she found herself trapped between marble and muscle, between the wall and a man who looked at her like she was something precious and dangerous all at once.

"You need to what?" he asked softly, bracing his hands on either side of her head.

Ashley couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. He was too close, too warm, too overwhelming. Water dripped from his dark hair onto her face, and she had to fight the urge to reach up and brush it away.

"I need to finish getting ready," she managed. "Your mother is coming for lunch."

Something dark flickered across his expression at the mention of his mother, and for a moment, Ashley thought she'd made a terrible mistake. Then his hands dropped away from the wall, and he stepped back, giving her room to breathe.

"She is, isn't she?" His voice was conversational again, but Ashley could hear the edge beneath it. "I'd almost forgotten."

He reached past her for his shampoo, and Ashley took the opportunity to escape, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself with shaking hands. Behind her, she could hear him continuing his shower as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just held her pinned against the wall with his naked body.

She dressed quickly in the bedroom, pulling on clothes she'd laid out the night beforeâ€"a simple black dress that covered her from throat to knee, the kind of conservative outfit that might meet with Mrs. Ashworth's approval. She was brushing her hair when Corshlan emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his hips.

"Come here," he said, settling into the leather chair by the window.

Ashley approached cautiously, hairbrush still clutched in her hand.

"I need you to dress me," he said simply.

"You can dress yourself."

The words were out before she could stop them, and Ashley immediately wished she could take them back. Corshlan's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Can I?" His voice was deceptively mild. "Or do I pay you to take care of me?"

"You don't pay me anything," Ashley said quietly, and immediately regretted the words.

The silence that followed was deafening. Corshlan stood slowly, the towel dropping to the floor forgotten, and Ashley took an instinctive step backward.

"You're right," he said, stalking toward her with predatory grace. "I don't pay you. I house you. I feed you. I clothe you. I protect you from a world that would chew you up and spit you out without blinking. I give you purpose, meaning, a reason to exist. And in return, you do what I ask when I ask it. That seems like a fair trade to me."

Ashley's back hit the wall, and she realized she'd been retreating without conscious thought. Corshlan stopped just inches away from her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his naked body.

"Doesn't it seem fair to you, Ashley?"

She nodded quickly, not trusting her voice.

"Then dress me."

His closet was a work of art in itselfâ€"suits worth more than most people's cars hanging in perfect rows, shirts arranged by color and fabric, shoes that cost more than some people made in a month. Ashley selected his usual morning attire: black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a charcoal suit jacket that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders.

She knelt to help him step into his boxer briefs, trying to ignore the intimacy of the gesture, the way he rested his hand on her shoulder for balance. His skin was still warm from the shower, and she could smell the expensive soap she'd helped him wash with.

The slacks came next, and Ashley had to steel herself to zip them up, her knuckles brushing against his flat stomach. He stood perfectly still throughout the process, watching her with those unreadable gray eyes.

"Shirt," he said when she stepped back.

Ashley held the shirt open for him, standing on her tiptoes to pull it up over his shoulders. His arms came around her as he slipped into the sleeves, and for a moment, she was surrounded by himâ€"his scent, his warmth, his overwhelming presence.

"Buttons," he said softly, and Ashley realized her hands were shaking as she began fastening his shirt.

She worked from bottom to top, trying to ignore the way his chest rose and fell beneath her fingers, the way his heart beat steadily beneath the expensive cotton. When she reached his throat, she had to stand on her tiptoes again, and his hands came to rest on her waist to steady her.

"Cufflinks," he murmured when she finished, and Ashley reached for the platinum links on his dresserâ€"a gift from a business associate who was now buried in a landfill somewhere outside the city.

She fastened them with practiced efficiency, her fingers steady now that she had a task to focus on. The tie came next, silk sliding through her fingers as she looped it around his neck and began the familiar pattern of knots.

"Perfect," he said when she finished, his hands coming up to frame her face. "You take such good care of me, Ashley."

The praise warmed her more than it should have, and she found herself leaning into his touch despite her better judgment.

"Always," she whispered.

His thumbs brushed across her cheekbones, and for a moment, his expression softened into something almost tender. Then the mask slipped back into place, and he was Corshlan Ashworth againâ€"dangerous, unpredictable, and completely in control.

"My mother will try to poison you against me," he said conversationally, straightening his cuffs. "She always does."

Ashley busied herself hanging up his towel, not wanting to meet his eyes. "She's your mother. She loves you."

"She loves the idea of controlling me. There's a difference." His voice was cold now, analytical. "She sees you as a weakness, something that makes me vulnerable. She's not entirely wrong."

Ashley's hands stilled on the towel. "What do you mean?"

Corshlan was quiet for a long moment, staring out the window at the city spread below them like a chessboard. "She means to separate us," he said finally. "She's been planning it for monthsâ€"I can see it in her eyes, hear it in the way she talks about you. She thinks if she can remove you from the equation, I'll become the son she always wanted."

"And will you?" The question slipped out before Ashley could stop it.

He turned to look at her then, and something in his expression made her breath catch. "What do you think?"

Before Ashley could answer, her phone buzzed with a text message. She glanced at the screen and felt her blood turn to ice.

"What is it?" Corshlan asked, noting her expression.

"It's... it's my aunt," Ashley said slowly. "She wants to have lunch. Today."

Corshlan went very still, and Ashley could practically feel the temperature in the room drop several degrees.

"Your aunt," he repeated, his voice deceptively calm. "The same aunt who hasn't spoken to you in three years."

Ashley nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.

"And she wants to have lunch today. The same day my mother is coming to visit."

Another nod.

Corshlan smiled, but it was the kind of smile that had made grown men beg for mercy. "How interesting. What a coincidence."

"It could beâ€""

"It's not." His voice cut through her words like a blade. "My mother has been busy, it seems. Making alliances, calling in old debts. She really is more clever than I gave her credit for."

He moved toward her with that predatory grace, and Ashley found herself backing toward the window.

"You'll decline, of course," he said conversationally. "You'll tell your aunt that you're busy, that you have other obligations."

"Corshlanâ€""

"Because you do have other obligations, don't you, Ashley? You belong here, with me. You've belonged to me since you were six years old and I found you crying in your aunt's garden because the world was too big and too scary and too cruel."

His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear she didn't realize had fallen.

"I saved you then," he whispered. "From loneliness, from abandonment, from a life of being nobody special to anyone. And I'll save you now, from whatever poison my mother and your aunt are planning to pour into your ears."

Ashley leaned into his touch despite herself, closing her eyes as his thumb traced her cheekbone.

"I know," she whispered.

"Do you?" His other hand came up to frame her face, tilting it up so she had to meet his eyes. "Because sometimes I think you forget. Sometimes I think you take what we have for granted, assume it will always be there no matter what choices you make."

" I don't forget."

"Then prove it."

The words hung in the air between them like a challenge, and Ashley felt something shift in the atmosphere of the room. This was a test, she realized. Not just of her loyalty, but of something deeper, something that had been building between them for years.

"How?" she asked softly.

His smile was sharp as broken glass. "Cancel lunch with your aunt. Tell her you can't make it. Tell her you're needed here."

Ashley nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Say it."

"I'm needed here."

"By who?"

"By you."

His hands tightened on her face, and for a moment, Ashley thought he might kiss her. The air between them crackled with tension, with fourteen years of complicated history and unspoken desires.

Instead, he stepped back, the moment broken like a soap bubble.

"Good girl," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Now go make sure the dining room is ready for my mother. And Ashley?"

She paused in the doorway, looking back at him.

"Wear the blue dress tonight. The one with the high neck."

Ashley nodded and fled the room, her heart hammering against her ribs. Behind her, she could hear Corshlan moving around the bedroom, getting ready to face a day that had suddenly become much more complicated.

In the hallway, she leaned against the wall and tried to catch her breath. Her skin still tingled where he'd touched her, and she could still smell his cologne on her clothes. Fourteen years she'd been living in his shadow, fourteen years of walking the knife's edge between safety and danger, between the girl who'd needed saving and the woman who might be strong enough to save him in return.

But today felt different. Today felt like the beginning of something that had been a long time coming, something that would change everything between them.

Whether that change would save them both or destroy them remained to be seen.

She pushed herself away from the wall and headed for the dining room, Corshlan's voice echoing in her ears: *You belong here, with me.*

The terrifying thing was, she was starting to believe he was right.