The silk sheets were colder than Lydia expected — ironic, considering the heat of Eric’s touch still lingered on her skin. She lay still in the massive bed, the scent of his cologne soaking into the pillow beside her. Around her, the penthouse was quiet, too quiet. Like a predator watching from the shadows.

She wasn’t his lover. Not in the way a woman dreams of being loved.

She was his possession.

His exclusive bed warmer.

A year ago, she had stumbled into this world of marble floors, armed guards, and icy glares. A world ruled by Eric Moretti — the most feared mafia boss in the country. Ruthless, powerful, and undeniably handsome. But more than anything, he was paranoid. And dangerously possessive.

He didn’t believe in love. He didn’t allow it.

But he kept Lydia in a golden cage, just close enough to touch but never to own his heart.

The door creaked open.

Her body stiffened instinctively before she saw the tall silhouette enter. Black suit. Sharp jaw. Cold grey eyes.

“Still awake?” Eric’s voice was low, a mix of irritation and… something else.

Lydia sat up, pulling the sheets over herself. “You said you’d be back hours ago.”

Eric strode in, undoing the buttons on his shirt. “You don’t question me.”

“I wasn’t questioning,” she said carefully. “Just… asking.”

He reached her in two strides, cupping her chin with a grip just tight enough to remind her who was in control. “You exist in this house because I allow it. Don’t forget your place, Lydia.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. It always did when he touched her like that. Not because of fear — but because of the sickening mixture of emotions he stirred in her. Hatred. Desire. Confusion.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she whispered, eyes locked on his.

His gaze flickered to her lips. “Good.” Then, after a pause, he added in a quieter voice, “I don’t like you waiting for me.”

“I wasn’t waiting. I just couldn’t sleep.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Liar.”

Eric climbed into bed beside her and pulled her into his chest. The smell of alcohol and blood clung to him. She knew better than to ask questions. He didn’t talk about work. And if he did… it meant something bad had happened.

“Don’t talk to the guards anymore,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist possessively.

She blinked. “I didn’t—”

“I saw you talking to Ivan this morning. Smile like that again at anyone else, and I’ll carve it off your face.”

She froze. “He was just asking if I wanted tea—”

“I don’t care.”

She shut her mouth. She’d forgotten how paranoid he could get. How his jealousy bled into madness.

After a long silence, his hand gently stroked her hair. “I hate the idea of someone else touching what’s mine.”

Mine.

That word again. It wasn’t love. It was obsession.

Lydia closed her eyes. She had once thought she could endure this life. That being desired by someone as powerful as Eric meant something.

But lately, a voice inside her was growing louder. Whispering that this wasn’t love. It was a cage. And sooner or later, she would suffocate in it.

Her fingers clutched the sheets tighter.

She had no idea that the crack in her resolve would widen completely — the moment she discovered the woman Eric was marrying.

His fiancée.

And that she was nothing but his secret.

His beautiful, disposable secret.

---

The morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow over the luxury penthouse. Lydia sat at the breakfast table, sipping her coffee in silence. The house staff buzzed around like ghosts, never meeting her eyes — they knew better. Eric had made it clear she wasn’t to be spoken to unless necessary.

She was the forbidden guest in a golden prison.

Her eyes drifted to the velvet chair across from her — Eric’s chair — still empty. He hadn’t returned to bed after the early call last night. She didn’t ask questions anymore. Not when every answer came wrapped in a lie or a warning.

"Lydia."

She flinched at the sudden voice.

It was Maria, the housekeeper. Older, gentle, and one of the few who dared whisper a kind word when Eric wasn’t watching.

“Yes?” Lydia asked, placing the cup down.

Maria glanced over her shoulder, nervous. Then she placed a small box on the table. “This… was left in the laundry. Mr. Moretti’s shirt pocket. I thought it was for you.”

Lydia blinked. “For me?”

Maria nodded and walked away, disappearing before Lydia could ask anything more.

Curious, Lydia slowly opened the small black box.

A ring.

Platinum. Diamond-encrusted. Radiant and delicate — but far too expensive to be casually misplaced.

Her breath caught.

It was a woman's engagement ring.

Her first thought was foolishly hopeful. Was this... for me?

But that hope died as fast as it came. Eric wasn’t the type to propose. He didn’t believe in love. He didn’t believe in marriage — at least not with her.

She picked up the ring with trembling fingers, examining the inside of the band.

There was an engraving.

"To C.S. — Forever, E.M."

C.S.

Lydia's blood turned to ice.

This wasn’t just some business arrangement. He had engraved a promise. A forever. Something he had never whispered to her — not even during the rare moments he held her like she mattered.

Her hands trembled as she slammed the box shut.

Who is she?

A knock on the door jolted her.

Eric walked in, perfectly dressed in a tailored grey suit, his cold eyes landing on her instantly. “Why do you look pale?”

Lydia quickly pushed the box under a napkin. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

He strode over and kissed her forehead like it was routine. Like she wasn’t falling apart inside.

“You’ll be staying in the penthouse all day,” he said, pouring himself a drink. “No stepping out.”

“Are you going somewhere important?” she asked, voice casual.

He smirked. “Business.”

She hesitated, then forced a smile. “With someone named C.S.?”

The glass paused midair.

Eric’s gaze sharpened.

Lydia met his eyes, challenging, but he didn’t answer. He sipped the drink slowly, masking the tension now burning in the air.

Then he leaned in, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t ever go through my things again.”

“I didn’t—”

He grabbed her chin harshly, lifting her face to meet his.

“I don’t explain myself to anyone. You exist to warm my bed, Lydia. Not to pry into my life.”

She jerked away. Her heart cracked under the weight of those words.

“And I’m done pretending that’s enough,” she whispered.

Eric froze.

“You don’t own my soul, Eric,” she added, standing up, “just my body. But that ends soon.”

For the first time, a flicker of something unfamiliar crossed his face — fear. Or was it fury?

Either way, Lydia had finally seen the truth.

She wasn’t his forever.

She was his secret.

And now… she wanted out.

---

Lydia’s heart pounded long after Eric slammed the door behind him. The sound echoed through the penthouse like a gunshot. She stood still in the middle of the living room, the little black box clenched tightly in her hand.

To C.S. — Forever, E.M.

Every word was a knife.

She’d spent a year in his bed, locked away from the world, whispered to in the dark like she was the only one he ever needed. But now she knew — it was all a lie.

He had a fiancée.

A real one. Someone he was proud of. Someone he promised a forever to.

Someone who wasn’t just a bed warmer.

Lydia grabbed her phone and searched with shaky fingers. It didn’t take long — Eric’s name was everywhere. Business news, crime rumors, lavish events. And there it was, hidden in a gossip article with grainy photos.

"Eric Moretti to Marry Senator Carter's Daughter — Christiana Carter Spotted with Ring!"

The picture was blurry, but the woman was smiling beside him, her hand on his arm. A dazzling diamond ring on her finger.

The same ring Lydia found this morning.

C.S.

Christiana.

Tears blurred Lydia’s vision as she dropped the phone on the bed. Her chest tightened with shame. She had been so stupid. So blind. She gave him everything. Her pride. Her body. Her loyalty.

But he never gave her anything back — not even the truth.

The door suddenly opened.

She wiped her eyes quickly, thinking it was Eric.

But it was Ivan, the young guard.

His eyes widened when he saw her, panic flashing in his expression. “Miss Lydia, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— I thought Mr. Moretti had left.”

She nodded, swallowing her tears. “It’s okay. You can speak freely.”

Ivan hesitated, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I shouldn’t say this… but you need to know. What you saw on the news… it’s true. The engagement’s been planned for months. It’s not just business. He’s going through with it.”

“I figured,” Lydia said bitterly. “He engraved it.”

Ivan glanced at the floor. “He didn’t want you to know. He thinks you’ll run.”

“I will,” she said without hesitation.

Ivan looked up, startled. “You know he won’t let you leave.”

“I’m not asking permission.” She smiled sadly. “No more being his secret.”

A moment of silence passed before Ivan asked, “Do you want help?”

Lydia blinked. “Help?”

“I can get you out,” he whispered. “I owe you. You’re the only one in this house who ever looked at me like I was human.”

Her heart beat faster. The idea of escape — of real freedom — seemed impossible. But Ivan’s words lit something in her. A spark.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “After he leaves.”

Ivan nodded once, then slipped away.

Lydia stared at the closed door.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she’d stop being the woman hidden in the shadows.

Tomorrow, she’d leave Eric Moretti and the prison of his obsession.

But she didn’t know — Eric had eyes everywhere.

And someone had already whispered in his ear…

“Lydia wants to run.”

---