The Pact

The air in the Rylend estate’s study was thick—like something heavy was about to be signed, sealed… and sentenced.

Mahogany walls. A fireplace is too bright for comfort.

Six chairs. Six names.

But only two people knew why they were really here.

Zadkiel Rylend sat with that usual unreadable calm—legs crossed, tailored suit impeccable, obsidian ring glinting on his finger.

His expression was carved from marble. Cold. Composed. Dangerous.

The kind of face that smiled only when it meant control. He is the owner of ZR Insights~ solely built by him. And he is the only heir of Rylend Family.

Twenty-eight. Cold. Manipulative. Strict.

And knowing every piece of chess.

Aroha Harrison sat across from him, her floral dress too soft for this room.

She shifted awkwardly, trying to match the silence with a polite smile.

Nineteen. Sweet. Bright-eyed. And completely unaware that she’d just walked into her own chessboard.

She leaned slightly toward her father, whispering,

“Dad, why are we even here? He’s… my brother’s rival, isn’t he?”

Before her father could respond, Zadkiel’s voice cut through the silence like silk over steel.

“You’re sharper than you look, little kitten.”

Her head whipped toward him, eyes wide.

He smirked—slow, deliberate, already enjoying how easily he could provoke her.

Her mother cleared her throat sharply. “Let’s not delay. The agreement has already been drawn.”

Zadkiel’s father nodded, sliding a folder across the table. “The Harrison and Rylend pact, sealed by engagement.”

Aroha blinked.

“Wait… engagement?”

She looked between them—her parents… Zadkiel… no one was laughing.

Her voice cracked. “To… him?”

Zadkiel stood, slow and calculated, walking around the table until he stood behind her.

He didn’t touch her.

But she felt the heat of him. The presence. The danger wrapped in elegance.

“Yes,” he murmured, voice brushing her spine like a warning. “To me.”

Her lips parted in protest—but his hand finally rested on her shoulder.

Not harsh. Just… claiming.

"You should thank your brother," he whispered near her ear.

"His sins brought you to me. And now? You’re my collateral, little kitten."

And in that moment—between fear and fury—Aroha knew her life was no longer her own.

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The Fallout

The door slammed behind them as the Harrisons stepped into their home.

Aroha spun around before her heels even hit the floor.

“You can’t be serious!” she cried, voice shaking with disbelief. “You engaged me to Zadkiel Rylend?!”

Her father sighed, loosening his tie like the conversation was already exhausting.

Her mother set her purse down on the table with slow, deliberate calm.

“You’ll lower your voice, Aroha.”

“I won’t!” she snapped, tears brimming. “He’s our enemy—my brother’s enemy! He’s dangerous. Cold. I don’t even know him!”

“Exactly,” her father cut in sharply. “You don’t know him. And yet you’ve already judged what you don't understand.”

Aroha’s lips parted in shock. “Dad—he threatened me. He called me ‘kitten’ like I was something to toy with—!”

Her mother turned, eyes hard.

“He could’ve crushed our family if he wanted to. Do you realize how far your brother’s feud has dragged us into debt, into danger?”

Silence hit like a slap.

Her father stepped closer now, voice firm but not unkind. “This pact is not just about you, Aroha. It’s about survival. About legacy.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. “So you’re selling me off like a pawn?”

“No,” he said simply. “We’re placing our trust in the only man ruthless enough to protect you… and powerful enough to fix what your brother broke.”

Her knees almost gave in under the weight of it. Her room never felt farther away. Her childhood? Already slipping.

“He’s not going to protect me,” she whispered. “He’s going to own me.”

Her mother’s voice lowered, firm. “Then learn how to live in a cage without rattling it too loud. Because that man… is now your future.”

And Aroha realized—

Her parents weren’t saving her.

They were handing her over to the devil and calling it mercy.

The Engagement

The golden zipper whispered up her back as her mother fastened the dress, hands surprisingly gentle for a night so heavy.

Aroha stood in front of the mirror—silent.

Her reflection stared back at her like a stranger.

The blush pink fabric clung to her curves softly, modestly, and yet… something about it made her feel offered.

“Nineteen,” she whispered to herself, “and already being dressed like someone’s bride.”

Behind her, her mother smiled faintly.

“You look beautiful, Aroha. He’ll be pleased.”

He.

As if Zadkiel Rylend was her groom, not her captor.

She bit her lip. “It’s not a wedding. Just… an engagement.”

But even she couldn’t pretend it was casual.

---

The Rylend estate’s private hall was dressed in ivory and shadow.

No paparazzi. No noise.

Just a circle of elites—family, power, legacy.

And then there was him.

Zadkiel stood at the far end of the room, suit dark as night, eyes darker.

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t blink.

But when Aroha entered—

His gaze locked on her like a flame tasting silk.

Slow. Intense. Undeniably possessive.

She felt it all without a word:

The promise.

The threat.

The control she hadn’t even begun to understand.

As she walked toward him, every step felt heavier.

The heels, the silence, the way everyone else faded in the background.

He took her hand when she reached him—cold rings, hot skin.

“You look beautiful,” he said, voice smooth like a secret.

She looked up—her breath caught.

Because behind that compliment were his cruel eyes.

And they said everything he didn’t:

> "You're mine now, little kitten. You’ll wear my ring.

You’ll sleep under my roof.

And one day soon…

You’ll beg for what you're scared to want."

The ring slid onto her finger.

A perfect fit.

Her future? Sealed.

With diamonds.

And danger.

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The Photos & The Pressure

The room had dimmed just enough for the chandeliers to glow like moons—

casting soft gold light over velvet walls and glittering wine glasses.

Every guest was dressed like sin and status.

But all eyes were on them.

Zadkiel Rylend and Aroha Harrison.

The newly engaged.

The perfectly staged.

She stood beside him, still stiff in the way only innocence knew.

Posture too straight. Smile too polite.

Her hand dangled by her side, never touching his.

And yet—he didn’t take his eyes off her.

They greeted people one by one—

Zadkiel with a nod, a faint smirk, a chilling calm.

Aroha with quiet words, soft smiles, trying to seem okay.

But her heart thudded like it knew she was on display for more than just photos.

Across the room, a photographer gave the signal.

Zadkiel leaned slightly closer—not enough to touch her, but enough to speak without being heard.

“Smile, little kitten. You're the star tonight.”

She swallowed hard, keeping her eyes forward.

“And you’re the shadow behind me,” she whispered back. “Always watching.”

He smirked at her words.

She wasn’t just innocent.

She was aware—and that thrilled him more than it should’ve.

The first click echoed.

Flash.

She stood straight, shoulders drawn back.

Click.

He angled his face just enough toward her, like he was admiring what he already claimed.

Click.

Their eyes met. Briefly.

But her breath hitched like he’d just run a finger down her spine.

The crowd smiled. Clapped lightly.

But to Aroha, every shutter sound felt like a lock snapping closed.

Zadkiel didn’t move. Didn’t touch.

But his voice slid beside her again, quiet as poison:

> “One day… you’ll look into the camera and beg for my hand around your waist.”

She didn’t flinch.

But her fingers curled tightly around the bouquet she held.

Because deep down…

Some part of her believed him

The Balcony

The guest room was beautiful—but Aroha barely noticed.

The silence pressed too heavy against her ears.

She changed into soft, oversized clothes—sweatpants, a loose top—finally able to breathe.

No heels. No makeup. No strangers watching her like a bride in a glass case.

She brushed her hair back and walked barefoot to the balcony, drawn to the cool air like it might take the night off her skin.

And then she froze.

He was already there.

Zadkiel Rylend.

Leaning against the far edge of the stone railing, sleeves rolled up, cigarette resting between his fingers—glowing like a silent threat in the dark.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t dare speak.

The moonlight painted him in silver and shadow—

sharp jaw, loosened tie, a storm bottled behind cold control.

His voice came low.

“I wondered if you'd find me here.”

Aroha stepped forward, arms folded across her chest—not in defiance. In defense.

“This is… the guest balcony,” she said softly.

He smirked, not looking at her. “Nothing in this house is ever just ‘guest,’ little kitten. Not anymore.”

She exhaled, heart fluttering in her ribs. “You should go.”

He turned slowly, eyes meeting hers—intense, unreadable, and cruelly calm.

“I should,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “But I don’t take orders. You’ll learn that.”

She swallowed, gaze faltering for a moment.

“I’m not used to this. To being… owned.”

His eyes burned darker at that word.

“You’re not owned,” he said quietly.

“Not yet.”

Aroha stepped toward the edge of the balcony, standing beside him but leaving space—

space that felt both too wide and too thin.

“You really hate my brother that much?” she whispered.

He looked at her now—really looked at her.

And for a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Almost regret.

Almost.

“No,” he said simply.

“I hate what he took from me.”

Silence stretched.

The wind played with her hair.

And the cigarette burned low.

She dared to glance up at him.

“Am I part of your revenge?”

His lips curved. Slowly. Darkly.

And without touching her, without moving closer, he whispered—

> “No, Aroha. You're the reward.”

Her breath caught.

He dropped the cigarette. Crushed it with his heel.

And walked away.

Leaving her in the cold night air—

with his words burning hotter than the smoke he left behind.

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The Morning Claim

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Rylend mansion, spilling golden warmth over polished marble and silent hallways.

Aroha stepped carefully down the grand staircase, her fingers brushing the railing.

She was dressed in a pale blue outfit, soft and simple. A quiet contrast to the overwhelming place she’d been thrown into.

Zadkiel’s mother, Evelyn Rylend, greeted her at the base of the stairs with a warm, open smile.

“Oh, darling. You’re up early. I hoped you’d join me for tea before the rest of the house woke up.”

Aroha nodded shyly, heart still unsure.

Evelyn’s energy was gentle—too gentle for a house built by power and fear.

They walked through the vast mansion, Evelyn pointing toward portraits, stairways, doors Aroha hadn’t dared open.

“This wing here will be yours after the wedding. Unless, of course, Zadkiel insists you stay in his room. He’s… territorial that way.”

Aroha blushed, cheeks heating. “O-oh.”

Evelyn chuckled softly. “Don’t be nervous. He might be cold to the world, but he was always a fiercely loyal boy. When he chooses something, he never lets it go.”

Aroha smiled awkwardly, nodding—pretending she didn’t feel the gravity in those words.

---

Later that morning, the dining hall buzzed softly with the presence of both families.

Long oak table. Crystal glasses. Silverware that sparkled.

Zadkiel’s father spoke to Aroha’s mother about property deals.

Her father, ever polite, listened to Evelyn praise the upcoming wedding.

Zadkiel?

Silent. Controlled.

Seated right beside her.

Aroha sat up straight, eyes focused on the plate in front of her.

She reached for her water glass with both hands—just to keep them from shaking.

And then—

she felt it.

Fingers.

Warm. Slow.

Sliding under the table, brushing just above her knee.

She froze.

The tablecloth hid everything.

The others kept talking, laughing, passing fruit and butter like nothing was wrong.

But under the table?

His hand was on her thigh.

Not forceful.

Not rushed.

Just there.

Claiming.

Her breath stilled.

She didn’t dare look at him.

But she could feel his eyes on her—like heat crawling up her neck.

He moved his thumb slightly.

A slow, wicked circle.

And then—he leaned in just enough to speak, his voice low and deadly soft.

> “Don’t make a sound, little kitten.

Or I’ll move higher.”

Her heart pounded so loud she thought everyone could hear it.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just clutched her fork a little tighter—while his hand stayed there, unbothered, controlling her silence like he’d already trained her.

The others kept laughing.

But she was drowning in him.