Paying My Father's Debt

Chapter 4:

William said nothing at first. He simply turned, nodding his head in a silent command for her to follow.

He led her through a corridor lined with sleek steel and stone, cold in every sense of the word, until they stopped at a pair of massive steel doors — the only ones that looked like they didn’t belong in a house at all.

Industrial. Locked. Silent.

“You’re never to open these doors,” he said, his tone clipped, not bothering to turn and look at her.

Mary blinked. “Why? What’s in there?”

“Don’t ask.”

She narrowed her eyes, voice dipping into sarcasm just to see if she could crack him. “Afraid I’ll find your red room of pain?”

The silence that followed was loud.

William stepped in close — too close — and when he spoke, his voice was like ice dragged across bare skin.

“If I wanted to use a flogger, a gag, or rope…” His eyes traced the line of her jaw with unsettling focus. “…I wouldn’t need another room.”

Her breath caught.

Just for a moment.

She stepped back instinctively, eyes darting back to the door. It suddenly felt alive. Heavy. Threatening.

William’s gaze followed her retreat. A flicker of something darker passed over his features — not remorse, not cruelty, but interest.

Then he straightened, brushing off the tension like it hadn’t happened.

“I needed to check your size,” he muttered, voice clipped.

He walked over to a nearby console table, picked up a folded piece of luxury fabric, and handed it to her.

Mary unfolded it slowly, gasping when her fingers brushed over the silk.

The cream Prada dress — the dress — the one she’d stared at for weeks online but never dreamed she’d touch, let alone wear.

“This… this was on my wishlist.”

William raised a brow, expression unreadable. “It’s trendy. Everyone has it. Just a coincidence.”

Liar.

But she didn’t press.

Instead, she turned and changed.

In the mirror, she barely recognized herself. The dress hugged her like it was tailored for her body, and though her shoulders were stiff, she felt a strange sense of grounding. Clothes were armor.

When she stepped out, William’s gaze flicked up — and stayed.

For one long second, he just looked at her. Something shifted in his eyes, but he blinked it away and tossed something toward her.

She caught it.

A ring.

Simple, elegant, sharp-edged.

“Put it on.”

Mary stared at it, then at him. She slid it onto her finger with deliberate slowness.

A dry laugh escaped her. “No wonder no woman would ever willingly marry you.”

The temperature dropped.

William’s expression didn’t change right away — but something inside it hardened.

“Watch your mouth,” he said, stepping forward again. “You don’t know what I can do with it.”

She swallowed. Not fear. Not attraction. Just pressure. Heat building without release.

He reached behind him and pulled out a thin black folder. Inside, crisp and heavy, lay a contract.

Marriage.

Name. Terms. Sign here.

Her heart thundered in her chest as she scanned the lines, trying to absorb meaning through the fog settling over her thoughts.

“I want time to read this,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

William leaned in close, lips just brushing the shell of her ear.

“You don’t have time,” he whispered. “You don’t have a choice.”

His breath was warm. The words were not.

“Sign it.”