UNDER

I

"You know what they say about the mafia, Layla?"

"I don't give a shit."

A few days had passed since her arrival on Romeo's private island. Everything had gone from bad to worse. Her lack of obedience sometimes made Romeo's blood boil.

Layla stood in front of Romeo, wearing nothing but her underwear. He was trying to decide which dress would suit her best, holding up one dress after another—different sizes, different colors—but nothing seemed to fit her.

He held up another dress, a sleek, black number that would cling to her curves perfectly. “What about this one?” he asked, his voice clipped as he studied her face for any reaction.

Layla’s eyes narrowed, her posture unyielding despite her near-nakedness. “Pick whatever you want,” she said, her tone laced with venom. “It won’t make me any more of a doll for you to play with.”

Romeo’s jaw tightened. He could feel the anger simmering just beneath the surface, but he forced himself to remain calm. She was doing this on purpose, pushing his buttons, trying to provoke him into losing control. It was a game to her, and he knew it. But what she didn’t seem to understand was that he never lost.

He stepped closer, holding the black dress up to her body, his eyes sweeping over her with a mix of appraisal and something darker. “You misunderstand, Layla,” he said quietly, his voice dangerously smooth. “This isn’t about turning you into a doll. It’s about showing you what you could be—what you will be—under my control.”

Layla met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. “You’ll never control me,” she spat, her voice filled with defiance. “I don’t care what you dress me in, I’ll never be your puppet.”

A small, cold smile tugged at the corner of Romeo’s lips. “We’ll see about that,” he murmured, his tone sending a chill down her spine.

He tossed the black dress aside, picking up another—a deep red one, made of luxurious silk. He held it up in front of her, the rich fabric contrasting starkly with her pale skin. “Try this,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

For a moment, Layla considered refusing, just to push him further. But the look in his eyes told her that this was a battle she wasn’t ready to fight. Not yet. With a huff, she grabbed the dress from him, her movements sharp and angry.

Romeo watched her with a cold intensity as she slipped the dress over her head, the silk sliding smoothly against her skin. The dress fit her perfectly, clinging to her curves in all the right places. But as she stood there, glaring at him, he realized that no matter how perfect the dress was, it wouldn’t change the fire in her eyes.

“There,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Happy now?”

Romeo’s expression remained unreadable as he stepped back, his gaze sweeping over her once more. “Almost,” he replied, his tone calm but with an undercurrent of menace. “You look stunning, Layla. But it’s your attitude that needs adjusting.”

Layla crossed her arms over her chest, the defiance in her posture unmistakable. “Good luck with that,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Because I’m not changing for you—or anyone.”

Romeo’s eyes darkened, the challenge in her words igniting something within him. “We’ll see, Layla. We’ll see.”

Silence hung between them for a moment, and even now, she was trying to avoid his sharp gaze. "..."

"You know what, Layla?" Romeo stepped right in front of her, his jaw clenching and his tall frame looming over her. "I paid a good fortune for you, so you better behave."

"And if I don't?" Layla looked up into his eyes.

"..." Romeo leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. "And if you don't, let's just say you'll find yourself back on that auction stage, sold again, and living a hellish life. Understand, Layla?"

Romeo's words lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of the power he held over her. Layla clenched her fists, her heart pounding in defiance, but she knew better than to push him further—for now. The thought of being thrust back into that nightmare of an auction was enough to silence any retort she might have had.

Romeo straightened up, his expression softening slightly as he observed her internal struggle. He knew he had made his point. Without another word, he turned and made his way to the door, signaling for one of his men stationed outside.

"Bring in the salon artist," he ordered, his voice calm but commanding.

Moments later, a woman entered the room, her demeanor professional and focused. She carried a large case, filled with makeup and styling tools. Layla watched her warily, feeling a fresh wave of resistance rise within her. She had already lost so much of her freedom—now they were going to dress her up like a doll, too?

Romeo turned back to Layla, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the defiance sparking in her gaze once more. "Cooperate," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This isn’t a request."

Layla bit back a sharp retort, knowing it would do her no good. Instead, she reluctantly moved to sit in the chair the salon artist had set up in front of a large mirror. The woman began unpacking her tools, setting to work with practiced efficiency.

Romeo stood off to the side, watching intently as the artist began to apply makeup to Layla’s face. The room was quiet except for the soft sounds of brushes against skin and the occasional clink of tools being set down. Layla stared at her reflection in the mirror, feeling an unsettling mix of emotions—anger, fear, and a creeping sense of resignation.

As the artist worked, Layla couldn’t help but notice how skilled she was. The makeup was subtle, enhancing her natural beauty without overwhelming it. But it didn’t matter how good the artist was—Layla still felt like she was being transformed into something she wasn’t, molded into a version of herself that fit Romeo’s desires.

Romeo’s eyes remained fixed on Layla, his gaze thoughtful as he observed the transformation. Despite her resistance, he could see the effect the makeup was having, softening her features and making her look even more striking. But it wasn’t just about her appearance—it was about control, about bending her to his will little by little.

When the salon artist finished, she stepped back, giving Romeo a nod of approval. “She’s ready,” the woman said, her voice respectful.

Romeo stepped forward, his gaze meeting Layla’s in the mirror. “You look stunning,” he said, his voice quiet, almost gentle. “But remember, Layla—this is just the beginning. The sooner you learn to accept your place here, the easier it will be for you.”

Layla’s eyes flashed with defiance as she met his gaze in the mirror, but she said nothing. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, not when she knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

Romeo smiled slightly, as if reading her thoughts. “Good,” he murmured, stepping back. “Now, let’s see how well you can play the part.”

He gestured to the door, indicating that it was time to leave. Layla stood slowly, her mind racing with thoughts of escape, defiance, and survival. But for now, she followed Romeo out of the room, knowing that the real battle was only just beginning.

To be continued ── .✦