The Mafia's Secret Captive

Aurelia’s POV

Everyone knows Kieran Blackwood is the most dangerous man in this city—a crime lord, a cold-blooded killer, a devil with blood on his hands.

And I, a Fairmont heiress, am his darkest secret.

Every night, he pins me beneath him, whispering in a voice rough and nearly broken, "You're mine. Always will be." That near-insane possessiveness made me foolish enough to believe I was special to him.

Until she came back.

When the accident happened, he didn't hesitate for even a second—he threw himself toward her, shielding her with his body.

When she stole my mother's only keepsake, he didn't just stand by and watch. He locked me in the basement and tortured me for seven days and nights.

When I emerged covered in bruises, I overheard him say to her through the wall: "I locked her up three years ago to give you closure. She's the one who nearly got you killed."

So three years of tenderness had been revenge all along.

Finally, I understood the truth.

The day I left, I didn't look back. I didn't leave a single word.

What I didn't know was that after I left, the man went insane...

Kieran's breath still pressed against the hollow of my neck, the marks on my body hadn't faded yet. The tattoo on his arm rippled with each rise and fall of his chest. I stared at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, counting its facets—the first pastime I'd learned in this bedroom.

My phone buzzed.

He opened his eyes, glanced at the screen, and rolled out of bed expressionlessly. He started getting dressed.

"There's trouble at the casino. I need to handle it." He fastened his cufflinks, his voice betraying no emotion.

I pulled the covers around me and sat against the headboard, watching him tie his tie—a Windsor knot. Three years, and it was always a Windsor knot. His phone buzzed again. He picked it up and typed a reply, his movements as casual as checking the weather.

The buzzing grew more frequent. I knew who it was.

He finished putting on his jacket and leaned down to kiss my forehead. His lips were warm, but I felt cold.

"I might be home late tonight."

I smiled and watched him leave. The moment the door closed, this luxurious bedroom became a prison again.

I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in a long time. After three rings, my stepmother Genevieve answered.

Silence on the other end for two seconds, then a scoff.

"Finally come to your senses? I thought you planned to be Blackthorne's canary for the rest of your life."

"How can you do this to my father?" I gripped the phone, my voice calmer than I expected. "On his deathbed, he held your hand and told you to take care of me. But you not only transferred all the Fairmont assets to Celeste's name—now you're selling me off like merchandise!"

Genevieve laughed, her laughter carrying the satisfaction of finally dropping all pretenses.

"Your father? If he really cared about you, why didn't he make his will clearer? I did promise to take care of you when he died—but he never said I couldn't do it my way." She paused, her tone stretching out with the pleasure of examining prey. "Besides, Aurelia, damaged goods that's been used and discarded—what right do you have to negotiate? You should be grateful the Ravencrofts are willing to take you. Thank me for getting you such a good price."

I hung up, my fingers white around the phone, a faint ache in my knuckles.

Three years ago when this man snatched me from the crowd, everyone thought Aurelia Fairmont was done for. Crossing Kieran Blackthorne—this city's most feared mafia boss—surviving at all would be lucky.

But he didn't kill me.

He kept me locked in this manor like stolen goods. A prisoner by day, my range confined within the walls; at night when the lights went out, I became another one of his private possessions.

And me? I wasn't afraid of him at all.

I replaced all his shampoo with strawberry-scented ones, swapped out all his black towels for pink girly ones, even picked out a pink toothbrush for him. His men exchanged bewildered glances, but he calmly brushed his teeth with the pink toothbrush without batting an eye.

During his video conferences, I'd pop up from behind making faces. The business mogul on screen would freeze for two seconds, while he just adjusted the camera angle impassively and continued discussing his billion-dollar deals.

I thought he was made of stone—until that party.

That night we'd both had too much to drink. While he showered, on a whim I stole the bathrobe hanging on the door—wanting to see this man who controlled everything look flustered for once.

He walked out naked, water droplets trailing down his collarbone, but his expression was as calm as if he were taking a stroll.

I panicked. I threw the robe at him and turned to run, but my wrist was caught. His grip wasn't hard, but it completely immobilized me.

Alcohol burned through my veins. I looked up into his eyes and for the first time saw fire in those perpetually cool gray irises.

That night, I didn't get away.

When I woke the next morning, I'd prepared for the worst. But all he said was: "What happened stays between us."

That was the moment I started to fall. How ridiculous.

I put away my phone and quickly changed clothes.

The moment Kieran's car left the manor gates, I had the driver follow. He did go to the casino—but he didn't go inside.

He stood at the entrance, lit a cigar, as if waiting for someone. I had the driver park at an inconspicuous spot on the corner. Through the car window, I watched him.

Before long, a black sedan slowly stopped at the casino entrance.

The car door opened, and Celeste stepped out.

My half-sister—the one who'd taken everything from me. Her mother stole my father, she stole my fortune, and now she wanted to steal the man who imprisoned me. How absurd that I felt bitter about losing my captor.

Three years, and she still had that innocent, naive look, as if nothing had changed. And for every day I'd been imprisoned in this gilded cage, she'd been outside breathing freely, living freely.

More ironic still—the man who imprisoned me was now standing at the entrance waiting for her.

She wore a pale yellow dress, her long hair loose over her shoulders, looking like an heiress who'd just stepped out of a magazine. The moment she saw Kieran, her eyes lit up. She ran toward him and naturally looped her arm through his.

And Kieran—he stubbed out his cigar, took her bag, his other hand hovering protectively at her waist as he bent his head to listen to her.

His expression was soft, a softness I'd never seen before.

I looked away and signaled the driver to go. Enough. In two weeks, I'd be leaving.

Kieran Blackthorne could keep his empire, his public girlfriend, his perfect life. And I would never have to be anyone's secret again.