Midnight call: married to the deadly CEO by dark queen

Anna didn't sleep.

After Damian's kiss — that warning disguised as passion — she'd lain awake staring at the ceiling of her golden cage, every inch of her skin burning with anger and something else she refused to name.

By dawn, she'd made up her mind. She couldn't stay here — not another night with that man who thought he owned her soul just because he bought a ring.

Quietly, she packed a small overnight bag: cash she'd hidden in a book, her ID, a change of clothes. The mansion was huge. Surely she could slip out before his guards noticed.

She eased the bedroom door open. The hallway was empty — the silence felt like freedom. She crept past the grand staircase, avoiding the marble steps that creaked. Every heartbeat was a drum in her ears.

At the front door, her hand trembled on the knob. Just open it. Run.

But the moment the door cracked open, a calm voice behind her froze her in place.

"Going somewhere, Mrs. Williams?"

Anna whipped around, her heart slamming against her ribs. It wasn't Damian — it was his shadow: Thomas, the young assistant who looked more like a polite killer in his fitted suit.

She forced her chin up. "Move. I'm leaving."

Thomas only smiled, polite as always. "You know I can't let you do that, ma'am."

"I'm not your ma'am," she hissed. "I didn't ask to be his—"

She didn't finish. Heavy footsteps echoed on the marble floor behind Thomas — slow, measured, each one stealing her courage. Damian appeared like a nightmare she couldn't wake up from, his tie half-done, hair slightly tousled, but those eyes… sharp as broken glass.

"Anna." His voice was quiet. Too quiet. That was worse than shouting.

She gripped her bag tighter. "I'm leaving. You can't stop me."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He didn't look at Thomas — didn't have to. The assistant stepped aside like a ghost, vanishing up the stairs, leaving her alone with the devil she'd married.

Damian stalked forward until her back hit the door. He rested one hand beside her head, boxing her in. "What did I tell you last night?"

"Don't test you," she spat, glaring into those cold eyes. "What are you going to do, Damian? Lock me in a tower? Chain me to your bed?"

His lips curved. "Is that what you want?"

The heat that shot through her chest infuriated her. She swung her bag at him — he caught it effortlessly, tossing it aside like it weighed nothing.

He leaned in, nose brushing her hairline, breath warm against her ear. "You think you can run from me? You can't even get past the front door, sweetheart."

Her palms slammed against his chest. "I hate you."

"Good." His fingers dug into her chin again, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Hate keeps you here. Hate makes you mine."

Before she could protest, he kissed her — softer than before, but more dangerous because it made her knees buckle. His lips coaxed hers open, slow and possessive, tasting her defiance and stealing her breath until she forgot where she was for a heartbeat too long.

When he pulled back, her lips were swollen, her mind blank.

His thumb brushed her bottom lip. "Try to run again, Anna. Next time, I won't be so gentle."

Then he turned and walked away like he hadn't just shattered her last bit of freedom.

The front door loomed behind her — open just a crack. But Anna knew the truth now.

It might as well have been a wall of iron.