Chapter 3 Into The Lion's Den

• The black car idled at the curb, its sleek exterior gleaming under the pale morning light.
• Madeline sat rigid in the back seat, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The thin, cream-colored dress her mother had picked out clung to her skin, offering no warmth against the chill that seeped into the car. Her parents sat on either side of her, their faces stoic and unreadable, as if they weren’t delivering her to a man whose name alone struck fear into anyone who dared speak it.
• The weight of what she was about to do settled in her chest like a stone.
• She glanced out the window, the passing buildings blurring into a gray haze. Her reflection stared back at her, pale and drawn, green eyes wide with unease. She barely recognized herself.
• “Sit up straight,” her mother hissed, her voice low but sharp. “You need to look presentable.”
• Presentable. The word tasted bitter on Madeline’s tongue. As if good posture could make this arrangement less of a death sentence.
• Her father cleared his throat, his voice heavy with tension. “Remember what we talked about. Speak only when spoken to. Don’t ask questions. And for God’s sake, don’t provoke him.”
• Madeline turned to him, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “What happens if I accidentally breathe too loudly? Will he kill me for that too?”
• Garrett’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply. The silence that followed was thick and suffocating.
• The car slowed as it approached a massive wrought iron gate. The emblem of a roaring lion was engraved in the center, its metal edges gleaming menacingly in the light. A guard stepped forward, speaking into a radio before the gates groaned open. The long, winding driveway ahead was lined with towering trees, their skeletal branches twisting like claws toward the sky.
• Madeline’s stomach churned.
• The car pulled up in front of the mansion. The building loomed above them, its dark stone facade as cold and unyielding as the man who ruled it. The front doors, large enough to swallow her whole, stood at the top of a short flight of marble steps. Two guards flanked the entrance, their expressions impassive.
• The car door swung open.
• Garrett nudged her shoulder. “It’s time.”
• Madeline stepped out onto the gravel driveway, her legs feeling like they might give way beneath her. Her shoes crunched against the stones as she followed her parents up the steps, heart pounding louder with every step.
• The heavy doors opened before they could knock, revealing a man dressed in a crisp black suit. His dark hair was slicked back, and his piercing gaze swept over her with the precision of a scalpel.
• “This way,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth.
• They were led down a long corridor, the air thick with the scent of leather and wood polish. Everything about this place felt designed to intimidate—to remind her she didn’t belong.
• The man stopped in front of a set of double doors and pushed them open.
• Inside, a fire crackled in a massive stone hearth, its orange glow casting flickering shadows across the room. At the far end, seated behind an ornate mahogany desk, was Ivan Callahan.
• Madeline’s breath caught in her throat.
• He was nothing like she’d imagined. Taller. Broader. His dark hair framed a face carved with sharp angles, his cold gray eyes locking onto hers with a force that made her want to shrink back.
• He didn’t stand as they entered, didn’t offer a word of greeting. He simply watched, his gaze cutting through her like ice.
• Garrett cleared his throat, his voice wavering as he spoke. “Mr. Callahan, thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”
• Ivan didn’t reply immediately. He leaned back in his chair, the movement slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.
• When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, each word dripping with quiet menace.
• “Where is Madison?”
• Madeline felt her father tense beside her.
• Vanya stepped forward, her smile strained. “Madison… Madison couldn’t make it.”
• Ivan’s eyes flicked to her, the weight of his gaze silencing whatever excuse she’d planned to give.
• “Couldn’t make it,” he repeated, his tone dangerously soft. “Do you take me for a fool?”
• Vanya’s composure cracked, and she faltered. “We—we didn’t mean—”
• “She ran,” Madeline said, the words slipping out before she could stop herself.
• All eyes turned to her. Garrett’s sharp intake of breath echoed in the room, and Vanya’s hand shot out to grip her arm, her nails digging into her skin.
• Ivan’s gaze didn’t waver.
• “And you are?”
• “Madeline,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Madison’s twin sister.”
• The silence that followed was suffocating. Ivan studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he rose from his chair. The sheer presence of him filled the room, and Madeline had to fight the urge to step back.
• “You expect me to believe you brought me a substitute?” he asked, his voice as cold and sharp as a blade.
• “She’s not a substitute,” Garrett said quickly. “She’s… she’s family. Blood.”
• Ivan’s lips twitched, though it wasn’t a smile. “Family,” he echoed. “And what makes you think I care about that?”
• Garrett’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. For the first time in her life, Madeline saw fear etched across his face.
• Ivan stepped closer, his gaze fixed on her. “And you?” he asked, his voice low. “Do you think you can take her place?”
• Madeline’s throat felt dry, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I think you’ll decide that for yourself.”
• The corner of Ivan’s mouth lifted, though it wasn’t amusement that lit his eyes. “Interesting.”
• He turned back to his desk, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. “The wedding is tomorrow. Leave her here.”
• “What?” Madeline’s voice broke through the air before she could stop it. “You can’t—”
• Ivan’s sharp gaze cut to her, silencing her immediately.
• “You are in no position to tell me what I can or cannot do.”
• Her parents wasted no time retreating, leaving her standing alone in the center of the room.
• The sound of the doors closing behind her was like the slam of a coffin lid.
• “Sit,” Ivan said, motioning to a chair in front of his desk.
• Madeline hesitated, but the weight of his gaze left no room for argument. She sank into the chair, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress.
• Ivan leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, his voice quiet but commanding.
• “You belong to me now. Do you understand that?”
• Madeline didn’t reply, her voice caught somewhere between defiance and fear.
• “Good,” Ivan said, his lips curling into a faint smirk.
• “You’ll learn quickly.”