Five Years in Prison for Him,Now I'm His Enemy's Queen

I bit down on my lower lip so hard it split, swallowing the pain whole.

"Deal."

The Maybach climbed the hillside and pulled through the gates of the Finley estate.

This was the vantage point that overlooked the entire Capital—and the gilded cage Christian Finley had built just for me.

The car door opened. Two rows of bodyguards in black stood at perfect ninety-degree bows.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Finley."

Their voices rang out in unison, echoing across the grounds.

I dragged my battered body onto the red carpet. Every step sent a tearing pain ripping through my abdomen.

Christian didn't offer a hand. He watched me struggle with the detached interest of a man observing something beneath him.

That was when my old phone buzzed.

Dennis had slipped it to me through someone before my release—a lifeline, he'd called it. The screen lit up with his name. Now, the sight of it was nothing but a sick joke.

Christian raised an eyebrow and gestured for me to answer.

I hit the green button and put it on speaker.

"Margot! Let me explain!"

Dennis's voice burst through, frantic and ragged.

"Nellie is just a pawn I'm using to keep the rival syndicate in check! Once she has the baby, I'll get rid of her!"

I let out a cold laugh, staring at the dried blood still caked under my fingernails.

"Your pawn is carrying your child and gunning for my seat. What do you take me for, Dennis? Your garbage collector?"

"Don't be reckless and marry that lunatic Finley! He'll destroy you! Where are you? I'm sending people right now—"

He was still trying to work me with that nauseating silver tongue of his.

"You've got a record now, so just let Nellie have the title. But I swear, you're the only one in my heart!"

Christian stepped up behind me. Cold lips pressed against the side of my neck, and he let out a slow, deliberate sound—a wet, suggestive pull of skin that was impossible to misinterpret.

I lowered my lashes. My voice came out laced with contempt.

"Stop calling, Dennis. You make me sick."

The line went dead.

Christian's arms slid around my waist from behind, his burning chest flush against my spine.

"Can't handle it already?"

His long fingers caught a strand of my damp hair and lifted it, his tone dripping with undisguised mockery.

"Your old flame seems pretty convinced you'll crawl back to him like a dog."

I ignored the provocation and closed my eyes.

Five years of hell behind bars had ground my dignity and expectations down to dust.

"Get me a doctor. I need to recover as fast as possible."

I opened my eyes and pulled free from his hold, sweeping a cool gaze across the sprawling estate.

"In three days, at the syndicate summit, I'm going to take back what's mine. Personally."

Christian's eyes narrowed. A thin, derisive smile pressed across his lips.

Then his hand shot out and clamped around the back of my neck, forcing my face upward to meet his.

"Know your place, Margot. You're a toy I paid a fortune for. You don't get to give me orders."

His grip was crushing. The vertebrae in my neck—barely healed—crackled under the pressure.

Tears welled from sheer physical reflex, pooling at the rims of my eyes. I forced every last one of them back.

"Even a toy needs claws if it's going to tear apart prey for its master. Wouldn't you agree?"

I held his stare, a twisted smile curling at the corner of my mouth.

Christian studied me for several long seconds. Then he released his grip and let out a quiet laugh.

"Good. I look forward to the show. Don't disappoint me—or I'll throw you right back into that kennel."

For the next three days, I was confined to the top floor of the estate.

A private medical team stood on call around the clock, pumping expensive drugs into my broken body to piece it back together.