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Bounded By Debt

Name: Bounded By Debt
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Ulric

5.0

Romance

42 Chapters

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She was payment for a debt. He was her captor by contract. But the deeper they fall, the harder it is to tell who owns who. When Emily Carter is sold to Marco Bianchi-ruthless mafia boss and undisputed king of the city's underworld-she expects fear, pain, and humiliation. But what she gets is far worse: silence, surveillance, and total psychological control. In Marco's gilded prison, Emily isn't beaten. She's studied. Moved like a chess piece. Watched like prey. And as she begins to challenge him-quietly, strategically-she discovers the darker truth: Marco didn't just want a bride. He wanted a weapon. But Emily is no pawn. She's a fire wrapped in silk-and she's about to burn his empire from the inside.

Chapter 1 Sold like Silence

Emily 🌹

The air inside the car was too quiet-like it had been strangled.

Emily Carter sat still in the back seat, her hands folded neatly in her lap, wrists pressed so tightly together it hurt. Her skin was cold. Not from the temperature, but from how she couldn't stop sweating. From the way her uncle hadn't looked her in the eye when he closed the car door behind her. From how she had asked-just once-where they were going, and he'd said nothing at all.

Not until five minutes ago.

Then, flatly:

"You're going to be fine, Em. Just... do what he says. He likes obedience."

The phrase was still slicing through her head, slowly, like glass.

He likes obedience.

Outside the tinted window, wrought-iron gates loomed tall and curled like thorns. They creaked open, and the car glided through them with the arrogance of someone who'd been expected. Emily didn't know if the man driving her worked for Marco Bianchi or if her uncle had sold her that completely-car and all. She hadn't asked. She wouldn't have gotten an answer.

The mansion came into view like something from a different world. Not flashy. Not warm. Just massive. Stone and steel and shadows. A place that looked like it had secrets in every room. A place where voices didn't echo because no one raised them.

She glanced down at her dress-an off-white silk that fit too well to be bought on her uncle's budget. It had been hanging in her closet when she came home. Folded with precision. A note had been placed beside it, unsigned:

"Wear this. No makeup. Hair down."

She hadn't cried. Not then. Not in the mirror. Not when she zipped herself into the skin someone else had chosen for her.

The car stopped. The driver stepped out and opened her door with no expression.

Emily stepped out.

Her knees didn't buckle. She hated how proud she was of that. Like it mattered.

---

The stairs leading to the front doors were black marble. She climbed them slowly, heart thudding a little harder with every step.

The door was not knocked on. It didn't need to be.

It opened before she reached it.

A man stood in the threshold. Tall. Dressed in a black suit that fit like it had been carved onto him. No tie. Open collar. Italian cut.

And eyes like broken ice.

She knew who he was instantly.

Marco Bianchi didn't move. Didn't speak for a long time. Just looked at her the way you look at an object you ordered months ago that finally arrived. Not with delight. With calculation.

Emily's lungs forgot how to work.

He stepped aside.

"Come in, Mrs. Bianchi."

Her stomach turned. Not from the title-but from the precision with which he'd used it. Like it was a blade.

She stepped inside.

The doors closed behind her with the finality of a judge's gavel.

---

The foyer was cathedral-sized, but cold. Modern. Steel beams disguised as design. Security cameras disguised as chandeliers. A woman could scream in here and still feel alone.

Emily didn't know where to look, so she looked at him.

Marco studied her. Not her body. Her pulse. Her breath. Like he was measuring what kind of fear she would give him.

"You're not late," he said, almost bored.

She said nothing.

He circled her once.

"You wore what I sent."

She nodded once.

"You're obedient."

It wasn't a question. She still didn't answer.

He stopped in front of her again. Closer now.

"You don't speak much."

She looked up at him finally. Met his eyes. Quietly:

"I don't waste my breath."

For a moment, something flickered in his expression. Something sharp and curious. Then it was gone.

"You'll sleep upstairs. Second door on the left."

A pause.

"You may lock the door if it makes you feel safe."

She didn't say it, but he saw it in her eyes: Would that make any difference?

He turned to go.

And then-

He stopped. Without turning around, he said it:

"You bite your nails when you're nervous."

Emily froze.

She hadn't done that in hours.

She hadn't done that in front of him.

She hadn't even touched her hands.

"How do you-?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "You'll find I make it a habit to know everything about what I own."

Then he walked away.

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Bounded By Debt

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