Chapter 3: The Sanctuary
Perspective: Ian
The transition from the freezing pavement to the warmth of the Legacy Estate was dizzying.
One moment, we were outcasts; the next, we were seated at a mahogany dining table that seemed to stretch for miles, eating venison that melted in our mouths.
Robert sat at the head of the table. He was an older man, distinguished, with silver hair and eyes that seemed to dissect you while he smiled. He poured the wine himself—a vintage heavy red that warmed my blood instantly.
"To new beginnings," Robert toasted, raising his glass.
"To new beginnings," Sofia echoed, her voice trembling slightly. She looked almost human again. Sarah had taken her upstairs briefly and given her a fresh change of clothes—a silk blouse and loose trousers. I had been given a cashmere sweater and jeans.
"I can't thank you enough," Sofia said, taking a long drink. "I was... I was worried when I called. I haven't seen Carol in so long. Where is she? And Jay?"
I watched Robert carefully. He didn't blink. He cut a piece of meat with surgical precision.
"The Maldives," Sarah answered smoothly from across the table. "A wellness retreat. Carol has had some... health issues. Nerves. Jay took her away for a month of total disconnect. No phones, no internet."
"Oh," Sofia slumped, a mix of disappointment and relief. "That sounds wonderful for her."
"She works very hard for us here," Robert agreed. "But don't worry, Sofia. You’re family now. You can stay in the East Wing until they return. As long as you need."
"You know," Robert added, looking at me. "I believe I know your husband, Sofia. Richard? He’s in finance, isn't he?"
My stomach tightened.
"Yes," Sofia whispered.
"I think we’ve crossed paths," Robert smiled, a strange glint in his eye. "We’re members of the same... private club in London. A very exclusive circle. He’s a man of specific tastes. I can see why he chose you."
The compliment felt like a caress and a threat all at once, but the wine and the fatigue dulled my instincts.
"If you'll excuse us," I said, standing up. "It’s been a long few days. We’re exhausted."
"Of course," Sarah said. "I’ve prepared the Blue Room."
She led us up the grand staircase to a heavy oak door at the end of the hall.
The room was magnificent. A four-poster bed dominating the center, heavy velvet drapes, and a roaring fire already lit in the hearth.
"Sleep well," Sarah said. "The house is very quiet at night. We value our privacy here."
She closed the door. The click of the latch was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.
We were alone.
Sofia stood in the center of the room, looking at the bed. She looked fragile, beautiful, and utterly broken.
"We’re safe," she whispered, as if she couldn't quite believe it.
"We made it," I said, walking over to her.
I reached out and took her hand. The dynamic of stepmother and stepson had been incinerated in the fire of the last week. We were just two survivors now.
"Ian," she breathed, stepping into me.
I wrapped my arms around her. It wasn't like the performance for Mia’s camera. This was real.
"I need you," she said, her voice fierce. "Make me forget him. Make me forget the street. Make me yours."
We stumbled toward the bed, falling onto the high-thread-count sheets.
We stripped each other with frantic, clumsy hands, tearing at buttons and zippers until the cashmere and silk lay discarded on the floor. In the glow of the firelight, her skin looked golden, soft, and inviting.
"You're beautiful," I groaned, running my hands down the curve of her waist, over her hips.
"Touch me," she begged, pulling me down on top of her. "Everywhere."
I kissed her, tasting the red wine on her tongue. I moved down her neck, leaving a trail of heat, worshiping the body that my father had thrown away. I teased her breasts, circling the peaks until she arched her back, a moan escaping her lips that was purely for me.
"Please, Ian," she gasped, her hands tangling in my hair. "I need you inside. Now."
I positioned myself between her legs. She wrapped her limbs around my waist, pulling me in, opening herself completely.
I entered her slowly, inch by inch, filling the void that the last few days had carved out of us. It was a sensation of pure, electric belonging. We fit together perfectly.
"Yes," she hissed, her head falling back against the pillows. "Deeper."
I began to move, the rhythm primal and desperate. Our bodies slapped together, sweat slicking our skin as the fire roared in the grate. I watched her face—the way her eyes rolled back, the way she bit her lip.
"I love you," I whispered, thrusting harder. "I love you, Sofia."
"I love you," she cried out. "Don't stop. Claim me, Ian. Make me pregnant. Fill me with your seed."
The request hit me like a physical blow. It was the ultimate rejection of her marriage, the ultimate bond for us.
"You want that?" I growled, gripping her hips.
"I need it," she sobbed, clawing at my back. "I want to carry a part of you. I want to be yours completely. Do it! Fill me up!"
I lost control. I drove into her with everything I had, the pleasure building to a blinding peak. She met me thrust for thrust, her nails digging into my shoulders, her body tightening around me.
"Now, Ian! Now!"
I buried my face in her neck and let go. I poured myself into her, spending every ounce of my energy, my fear, and my love deep inside her warmth. She held me tight, shuddering as she found her own release, crying out my name into the silence of the room.
We collapsed together, limbs tangled, chests heaving.
I stayed inside her for a long time, neither of us wanting to break the connection. We were one entity now. Fused together by trauma and passion.
"You're mine now," I whispered into her hair.
"Yours," she murmured sleepily, stroking my arm. "Forever."
We fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the fire dying down to glowing embers.
I felt a profound sense of peace. We had lost everything—the money, the house, the status—but we had found this. A sanctuary.
I closed my eyes, pulling the duvet up around us, unaware that three floors below us, in a cold steel cage, my sanctuary’s true owner was shivering in the dark, waiting for the morning feed.
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