Chapter 2
Elizabeth answered the call, her voice still rough with the remnants of a nightmare. "Hello?"
The voice on the other end was devoid of personal warmth, carrying that unmistakable Upper East Side inflection.
"Ms. Windsor. This is Leon Hill, working for Mr. Alexander." Like a program that only cared about efficiency, he got straight to the point. "Please be at the entrance of the manor in thirty minutes. There will be a black Chevrolet waiting for you; Mr. Alexander wants to see you."
The command was crisp, clinical—not even a pause for questions before the line went dead.
Mr. Smith... Jacob.
The new godfather who'd built his empire on iron and blood. His rise had been painted in crimson legends, his methods more direct, more unpredictable than any who came before.
Elizabeth didn't hesitate. She threw off the sheets, shaking loose the fragments of last night's chaotic dreams still clinging to her consciousness.
She dressed quickly and arrived downstairs right on schedule. A black Chevrolet sat waiting in the predawn stillness, silent as death itself.
The windows were tinted obsidian—impossible to see inside.
The rear door swung open automatically.
She ducked into the spacious interior. The driver in front passed back a thick black velvet blindfold.
Elizabeth stared at the fabric, her heart constricting.
She tied it tight over her eyes. The world plunged into absolute darkness.
She felt the car purr to life, gliding smoothly through empty streets.
Time became meaningless. Eventually, the vehicle stopped.
Hands guided her out. A woman's voice directed her movements.
"You need to be clean." The woman's tone was matter-of-fact as she led Elizabeth to a stop.
The blindfold was removed with swift efficiency.
The sudden light made her squint hard.
After several moments, her vision cleared. She found herself in an enormous bathroom with cold, luxurious finishes—all hard edges and expensive materials.
Beside her stood the woman who'd spoken—around fifty, in a sharply tailored dark suit, hair pulled back without a single strand out of place.
The woman issued her order, "Strip. Get in. You have twenty minutes."
The panic and humiliation crashed through Elizabeth's chest all over again.
This feeling of total control, of being nothing more than a lamb led to slaughter—it was more suffocating than anything Charles and Sophie had ever done to her.
She stood frozen.
The woman seemed to read her resistance, her lips pulling into something that barely qualified as a smile—mockery mixed with the weariness of routine.
"Ms. Windsor, questions and hesitation are pointless here. Mr. Smith prefers absolute control and cleanliness."
She emphasized that last word deliberately, and Elizabeth couldn't help but think of all those rumors about Jacob's ruthless, unforgiving nature.
She clenched her fists, nails biting deep into her palms.
Revenge crushed the shame.
She drew a sharp breath and stopped looking at the woman. In silence, she began removing her clothes.
Quick shower. Dry off and done.
Then that black blindfold descended over her eyes again.
Darkness reclaimed her.
This time, she was guided out of the bathroom, her feet sinking into carpet so thick it felt like walking on clouds.
The room had to be massive. Air circulated freely, carrying the scent of some cold, expensive fragrance.
"Arms up," the woman commanded.
Elizabeth obeyed.
She felt impossibly delicate fabric being draped over her body.
Thin straps settled against her neck. The woman gripped her feet, rolling sheer stockings up her legs—but leaving her most intimate places completely exposed to the air.
The sexual implication was crystal clear. Elizabeth bit her lip hard against the shame.
But she reminded herself—she'd endured worse torments in her past life. What was a little humiliation compared to that? She had to meet Jacob. She had to walk a different path this time.
"Wait here. Mr. Smith will see you when his business is finished." The woman's footsteps retreated.
The door opened, then closed with a soft click.
The room fell completely silent.
With her sight stolen, Elizabeth's other senses sharpened to an almost painful degree.
Time crawled. Every second stretched into eternity.
She was a gift—carefully cleaned, beautifully wrapped, waiting for the man who held her life in his hands to unwrap her.
Just when the suffocating wait reached its breaking point, footsteps echoed from outside—steady, powerful, and drawing closer.
Rough fingers traced her cheek.
Beneath the blindfold, Elizabeth's eyelids trembled uncontrollably.
She felt the silk ribbons that the woman had tied on her being pulled loose.
""Have you had sex?"?" The owner of that hand asked.
Jacob's voice was deep and rough, his Italian accent lending it a gravelly edge that matched the texture of his calloused fingers.
"Mr. Smith, I've had a child."
Elizabeth answered with a tremor in her voice, clenching her thighs together—Jacob's fingers had already mapped every inch of her body and were now attempting to breach her entrance.
She didn't dare lie to him. This wasn't something she could hide, and she doubted that Jacob didn't already know.
He showed zero surprise.
Jacob's only sexual experience had been unpleasant—he'd been drunk, remembered nothing, and even suspected he'd been drugged.
But from that night on, he'd retained a hazy memory of that intense pleasure. Yet in subsequent encounters with strippers, prostitutes, even virgins, he'd discovered he had absolutely no interest in them.
That was the polite version. The truth Jacob acknowledged coldly: his cock wouldn't get hard. For a man, that was the ultimate humiliation, so he hid behind the excuse that he simply didn't like women.
But he couldn't fool his father. Poor Gray Smith had expressed his hope that Jacob would marry this Elizabeth Windsor woman. Jacob had refused outright, of course. But last week, Gray had died.
The marriage had become Gray's dying wish.
Jacob decided to honor it.
He'd marry her. Nothing more. She shouldn't expect anything else.
Jacob's fingers thrust roughly into the woman's entrance, his gaze cold and clinical as he watched her reaction.
Elizabeth cried out. His fingers were thick, and without any foreplay, they'd penetrated her dry channel.
Pain wracked her entire body, unwanted memories of past sexual trauma flooding back. She nearly bit through her lip trying not to flinch away from his invasion.
But it didn't stop there. Her slender frame was yanked forward with terrifying ease. The sound of a zipper, then a hand gripped her throat, pushing her head downward.
In her previous life, Henry and Vivian had performed this act in front of her constantly. Elizabeth understood what Jacob wanted.
She'd already come this far—did she have any way back? And in front of this man whose power bordered on savagery, she had no right to refuse at all.
She tried to breathe deeply. Didn't dare look at that intimidating thing. Instead, she lifted her eyes to his, then slowly, incrementally, opened her mouth and tried to take his cock inside.
At least there was no disgusting taste. It's salty and very hard.
Elizabeth's mouth stretched full, but she could only take half of him. She started mimicking what she'd seen Vivian do—using her tongue to swirl around his shaft, sucking, swallowing, bobbing.
From clumsy to competent, the series of movements made Jacob shudder with pleasure, his male instinct making him unconsciously thrust his hips, fucking her mouth.
At the same time, the fury inside Jacob burned hotter.
He'd already learned exactly what kind of woman his unwanted fiancée was.