Page 77 of Serpent King's Prisoner

The tendrils of a hanging fern brushed my cheek as I paused at the top of the staircase, and I couldn’t help but marvel at its perfection. Nathan had a way with things—things that weren’t me. His control was evident in the neat rows of potted plants that thrived under his care, their leaves glossy and vibrant. It was a control he applied to everything, a meticulous precision that bordered on obsessive. Except, it seemed, when it came to whatever this twisted dance was between us. My stomach churned with the thought, a raw edge of fear mingling with an adrenaline-fueled curiosity.

Maybe I was just one of his orchids–a kept flower, confined to his apartment, pruned and brutalized when necessary.

I descended the stairs, the sound of my steps muffled by the plush carpet, drawn forward by the scent of fresh produce and something richer, more earthy. It was like walking into another world each time I entered the kitchen—a place where the man known as The Serpent’s Fang transformed into someone unrecognizable. He stood there, surrounded by the spoils of a grocery run, his t-shirt clinging to him in a way that highlighted the coiled dragon tattoo disappearing into the waistband of his sweats.

There, among the fruits and vegetables sprawled across the island, sat a small, velvet jewelry box that seemed out of place with the domestic scene. Nathan noticed my gaze fixed on it and, without a word, he reached for the box. The click of it opening echoed slightly in the spacious room, and inside nestled a gold necklace, the filigree disc pendant catching the light with a soft gleam.

“Like it?” he asked, his voice holding that familiar edge that both challenged and beckoned.

I nodded, unable to find words, my thoughts a jumble of confusion and an unexpected surge of longing.

He took the necklace out, and I felt him move close behind me. The warmth of his body contrasted with the cool metal as he placed it around my neck. “You know,” I joked, trying to keep the mood light, “I’m more of a silver girl.”

“That’s a shame. Gold looks great with your coloring,” he said softly.

“You think so?”

Nathan leaned in, his breath tickling my ear. “Yes. But this isn’t about what you prefer, Abby. This is a collar. You take it off, I’ll know.” There was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone.

“Would’ve preferred a bracelet,” I quipped, feigning indifference while my heart raced at the implication of his words.

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen you handle handcuffs. They don’t seem to hold you well.” His chuckle was low and menacing, but I couldn’t deny the flutter in my stomach. Sweetheart? What the fuck?

What was he doing? Why did I like it so much?

Turning my attention to the groceries, I busied myself with organizing them. My fingers brushed over various shapes and textures—the ridged edges of dried noodles, the soft waxiness of cheese blocks. It was an attempt to ground myself, to remember who I was in this whole fucking thing.

“Thinking of making something?” Nathan’s voice was casual, but his eyes never left me, tracking every movement like a hawk.

“Maybe,” I responded, allowing myself a small grin. “How do you feel about bolognese?”

His gaze darkened—whether with hunger for food or something more primal, I couldn’t tell. But in that moment, with the weight of the gold resting against my skin and the promise of a shared meal between us, everything seemed…normal. Sweet, almost. Like we were on our third date.

“Sounds perfect,” he said finally, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. “Let’s see if you can really cook.”

“Hey,” I said. “That’s rich coming from you.”

He smirked. “I might be a bad cook, but I have a refined palate,” he said as I busied myself getting the ingredients ready.

“Just let me cook.”

He slid onto one of the tall stools at the island, his face bathed in warm anticipation. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

Such a mundane statement. Everything seemed so normal. I tried to ignore how my heart was racing as he stared at me…but this was working.

Nathan might have given me a collar, but it was becoming increasingly unclear who was truly in control.

Chapter Thirty-Six: Nathan

The warmth creeping into my chest was a stranger to me.

It spread—a slow burn without flames, unexpected and unsettling in its gentleness. It defied the cold reputation I had fostered like a shield. Warm and fuzzy? That wasn’t Nathan Zhou’s style. But here, in the quiet of my kitchen, with the evening painting shadows on the walls, the foreign sensation curled itself around my heart with an ease that rattled me.

I leaned against the kitchen island, arms folded, a silent observer in my own domain. The house felt different with her presence—alive in a way it hadn’t been for god knows how long. I couldn’t remember the last time I invited a woman over, not since...

Well, it didn’t matter. Other Serpents were the only usual guests, our meetings steeped in strategy and danger, far from domestic tranquility.

Abby moved around the kitchen with a grace that belied her true nature. I watched as she chopped vegetables, each slice a soft symphony of sound against the wooden board. The sizzle as she tossed them into the pan was the only thing breaking the silence between us—a silence filled with questions left unspoken.

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