Page 36 of The Collector
Destiny stretched her legs out, getting comfortable. "Secondly, if you want to make money outside of the arranged marriage arena, stay away from letting someone claim you. It really keeps your opportunities for earning from flowing. There are rules members must abide by when it comes to a claimed performer. The most important thing is that they have to agree to let you spend time with anyone besides themselves. It kind of locks youdown to what only they can provide you with financially. Most of these people are so narcissistic they won’t share."
"What exactly does being claimed mean?" Mynx asked.
"It means that mind, body, and soul you belong to the person who claims you. That they control your life in its entirety. It doesn't happen here very often. Most people don't come here looking for love. Make sure you want it before you agree. Once you say yes, you own that choice. Make sure you trust them. Because once you’re claimed, you belong to them—and there’s no undoing that."
The binder lay open in her lap, but Mynx barely saw the pages. Her eyes skimmed names, affiliations, notes in tight handwriting—but her mind snagged on Destiny’s words. Mind, body, soul. Claimed like territory. Like property. To be broken at will.
She traced a finger down the margin of a man’s profile picture—young, handsome, a smirk frozen in the photo. Beneath it, a single line: Known for breaking what he cannot keep.
Her stomach turned.
Destiny’s voice echoed in her head.Women like you and me are rare here.That wasn’t reassurance—it was a warning wrapped in pretty words. Mynx wasn’t just entering a world of power and danger. She was entering a system designed to consume her, one choice at a time.
She flipped another page. A woman’s face stared back—eyes hollow, smile brittle.Claimed.The word was stamped beside her name in red.From the look on her face the woman seemed to regret her choice.
Mynx swallowed hard. She could memorize every name, every face, every rule. But none of it would matter if she forgot herself.
She closed the binder slowly, spine creaking like a door shutting behind her. “I came here to survive, not to be claimed,”she whispered. The words trembled in her mouth, but she forced them out anyway—like armor she wasn’t sure would hold.
She didn’t look at Destiny when she said it. Didn’t need to. The truth wasn’t for her—it was for herself. A reminder. A line she wasn’t ready to cross, even if part of her already had.
Destiny didn’t respond. She just watched, glass raised, as if to say:We’ll see.
If Mynx remembered correctly, the gym should be down this hall, right at the atrium, and the second door on the left. She easily pushed open a door, searching the wall for a light switch. It blinked on before she could locate it; it must be motion-activated. She eyed the treadmill longingly after all that greasy pizza; she felt weighed down. She desperately needed a workout. She assumed she would drift off into a comfort food-induced sleep after eating, but she had been wrong.
Instead, she was still wide awake, her body buzzing with too much nervous energy. The room was nearly empty, except for an array of expensive workout machines—each polished, high-end piece of equipment that most people could only dream of owning—waiting to be used.
Pushing in her earbuds, she walked over to the complicated treadmill across the room. Punching buttons until she found the desperately needed fat-burning workout she wanted. The belt hummed to life, sluggish at first but picking up speed.
The mirrored wall in front of her reflected a version of herself she barely recognized. Her sandy blonde ponytail bounced with each stride, the familiar, almost automatic movement soothing. However, the dark circles under her eyes betrayed herexhaustion, quietly confessing that she was tired and neglecting the care her body usually received.
She maintained strict discipline over her health.. Vitamins, clean eating, and daily workouts were second nature to her—routine pieces that kept her feeling sane even when everything else spun out of control. Unlike some women, Mynx didn’t coast on genetics—she earned her figure. She trained hard, ate clean, and sculpted every curve with intention and grit. Each bead of sweat was proof of the fight to maintain control over herself when so much else in her life remained uncertain.
Besides her dreams, workouts seemed to be the only time the stress of life seemed to fade away. It didn't take long for her to fall into a paced rhythm, syncing the steady cadence of her feet with the speed of the belt. Death by Romy's "Fuck It" began to play; it suited her mood perfectly. She lost herself in the moment's motion, the music. Closing her eyes, she let her worries fade away with the beat of the music.
When she opened them again, Raven was there—watching her like a hungry wolf surveying his prey. His assessing gaze slid down her body like he was ready to devour her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she watched him walk into the room. Her heart felt out of sync at the delicious sight of the dangerous man. She was out of control. He hit her system like a shot of adrenaline—fast, hot, impossible to ignore.
I want more. I want so much more.
Raven was shirtless and wearing loose gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He held a water bottle in one hand while the other hung casually at his side. His dark, magnetic eyes locked to hers as if he was waiting for her reaction to his presence, before he began his own workout.
Fuck. I want to know what it feels like to be the prey—devoured by him, undone by every inch of that chiseled body pressed hard against mine. I want to come apart for him. Iwant to beg for more, even when I’m already trembling from too much.
She closed her now slack jaw, swallowing hard while she contemplated it. Doing her best to ignore Raven's presence. This isn’t working. When she glanced up in the mirror a second time, her eyes met his, and she felt like she might fall off the treadmill.
It was 2 a.m. What the hell was Raven doing here? Didn’t he have better things to do than haunt her with that body—cut like sin?
Her treadmill slowed, the countdown ticking away the final minute of her cool-down. Despite the gradual ease in pace, her muscles were still tight, and her mind was still restless.
Didn’t he have a club to run? A life to live? Any normal person would be asleep. But Raven wasn’t normal. And apparently, neither was she—because instead of kicking him out, she was wondering what it would feel like to let him touch her again.
Maybe the elliptical machine would help shake off the lingering tension.
She wiped a cool towel across her slick face, then moved toward the small refrigerator on the counter. Pulling out a chilled bottle, she took a long drink. The cool water soothed her parched throat. A second sip followed, deep and deliberate, hoping to cool her core.
Is it the workout that has me thirsty, or is it the way he just undressed me with his eyes?
Mynx contemplated the question as movement flickered in her peripheral vision. Raven spoke, but the steady pulse of her music drowned his voice. His lips moved with purpose, eyes locked on hers, waiting. He didn’t break stride, didn’t slow his workout—just kept watching her like he expected her to hear him anyway.
