Chapter 2: Chains and Challenges

The riding crop in my grip was lined with metal studs, cold and familiar. I’d broken wild mustangs with it out on the ranch west of town. Now, it felt almost poetic to use it here, in the guts of government.

I traced it along the prisoner’s chest, scraping over his Adam’s apple. He flinched, but his eyes stayed locked on mine, shadows slicing across his muscles as he breathed. The chain at his neck trembled with each inhale.

Finally, I pressed the crop to his jaw, forcing his gaze up to meet mine.

His face looked carved from courthouse stone—hard, unforgiving. His lips curled, but his eyes burned like embers in a dying fire.

I had to admit, Marcus Hayes was the wildest of the lot. Even shackled, he’d managed to bite guards, earning the muzzle. I pictured the chaos—boots thumping, shouts bouncing off cement. He’d been infamous before, but now his legend had literal teeth.

Under the crop, Marcus shuddered. Not with fear—this was a man who met pain head-on. I watched the pulse in his throat, daring it to race.

His bloodshot, feral eyes locked on me. The challenge was silent but sharp: Do you dare take off my muzzle, Governor’s daughter?

His muscles bulged, the chains rattling—metal on metal, warning and promise.

He even managed a mocking, dangerous smile, eyes saying, I could bite through your pretty throat any second.

Threats radiated off him, as real as the bruises blooming under his collarbone.

As the acting head of the family, nobody defied me—least of all a chained prisoner.

I’d learned early how to stare down a room full of sharks. Now, adrenaline sharpened my senses. There was no backing down.

I raised my wrist, merciless.

The crop cracked across his chest, echoing off cinderblock. A few guards shuffled, uneasy.

Marcus’s chest heaved, but he didn’t cry out or beg—he just met my gaze, wild and unbroken.

Crimson blood trickled down his golden-tan chest, running deeper along his abs, vivid against his skin. For a second, I envied the honesty of that pain—raw, real, impossible to fake.

I narrowed my eyes, suddenly feeling a little thirsty. My pulse thudded in my ears. Was it fear or thrill? I couldn’t tell—and didn’t want to. He awakened my urge to conquer. Something in his defiance stoked the part of me that hated being told what I couldn’t have.

This crop broke stallions; it could break you too.

Just as I raised my hand again, more comments buzzed through my mind:

[Girl, you’re speedrunning the villain route. Digging your own grave in record time.]

[Villain queen, you’re toast. He’s never gonna forgive you. Get ready for the revenge arc.]

[Why pick the hottest fallen prince as your chew toy? Maybe try some love therapy, like your softie sister. At least then you might keep your head.]

Their voices kept coming—everyone had a script for how I should fail. If only life handed out spoilers as easily as hot takes.

I lowered the crop, cold and thoughtful, eyeing Marcus—bloodied, panting through the muzzle.

Desert prince, male lead, even in chains—he wore destiny like a crown.

Marcus’s sharp brows lifted, his look pure venom. If looks could kill, I’d be a memory.

The comments kept rolling:

[Thank god, here comes the sweet little heroine! She’ll save him, patch him up.]

[No worries, once the villain queen leaves, our girl will fix him. Plot armor, activate.]

[Villain queen’s just a speed bump—her pain brings the leads together.]

[When Marcus escapes, he’ll come back with thirty thousand men and erase your whole family. Except for the sweet baby heroine—she gets to be his queen.]

My jaw clenched. It was like everyone wanted me to lose—wanted me to be the monster in someone else’s fairytale.

Before I could react—

My half-sister Lillian burst into the basement, shoving past the guards. The metal door slammed, and the sharp scent of her fear hit me. She was all soft edges, big eyes—a living contrast to my sharpness.

Seeing Marcus, chained and bleeding, her nose turned red and she sobbed, voice cracking:

"Please, just stop! He’s had enough, okay?"

Her voice trembled, carrying just enough courage to sound foolish, just enough pain to make the guards look away. Her eyes glistened, jaw set like she was daring me to hit her instead.

"If you want to take it out on someone, take it out on me instead."

She stood between us, fists clenched, like she was ready to take a punch for him.