UNTIL YOU’RE MINE

## Chapter One – The Jolt

The coffee shop seemed way too bright for the terrible morning I was enduring. Seriously, fluorescent lights should be illegal before noon.

The espresso machine buzzed like an angry hornet, the air hung thick with the smell of intensely roasted coffee beans, and everyone around me seemed to be laughing and chatting – generally acting like mature people. Meanwhile, my nerves were shot. I’d slept less than four hours thanks to a neighbour’s party that had, at some point, involved karaoke. Plus, my rent was overdue, and my ever-so-lovely landlord had slid another one of his charming reminders under my door that morning. That little yellow slip was folded in half, which basically translated to: “Pay up, or find a new cardboard box to live in.”

So, yeah, sunshine, caffeine, and latte art weren’t exactly my thing at that moment. I swear if one more person ordered a macchiato with a swan design, I was going to lose it.

I tugged at my apron, the bow already coming undone, and forced a smile that would hopefully pass muster. “Welcome to Rowe’s!” I chirped to the next customer, trying to sound enthusiastic. Inside, my soul was staging a full-blown rebellion. Work was tough, and dealing with my rent crisis and all the customers was the perfect fuel for my mental breakdown, but I managed to hold on to every bit of willpower that I had.

Then I finally looked up, which was the beginning of a very interesting turn of events.

I forgot what I was doing. My tongue suddenly felt like 10 pounds of cotton. My brain went blank.

The man standing in front of me was completely out of place. He looked out of place. I can't put my finger on it, but he looked like he came from another planet.

He was tall. Seriously, a model or a basketball player is tall. His shoulders were broad, and he wore a sharp black suit that looked custom-made. He had the kind of face artists would kill to sculpt: a sharp, defined jaw, high cheekbones that could cut glass, and lips that were...well, let's just say they looked like trouble. And his eyes?! Those eyes stole the show. They were a pale grey, almost white, like looking into a glacier. Cold. Intense. Beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.

I forgot to breathe for a second there. Maybe even two.

He just stood there, his face blank, as I fought to regain my senses. He was examining everything and made me feel like an exhibit at the museum.

“Uh—what can I get for you?” My voice cracked like I was going through puberty again, and I mentally face-palmed myself because I sounded like an awkward teenager instead of a somewhat functioning twenty-four-year-old.

His eyes flicked down to my name tag on my chest. Slowly. Way too slowly. Like he was doing it on purpose.

“Charisse.” He said my name like he was tasting expensive wine. Smooth. Deep. Something about it tickled my spine.

My fingers gripped the counter tightly. I hadn’t even introduced myself. How did he know my name? It was probably written on the name tag, but the way he figured it out made me feel funny.

I swallowed, pasted on my most professional smile, and hoped it reached my eyes. Yes, that’s me. So, uh… what would you like to order?”

“Black coffee.” His voice had an odd weight to it. Not a request. It was like an order, but disguised.

I nodded a bit too quickly, punched it into the register, and rushed to the coffee machine. My heart was pounding as I poured the drink, super aware of his eyes on me the whole time. He wasn’t just glancing. He was staring. It felt strange and very intense.

It felt like he was trying to burn every detail of my face into his memory.

I slid the cup across the counter. “That’ll be…”

“Keep it,” he said, cutting me off and throwing a hundred-dollar bill on the counter.

I stopped. “Sir, that’s way too much. The coffee didn't even cost $5!

“Keep it.” This time, his voice was sharper, and his eyes pinned me. It was like he would kill me if I disobeyed.

I didn’t like being pushed around, even when it involved crazy generosity. “It’s just a coffee, not a down payment on a house.

His lips tilted up a tiny bit, but there was no humour there. It was a dark smile that said he liked my defiance.

“Consider it… an introduction.”

Before I could say anything, he swiped the coffee and left. Just like that.

I stared after him, confused and a bit off-balance.

An introduction? What did he have planned?

---

By the time my shift was done, I’d talked myself into believing he was just a weird rich guy doing whatever he wanted. I bet he was a lawyer from near the office buildings. A CEO running late to a meeting, maybe. Someone I’d probably never see again.

But when I stepped outside into the evening, the city sounds all around me, there he was.

He was leaning against a fancy black car parked by the curb.

Waiting.

For me.

I stopped, my heart jumping.

He didn’t move at first, just watched me. Like a snake letting its meal know that there would be no running away. Then, he stepped away from the car and walked toward me.

Every step was controlled. I could tell that he was a dangerous guy.

“Charisse,” he said to me, like we were super close.

I held my bag tighter. “Are you… following me?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No sorry. Just that one word, like it was nothing.

My heart rate went up. “That’s… crazy.”

His lips curved a little, his eyes locked on mine. “What’s crazy is hiding what I want.”

I took a breath.

He closed the space between us a bit, and I felt the city noise just get quieter. I forgot about everything around me.

“You don’t even know me,” I told him.

“Not yet.” His voice was softer now, close to my ear. “But I will. I always get what I want, Charisse.”

The way he said it wasn’t a brag or a threat. It was a promise.

I should have run. I should have walked away.

But I just stood there, looking at him, feeling a strange shiver down my back – it wasn’t fear. It was something else.

---

That night, in my tiny apartment, I couldn’t sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured him.

The suit. The eyes. The way he said my name.

I realised something with a sick feeling in my stomach.

It wasn’t random.

Lucian Blackwell didn’t just walk into my coffee shop.

He picked me.

And men like him don’t stop until they get what they want.