Possessed By The Mogul's Dark Will

I was his possession. The entire world knew that Jackson Walters, the ruthless tech mogul, had destroyed my life to claim me.

Then he brought home his new intern, Kaila, and sat me down.

"I've decided," he said casually, "I want you both."

When I fought back, he dragged me to a remote warehouse to teach me a lesson. My parents were bound and gagged, suspended by ropes over a massive, grumbling wood chipper.

He gave me ten seconds to accept Kaila, or he'd give the signal. "I agree!" I screamed in surrender. But it was too late. A cruel smile touched his lips as he dropped his hand. I heard a sickening crack, followed by a final, soul-shattering shriek that was abruptly silenced.

The horror of it all killed me. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back in his bed. The date on my phone was the day he brought Kaila home. This time, I wouldn't fight him. I would be his perfect, obedient wife. And while he was distracted, I would fake my own death and disappear forever.

Chapter 1

Allyson Mccray POV:

I was his possession. It wasn't a secret. The entire world knew that Jackson Walters, the ruthless tech mogul with a god complex, had claimed me. He hadn't asked. He had taken.

It had been years ago. I was an art gallery curator, talented and happy, with a life that was mine. I had a boyfriend, a sweet, kind man named Mark who planned our future in a small apartment filled with secondhand books and laughter. Then Jackson saw me.

He decided he wanted me, and what Jackson Walters wants, he gets. He used his immense wealth like a wrecking ball, systematically destroying my life until all I had left was him. Mark's small architecture firm was driven into bankruptcy by a series of engineered disasters. My gallery lost its funding overnight. My landlord mysteriously terminated my lease. One by one, the pillars of my world crumbled, and in the dust stood Jackson, holding out his hand. It wasn't an offer; it was a demand.

He moved me into his gilded cage, a sprawling penthouse overlooking the city, a monument to his power and my captivity. The first year was a blur of tears and resistance. I fought him at every turn. His touch felt like a brand, his presence suffocating. He was relentless, a force of nature I couldn't escape. His nights were filled with a brutal, possessive claiming of my body, leaving me exhausted and hollowed out.

There was a time I hated him so much I grabbed a fruit knife from the kitchen counter, my hand shaking as I pointed it at his heart. He had just returned from a hostile takeover, his suit still smelling of victory and power. He didn't even flinch. He simply walked toward me, his eyes dark and unreadable, until the tip of the knife pressed against his expensive shirt.

"Do it, Allyson," he