Chapter 59 – Princess Treatment

Margot’s POV

The click of the cell door behind us echoed like a warning shot. Steel locking steel. Another day down, another night to survive.

I stood awkwardly in the center of the room, my stomach thankfully no longer growling, but my cheek still burning beneath the surface.

Coban stood by the door, his presence always managing to suck the air from a space in mere seconds, arms folded tightly across his chest, ink rippling over each and every tense muscle.

His eyes didn’t leave me as I turned to face him.

“Now then,” he drawled slowly, like a verdict being passed. “Let’s discuss what happened earlier, since we’re finally alone and you’ve been fed.”

I shifted from foot to foot, already anticipating the storm that was coming. I knew it had been too good to be true, thinking he would actually let things slide.

My fingers itched to fidget. My throat dried instantly. Still, I tried to play it cool; key word being ‘tried.’

“The incident in the cafeteria, or…?” I questioned, as though I were unsure.

The words barely left my mouth when he clicked his tongue—a sharp, disapproving sound that made my heart trip in my chest.

“No,” he said flatly. “You know exactly what incident I mean. Now remove that jumper for me.”

I blinked hard.

My jaw fell slack, and my mouth opened in horror at what I’d just heard him say.

“W-what?” I blurted out, the word feeling ridiculous the second it left me.

Because I knew he meant it. His face didn’t twitch. His expression didn’t flinch. He just nodded slowly, tilting his head slightly as if testing whether I’d dare to disobey him.

“Remove it. Now, Bella. You didn’t hesitate earlier, did you?” He deadpanned, as I swallowed hard.

My breath stuttered in my chest. The heat in my face prickled hotter.

I could feel the burn of his gaze already tracing beneath the fabric like ghostly fingers.

The lump in my throat swelled painfully as I reached down, trembling, hesitant at first as my hands met the bottom hem of the sweatshirt. I half-expected him to laugh, to mock, to say, “Just kidding,” and berate me for being so easy to command.

But he didn’t.

He just watched me.

Cold. Focused. Patient in a terrifying kind of way.

“You really thought you were off the hook, didn’t you?” he murmured darkly, amused.

My fingers closed around the fleece. One tug. Another. I peeled the material over my head, my skin goose-pimpling in the cooler air of the cell, my thoughts a spiraling mess of shame and fear.

Why was I always so quick to do anything he tells me?

Maybe because I knew how quickly his temper could peak? Maybe because I knew that above all else, he was a dangerous man? Or maybe… just maybe… something about it all actually excited me.

The soft white vest I thought I’d worn earlier was, of course, still missing, as I glanced down once again just to double-check.

There I stood—nothing but my pale, trembling frame and the snug material of the sports bra I had stupidly exposed to the entire gym of criminals earlier.

It hugged my ribs, my cleavage involuntarily pushed upwards in a way that I now regretted more than anything.

It made me look needy, as though I were one of those desperate girls who only came here to hook up with an inmate.

The jumper instantly became a makeshift shield in my hands. I tried to cover myself with it instinctively.

But Coban stepped forward.

“Give it.”

His palm extended, flat, firm, like a demand.

I hesitated for a heartbeat too long, cursing myself even as I gave in. I placed the balled-up sweatshirt into his hand and watched helplessly as he tossed it casually across the room like it was trash.

He stepped back slowly.

His eyes roamed me from top to toe, nothing subtle about the way he inspected me like a soldier checking for weaknesses.

“Far too much skin for a prison full of dangerous men, don’t you think?” he said, his voice lower now, rougher. “Your tits are pretty much hitting your chin in that, Bella.”

The humiliation punched me square in the gut.

I hugged my arms over my chest, blinking rapidly, trying to force the tears back down. I wasn’t going to cry over a top. Not now. Not in front of him.

“I told you, I thought I had the white vest on underneath,” I said, voice small but defensive. “I was tired when I got dressed. It was a mistake.”

He smirked darkly at that.

“Tired? Even after our little sleep-in and cuddle?” My stomach flipped at his words.

“You really want the princess treatment in here, don’t you? Breakfast in bed, satin sheets, maybe a guard escort to tuck you in? Or maybe…” His tone shifted then, circling me slowly now like a shark in shallow water, “…maybe it’s something else that you want.”

I swallowed hard, tracking him only with my ears now as he stepped behind me, just out of sight.

“What do you mean?” I asked, not liking the sound of that at all.

But he only chuckled behind me—a low, mocking kind of sound that made the hairs on my neck rise.

“Maybe it’s not the princess treatment you want after all…” he said, voice dipping into something darker, rougher. “Maybe you like seeing my dangerous side.”

The breath in my chest caught sharply.

“You want punished for misbehaving, Bella, hmm?” he whispered near the back of my neck.

I didn’t know what to say, what to do. My body betrayed me, frozen in place, my mind racing to figure out if he was just toying with me or if this was about to turn into something more unhinged.

Coban had a way of pushing everything too far… of blurring the lines between menace and attention, protection and possession.

And yet, my body… that traitorous body… it didn’t move away.

The chill on my bare skin, the thrum of adrenaline in my bloodstream, the smell of him—soap, sweat, and something darker—clouded my thoughts completely.

“You don’t even realize how lucky you are,” he muttered, just barely audible. “You think any other inmate here would’ve slapped a bitch across the cafeteria for hitting their woman?”

My voice cracked as I whispered, “You didn’t have to hit her like that.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Then, slowly, he stepped in front of me again—his expression unreadable, eyes burning into mine.

“No. I didn’t,” he said flatly. “But I did it anyway because you’re mine.”

His words sank deep. Heavy. Final.

Mine.

He didn’t touch me.

He didn’t raise his voice.

But the weight of his stare, the gravity of those words, landed like iron shackles around my wrists.

“For as long as you’re in here, you’re mine entirely. Body included!”

And I knew right then—whatever this was between us, it wasn’t simple anymore.