The Dons Captive

Emily Taylor wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, her hands toughened from years of hard work, and adjusted the strap of her woven basket. The rich scent of fried dumplings and spicy dishes mingled with the metallic tang of hot dust and the occasional stench of refuse, creating a potent cocktail that seemed to cling to her skin.

"Fresh mangoes! Sweet as honey!" she called out, her voice carrying over the din as she held up a perfectly ripe fruit. Her throat burned from hours of shouting, but she couldn't stop-not when Sofia's dinner depended on today's sales.

The crowd ebbed and flowed, faces blurring together in a sea of indifference, until a man's deep baritone voice sliced through the noise like a knife.

"You've got a knack for this."

Emily turned sharply, clutching her basket. Her eyes locked onto a tall figure standing a few paces away. Ethan Thompson. His sharp features seemed carved from stone, with piercing blue eyes that glinted in the sunlight. Dressed in a crisp white shirt and tailored slacks, he looked wildly out of place in the grimy marketplace. Yet, he moved with an air of authority that parted the crowd around him like water.

"What do you want?" Emily asked suspiciously. She had seen men like him before-wealthy, arrogant, and dangerous in ways that weren't always obvious.

Ethan smiled, tilting his head as if studying her. "Just admiring your... persistence." His voice was smooth, disarming, but there was a weight to his words that made her chest tighten. "You stand out here. Fierce. Determined. I admire that."

Emily's heart thudded against her ribs. She didn't trust compliments, especially not from men who looked like they had never wanted for anything. She shifted her weight and glanced at the mangoes, pretending to adjust them.

"If you're not buying, you're wasting my time," she said, her tone clipped.

Ethan's smile widened, but there was something predatory in his gaze. He stepped closer, close enough for her to catch a faint whiff of his refreshing scent-woody, expensive, and intoxicating. "And if I'm offering more than mangoes?"

Her grip on the basket tightened. "I don't need handouts."

"I wasn't suggesting one," he replied smoothly. His eyes flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes. "I'm hosting a private event tonight. Come have a drink with me."

Emily's breath hitched. "Why?"

"Curiosity," he said simply. "Maybe I want to know what drives someone like you. Someone who fights so hard."

A knot formed in her stomach. It was tempting-dangerously so-but her instincts screamed at her to walk away. "I don't think so."

Before she could move, his hand brushed hers lightly, sending an unexpected shock through her. "Think about it. You deserve a break, don't you?"

The words hung in the air as he walked away, leaving her standing in the sweltering sun with a racing heart.

The sun had set by the time Emily returned home, her basket lighter but her body heavy with exhaustion. The cramped apartment she shared with Sofia smelled faintly of damp plaster and yesterday's stew. Sofia, all of nine years old, ran up to her, her face lighting up with joy.

"Did you sell a lot today?" Sofia asked eagerly, her small hands clutching Emily's skirt.

Emily forced a smile and ruffled her sister's hair. "Enough to keep us going," she said, though her mind was far from the market. Ethan's words played over and over like a song she couldn't shake.

She handed Sofia a piece of candy she had saved from a vendor's stall. The little girl squealed with delight and skipped off to her corner of the room. Watching her, Emily felt an intense feeling of guilt. She worked tirelessly to provide for Sofia, but some nights, the weight of their survival felt unbearable.