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The Violence of Want Chapter 1: Changing Ownership

Married for Power. Guarded by Desire. Claimed by all

Sloane is the only daughter of the Hawthorne family, her purpose in life to further their reach through a marriage alliance. To obey.

Her marriage to Chan is built on power, not romance; a strategic alliance meant to keep her safe in a world where safety could never be guaranteed.

Chan rules with restraint and control, watching from the shadows instead of reaching for what he wants Hyunjin, his most trusted enforcer, is assigned as her personal bodyguard - close enough to feel every boundary blur Felix sees everything from behind screens and security feeds, quietly anchoring while understanding her better than he should Minho, the head of Chan's rival gang, becomes entangled despite every reason not to - his presence dangerous, magnetic, and impossible to ignore

As threats escalate and secrets surface, Sloane must discover the truth. Blaze her own path. Make her own choices.

This is Sloane claiming control in a world that never offered her any; and discovering what it means to be wanted, protected, and loved by men who would burn everything down for her. (EVENTUAL SMUT, VIOLENCE, DEATH, MANIPULATION, LEE KNOW WITH KNIVES SEXUALLY, LEE KNOW WITH KNIVES NON-SEXUALLY, WHY CHOOSE, MAFIA BOSS CHAN, BODYGUARD HYUNJIN, TECH GENIUS FELIX)

Sloane

Sloane had known her purpose for her entire life. From as far back as she can remember, even as a child; the rules and ideals were drilled into her. The expectations. The weight of her family name. Hawthorne. Not a scary name; really only intimidating because of their reputation. Her ancestors made the word what it was today generations ago. Old money. Sloane Hawthorne, soon to be Blackwood. Hawthorne and Blackwood. It sounded like a law firm. It likely would be, some day. They had their hands in so many industries and it didn’t seem like they would get less greedy as time went on. And merging with the Blackwood family was going to make them nearly all-powerful. It was an honor to be able to elevate her family like this, simply by existing. Her duty. She should be excited. Proud. Instead, she felt anger. Or a cold numbness. Given her upbringing, she’d had plenty of time to get used to the idea that she was a living, breathing bargaining chip. Yet she still sometimes railed against the idea. She couldn’t help it. The rest of her family had perfected the aloof air of superiority their brand idealized. She never quite fully kicked her fire out the door.

She stares at herself, now, gaze passive. There is her face. It looks the same as always. She is beautiful, of course. Bred to be. She had to be; someone whose only purpose in life is marriage didn’t have much of a choice. Her eyes are large and a bright blue that often startled people when they first saw her, her nose straight and dainty, her lips full and pouty. There is her hair. She can’t help her smirk as she takes that in. One of the things she was known for was her tresses of liquid gold. She did have to admit that her natural hair color was lovely; she was blessed. But why should he be? In a fit of last minute rebellion, she’d dyed her trademark hair. It was the only possible thing she had any control over at this point. It was meant to be a mousy, boring brown, but she’d never dyed it before and the lighter strands sucked up the darkness so intensely that the brown was nearly black. She likes it all the more that way. Really, it looks rather good. It makes her eyes pop even more. Her father would be furious, but there was nothing he could do at this stage. Not on the day of her wedding. She wouldn’t belong to him anymore by this time tomorrow. No, she would belong to Bang Chan Blackwood. Her lip curls in the mirror as she thinks his name. Arrogant prick. She has one chance to stand up to him; to make it so that she wouldn’t continue to be bulldozed for the rest of her life. She is only 29, so she has a lot left, and she refuses to spend it like a doll that waited around to get chosen to play with and put back on the shelf, useless, at all other times.

She pats her fingertip along her lashline, fixing her already perfect makeup, then her eyes drift down to take in her dress. In another world, this could have been her dream dress. Though, she doubts it. Even for the “princess” of a powerful, old-money family who could admit that she enjoyed the title and perks most of the time, this dress was too much. It was meant to make her look innocent and classic. That’s what she was told. But she knows what it really was meant for. She is to be a decoration. She looks like a cake. The skirt is so massive that she can’t sit down easily and it takes up a ton of room around her. The bodice is tight, pulling her waist in painfully and sculpting around her breasts to show them off but in the most demure way possible. The lace sleeves are tight and restricting. All she could do was stand there. She couldn’t dance, she couldn’t eat, she could hardly sit. And she certainly couldn’t run away. A cage. That’s what this dress was. The veil is just as dramatic and her shoes alone cost nearly an entire house payment for a regular household. A golden cage.

She drips with mostly understated diamonds and crystals, though one of the worst culprits rests on her left ring finger. She’d been given the ring exactly six months ago, when the deal between her father and Chan had been finalized. He hadn’t even bothered to give it to her himself; he’d sent his right-hand man to deliver it. Felix had been kind enough, she supposed. He was a bit of an enigma. Hard to read. But the huge ring felt like a ticking time bomb. And her countdown was over. Her mother comes into the room, then, and gasps when she sees Sloane. Perhaps it is in awe at first, but it quickly becomes offense when she sees her daughter’s hair.

“Sloane, you were raised better than that,” is what she says, in her stiff, uppity tone. She’d always had it, even when addressing her own children.

“I won’t be your problem anymore very soon, mother,” Sloane gives her a sweet smile in the mirror.

“Let’s just go, shall we? We can’t be late. You can fix that later.”

Several people came in to aid her in moving and getting the dress out of the door. It was humiliating. But, she holds her head high. She will seem as if nothing is getting to her, no matter the cost. If someone shot her on her way to the church, she would simply smile her angelic smile and marry Chan anyway. She goes impassive as she’s handled; loaded into the expensive car and taken to the slaughterhouse - excuse her - church. Arranged like a doll before the grand entrance doors, she waits. There is no bridal party. It is a very exclusive and well-vetted attendance. Many people, yes, but Sloane didn’t have friends. Not for a long time now. Her father strides into the hallway in his best tux, looking irritatingly strong and handsome. She got her light features from him, and not a small amount of her beauty. He saw her and smiled, holding out his hands. She takes them dutifully and he kissed her cheeks. That was when he saw her hair.

“What is this?” he asks, lifting the edge of the veil a little. His icy blue eyes turned even colder.

“I thought he would like it, daddy,” she replies innocently.

He looks at her with a stony face. She wasn’t fooling him. But the public image was everything. And she also got her ability to stonewall professionally from him. He simply turns toward the doors beside her and waits in silence. It is a bit disappointing. She feels impassive as the music starts, the doors opening. One step at a time, that was how she would get through this. Get married, move in with him, get her bearings and learn as much as possible. Figure out a way to always stay steps ahead of him. Carve a life out for herself of her own choosing as much as she could in her circumstance; carve it right out of the flesh and bone of this man who wanted to own her. He stands at the front of the church, hands folded in front of him, and looks as impassive as she feels as she walks up the aisle. He flashes a charming, disarming grin as her father steps away from her to shake his hand and Sloane has to fight against another lip curl.

He turned an intense gaze on her, his eyes perhaps giving a flash at the unexpected color of her hair under the veil, but it was too quick for her to analyze. The ceremony was long; much too long. She stands ramrod straight, the perfect picture of a bride all through it. She vows to cherish him, to honor him, to respect and obey him; all of that bullshit and more. He promises similar things but on the possessor not possessed side, and then it is time for them to seal the deal. The kiss is nothing more than a business handshake to her. She feels nothing. She continues her reign as the perfect bride all day and all night; through the reception, through the conversations and congratulations of hundreds of people, half of whom likely wanted nothing more than to see her empire crumble. But she knows exactly what to do, what to say. She was born for this.

Even now, she is exhausted as she finally is allowed to leave. Ferried in a separate car from her husband, she and her belongings arrive at his mansion perfectly on time. She had been able to change, to her relief, into another ridiculous dress, but at least this one is human-sized and she is able to move in it. Beneath it, she wears a silk and lace contraption, meant to look both lewd and innocent. She is, after all, a virgin. She had tried, once, to not be. To have some semblance of control over her life. But the things that her father had done to that poor boy had successfully ensured she would never try again. So, she faces her wedding night like millions of women who came before her. As something to endure. She goes to exit the vehicle and Chan’s bodyguard is there, opening the door before she can even touch the handle. He stands politely, professionally, beside the open door as she gets out, extending a hand that she ignores.

He directs the driver and handful of guards to take her trunks to her room. Her room. She catches that. She holds a sigh in; it feel too familiar. Being kept pure still, just under a different authority. This marriage would clearly be symbolic; in name only. She isn’t sure why she feels slight disappointment at that thought - her plan was always to keep her distance from him, but that plan had been satisfying only when it was her own idea. Now, the choice was taken from her once again. Another cage. Another home where she was tolerated, not wanted. She steels herself. They would just see about that, wouldn’t they? She wouldn’t give up that easily. So the cage is the same, the key holder and view are different but that was it. This only meant that she had an advantage. She already knew the weak spots of her entrapment; knew how to convince her captors that she was docile. Steps ahead.

The room is nothing short of fit for a queen, a fact that did not surprise or particularly impress her. She impassively wanders through it, looking around. If she is being honest, she wanted to get this over with and lose herself in the oblivion of sleep as soon as possible. She wanted an early start; wanted to start getting her bearings and gathering information. Resisting the urge to remove her own dress for efficiency or to fidget, she sits primly on the end of the big bed and waits.

♤♤♤

Chan

Despite the fact that he’d spent the day at his own wedding, it did not feel like his wedding night. He had business to attend to, as always; there was always something. When he checks his watch, an hour had gone by from the last time he had looked and he silently curses. Having a wife was now another responsibility of his and he was not one to neglect his duties. Punctual. Efficient. Preemptive. That is his way. But he has let his night get off track and he knows he can’t make her wait any longer. He delegates anything else to Felix, who simply nods and continues whatever it is he was doing on his computer, silent. He was a steady presence; Chan could always count on Felix and always knew what to expect. He has Hyunjin wait at one end of the hallway as he strides toward the rooms he’d had made up for her; her own little wing. It is the least he could do. She is his responsibility now; she is under his roof, that was all. But it is enough.

She is beautiful, alright. He hadn’t been expecting her to have black hair, but he liked it. That is about as far as his observations went so far. She was quiet and professional all day. It was fine with him. This is a political match, after all. He personally didn’t care that she be a virgin, and had tried to negotiate that, but her father would not budge. He was too proud, too old-fashioned. Chan would’ve preferred she not be, in fact. They had to perform this symbolic act of ownership; proof to themselves and everyone else that the marriage was real and solidified. But he didn’t enjoy hurting women. Really, he didn’t enjoy hurting anyone. He hurt lots of people, sure, but it wasn’t for pleasure. Often, it made him feel nothing at all. This, however, he finds distasteful. She had been forced into this marriage, into being “pure” for him. He doesn’t want to hurt her; doesn’t want to be another man who takes without her consent. But he isn’t on his way to make gentle love to his partner, and he can’t show mercy in a way that would weaken him; not even in front of his own wife.

He pauses outside her door, just for a second, then he knocks. She calls for him to come in and he does; closing the door behind him. She sits on the end of the bed, still perfectly done up. Her makeup and hair are flawless, her dress unwrinkled, her heels still on. His eyes travel over her, taking stock. Neither of them speak; a heavy silence filled the room. She stands, then, and looks at him with her chin high, no sign of fear on her face. But it is in her eyes. As is determination. She is stoic, calm, and he realizes that she wasn’t naive, just controlled. Used to being controlled. He was a part of that system now, whether he liked it or not. But what he did now would brand him on her memory forever. So, he will do what he does best in the world. Control. Over himself. Over the situation. The line between coldness and tenderness. Simple awareness. Clarity. Expectations. Business transaction or not, consummation meant leverage. And leverage was something he treated very carefully.

He doesn’t rush, just walks toward her, keeping a keen eye on her reactions to him. He stops in front of her and she looks up at him with those big blue eyes.

“I know what this is,” he finally speaks, “and I know what this isn’t. You don’t owe me comfort or closeness. This doesn’t change who you are to me. We do this once, because it’s required. Everything else is your choice.” He watches her face, pausing to let it sink in that he won’t let this become something she has to survive. “Tell me what you need. Or tell me to wait.”

Her face barely changes, her eyes only narrowing for the barest second, perhaps suspicious. He can’t blame her. But he does wait. He’ll stand there all night if he has to.

“I don’t know what I need,” she admits, but her voice is still calm and firm, “But I don’t want to drag this out. Do what you have to. I’m ready.”

He knows she isn’t, but she seals her permission by taking a small step forward, placing herself well within his reach. Her hands come up and she starts to loosen his tie. He allows her to remove it, then he shrugs off his jacket. His shoes come next, then his hands are steady and unhurried as he reaches for her. She turns for him and he pulls the zipper of her dress. She pulls it off her shoulders and steps out of it, laying it on the table beside his jacket. She is in lingerie he is willing to bet she did not pick out for herself - or for him - and though it helps his body have a physical response, his restraint never waivers.

“Would you like to be out of that? You can get comfortable,” he offers, gesturing to the bed.

She seems to debate for a moment, then nods. It looks great on her body, but it doesn’t look pleasant to wear. It also doesn’t look like something she can easily remove by herself, if it’s possible at all; another sign of her having no control over her own life; so he waits again. She offers her back to him once more and he works methodically on the hooks and ribbons. As her skin is revealed, he notices it is marred with deep red lines and grooves and shapes and realizes that it’s from the lingerie and corset of her wedding dress; both keeping her compact all day. He says nothing. Neither does she. She turns once the garment is off, and this she leaves on the ground. She is nude, now, and bravely facing him; no hint of shyness or pride in her expression, just the same calm acceptance she’d worn all day.

He does not look her body over like a regular husband might. Instead, he keeps track of her face as he undoes his own shirt. That and his pants are set neatly on top of his jacket, his underwear going with them. Her eyes drop very briefly, then pop right back up again. He sees the quick fear flash, though she expertly schools it away immediately.

“Lie down,” he says, “I won’t hurt you any more than is natural for your first time.”

She does as he says, not even getting under the covers. She lies on her back on top of them, head on the pillow and eyes on the ceiling. He reaches into the drawer of the nightstand and produces a bottle of lube that he’d put in here earlier; knowing it would be necessary. He waits again.

“Go ahead,” she speaks, glancing at him once more.

He crawls onto the bed with her and she parts her legs for him. He carefully smears some lube over her, just on the outside for now. Her breath hitches a little, but he gives no reaction. After a moment, he works some inside of her with one finger. Then two. She still doesn’t move. He spends as much time as he can with his fingers, getting a lot of lube up inside of her to make it easier. He is large and he knows it is going to hurt either way, but this will at least help. He strokes some onto himself for good measure, then places the bottle back on the nightstand and hovers over her. Her chest is moving a little faster now, but it is the only sign of fear he can discern. She really is tough. She nods again, looking at him, then looks back at the ceiling. He doesn’t mind.

He positions himself then slowly begins to press inside. From a purely physical standpoint, it feels amazing. It would help it be over faster, which was a boon. He watches her reaction, gauging her comfort level. She seems ok for the first push, then winces as he goes a little further.

“Breathe,” he instructs, voice calm and low, “It will help.”

She actually listens and he works himself inside as gently as possible. He can tell it is hurting her, but there was nothing else he could do; and she was still staying silent. But it wasn’t innocence; it was conditioning. He pauses once he’s in, awaiting permission. Or for her to tell him to stop. She takes another deep breath and nods once more. He takes her virginity like he did everything else. Controlled. Efficient. Careful. He lets his body respond to hers, always keeping an eye on her face, and manages to finish in record time. After, as he catches his breath and she lets out hers, he hesitates, then he lets his lips briefly touch her temple. A reflex, an apology, a thank you; all tangled together. She blinks and he gently pulls out then stands again, beginning to dress.

“Hyunjin will bring you anything you need. Just open the door a crack when you’re ready to tell him whatever that is. I’ll have him collect you in the morning as well for a tour.”

She stays still on the bed, nude and stiff, and nods. He nods too, and once his pants and shoes are secure and he has a few buttons done up on his shirt, he bids her goodnight and leaves her alone.

♤♤♤

Sloane

Sloane lies on the bed for an indeterminable amount of time, looking up at the now familiar ceiling. She’d expected to be afraid, to be in pain, that he would treat her body as something to be delivered and sex as something he was owed and not something to be entered into willingly on her part. Instead, she had experienced silence, not urgency; distance, not entitlement; control, but not over her. Truthfully, it was disorienting. But it could’ve been much, much worse. He didn’t care, but he also didn’t treat her like a mere object. He treated her like a duty, sure; not desirable. But it was a mercy. Not interest. Perhaps she would be safe for a while from the obligation. Because though it definitely was kind of the best case scenario for what it was, it still had hurt. It wasn’t intimate, but it wasn’t traumatic, either. She finds she is grateful but unmoored by these facts; for the first time in her life, nothing was taken from her without her consent. She doesn’t know what to do with that, so she files it away. It doesn’t matter. It was done now.

She finally gets up, wincing in full because she is alone now and doesn’t have to hide her pain. There is a little blood on her thighs, but not too much. It mixed with the lube and made an uncomfortable mess. She walks into the ensuite bathroom and finds a giant tub and shower with all sorts of knobs and handles and spouts. She stares at it for a long moment, then sighs. She pulls on the robe that hung from the back of the door and ties it tight around her waist. It is soft and fluffy, covering her amply. Then, she goes and cracks her door. Within seconds, Hyunjin is at her door.

“Mrs. Blackwood,” he greets, ready to do her bidding.

She can tell her face showed her distaste. “Please, call me Sloane,” she insists. He must know that it wasn’t her being kind or overly familiar, but trying to keep her own identity, because he doesn’t argue.

“Sloane,” he corrects, nodding once, then waits.

“Will you please show me how this bathroom works?” she asks, stepping aside and opening the door wider.

He steps in and waits for her to lead. There is zero chance he doesn’t know the exact layout of her quarters, but he is respectful. She stops at the bathroom door and gestures for him to go inside. He makes quick work of the knobs and such with his nimble hands, his long, narrow fingers adjusting things as he explains it to her. His voice is soft and gentle. When he is done, she allows him to keep the settings the way she asked, steaming water pouring into the tub.

“Would you please bring me some food?” she asks as he steps into her room again.

“What would you like?” he asks.

“What do you have?”

“Anything.”

“Human flesh? Medium rare?” she can’t help but fuck with him a little.

He snorts a surprised laugh, his face looking much younger for that second, then he forces his expression back into professional distance. “If that’s what you are craving, I am sure we could provide it.”

“That’s what I figured you’d say,” she sighs. “Just a grilled cheese and tomato soup please? And some chocolate, if you have it.”

“Absolutely. I’ll leave it on the table just here,” Hyunjin nods again, then he is gone.

She closes her bathroom door and sinks into the water, hissing as it burns her skin and hits her between her legs. The bubbles rise to her chest, almost to her shoulders, and she finally turns the faucet off. She lets the water soothe her and lies back, looking at this ceiling now, and tries to puzzle out exactly how she feels. She doesn’t trust Chan. But she isn’t afraid of him, not after tonight. When she feels sufficiently clean and relaxed, she rinses off, empties the tub, and pads back into her room to find a covered tray on the table. There is a little note by the sandwich, pointing at it, that reads Ham, not human flesh. Apologies for the oversight. She actually laughs out loud and picks up the sandwich to find slivers of pink meat and juicy tomato cooked in with the cheese. The soup is steaming and delicious, and there is an indulgent chocolate bar waiting for her when she is done. The meal soothes her soul and she readies for bed, climbing under the covers for the first time; and falls asleep much faster than anticipated.

♤♤♤

The next day blooms sunny and warm and Sloane feels an odd sense of…excitement? Tentative, but there. She is no longer under her parents’ control, no longer stuck under her father’s roof and rules. She has a taste of some sort of freedom, at least. Possibility, for the first time ever. She gets ready for the day and Hyunjin is once again ready for her in the hallway when she steps out. She greets him with a smile; he is the closest thing to an ally she has here for now. He stays beside her, walking at her pace. He would normally be behind or in front of her, but since he is showing her around, he can’t really do that at the moment. He actually asks her how she would like to go about the tour, something that stuns her enough she stops walking for a moment. She thinks, then decides she wants to come in from the road; start at the outside and work her way in.

He takes her in a vehicle down the very long drive to the outer ring of buildings. Each space is separated by trees; the whole place is in the forest. The outer ring is comprised of security offices, staff quarters, vehicle bays, meeting rooms, and the like. The next level in is the private living quarters, where Chan lives. Where she lives now, too. The space makes sense with what she knows about Chan so far. It is calm and quiet, with a lot of light wood and glass. The kitchen is large and understated; nearly everything is neutral in the place. The living room holds a long couch with a low table, a sleek screen dropping from the ceiling in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. There is a courtyard in the middle, one that Sloane immediately loves. It’s green and enclosed. Safe, private, with a long pool of crystal clear water, a few lily pads on the top and some carp swimming about inside. She notices as she’s taken around that the cameras are all hidden, the guards blend in very well to the surroundings, and all the doors lock quietly as they close. She is not shown Chan’s wing. Overall, it is lovely, but it isn’t a place meant to impress. It is a place meant to hold. They are not disturbed as they wander; hardly even greeted. She can tell it might very well be the safest place she’s ever been, but it might also be the loneliest.

She asks about the control room and Hyunjin seems amused but not surprised. He takes her back to the outer ring; the control room is underground and only accessible from the outer ring. It does not connect at all with the private quarters; at least that is what she is told, but she doubts it. There is one secure corridor to go in or out of, and she follows Hyunjin down into it. From the direction and length they walk, she thinks they are quite close to her own room by the time they reach the hub, but she can’t be sure yet. There are no windows to be seen, and everything must be soundproofed; because she hears nothing until she’s inside of the room itself. It’s still rather quiet, but there are soft, mechanical sounds. At a long desk atop which sit multiple monitors, showing feeds of the public areas like the gates, the drive, and the walls, sits Felix.

His gaze is knowing, watchful, alert on the monitors. The room itself is low-lit and hushed. No one else is here. His eyes flick up when they enter and he nods at them, then returns his attention to the feeds. She can tell he never misses a thing. His station is neat but clearly lived-in; just a few personal touches, but it’s more than the rest. There is a blanket draped over the back of his chair. One mug with a drawing of a sun on it is on the table next to a pair of fancy headphones. A comfortable looking couch rests against the wall behind him. This is actually quite interesting. She glances at him again to find him cataloguing her the way she’s cataloguing his desk. She wonders what he sees; this overly-observant man.

She looks subtly around for a secret passageway; she knows this has to be connected to the main house, but she doesn’t see one. In time, when she is trusted, she’ll be told, she’s sure. But she’s sick of waiting around to be told. What to do, what to wear, what to think. She wants to live. Hyunjin takes her back up the stairs then up the drive again.

“One last thing,” he says and takes her around the back; by her room. She hadn’t looked out of her window yet, but that had been a mistake.

For here is a garden sprawled out in front of her, and it is breathtaking. Carefully designed like everything else here, the garden is made of smooth stone pathways and hedges. There is a fountain in the center, then the path takes a turn past where she can see. The air smells like jasmine and there are flowers planted artfully but neatly along the hedgelines. There are lanterns along the path, unlit for now, but she finds she can’t wait to see it in the nighttime.

“Wow,” she breathes, already planning on exploring this and spending time in the courtyard very soon.

She walks extra slow as the tour comes to an end, nearly dragging her feet as they approach her room. She sees the corner of Hyunjin’s mouth twitch up infinitesimally. It’s his job to notice everything, but she is somehow surprised that he clocked her mood that fast. Usually no one cares or even notices. She slows more, fighting a smile, and he just slows with her, like he has all the time in the world.

“Don’t you have important things to do? Important people to see? Important places to be?” she asks as they both come to a stop. Her tone is light and joking, but she’s partially serious.

“More important than the lady of the house?” he gasps, also joking but maybe serious too, “What could ever be?”

“Well in that case, what shall we do next?” She asks, grinning. She actually feels excited at the prospect of having something even remotely close to a friend, even if he has to be there. But it doesn’t seem like he minds.

“There are some board games in the living room,” he suggests and she can’t help but laugh. “What?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Nothing, that sounds fun. Just…. this is unexpected. You are unexpected,” she admits “Everything and everyone here is really different than at the Hawthorne Estate.”

He studies her for a moment, “That seems like a good thing?”

“It is,” she says very quietly. She can’t believe this is pouring out of her so easily. So much for being mysterious. But it’s just one guy. One guy who will be around her always. She might as well have someone to lean on.

She lets him lead her to the living room and he pulls out a few options. She opens a window to let the sounds of the courtyard in and the fresh air. It’s peaceful. The perfect temperature. As they settle on the plush carpet and shake out the Uno cards, she feels like maybe there is a chance she doesn’t have to be so lonely anymore.

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