Prologue
If Christian Grey had to pick his favorite color, it had to be red: it was the color of a rose, the color of love, the color of blush on a woman's cheek, and mostly important, it was the color of blood, like the blood that pooled under the woman on his bed.
The woman was tall, blonde, and beautiful – oh how she was beautiful. Her skin was porcelain and the red blended in well. It was a work of art, like the songs he enjoyed playing on his piano. The woman's mangled body looked like an abstract painting – mix of peach, blonde, red, blue, and tan from the ropes holding the girl in place, suffocating her ankles and wrists in a lovely deep purple. Even a little white was visible, from the bones that were released from their flesh prison to contribute to Christian's art.
However, it wasn't quite the masterpiece he wanted.
As Christian Grey sat at the piano stool, his blood stained fingers worked the instrument flawlessly. He could feel emptiness in the pit of his being. His gray eyes turned from the keys to a picture he had on the music rack. It was of an average looking girl, brown hair and blue eyes, with a face that would be considered a dime a dozen. There was something about her, though, that drove Christian wild – he couldn't quite put a finger on it. It made the gorgeous blonde he had slept with and murdered the previous night no more than a hag in comparison.
"Anastasia…" Christian whispered, tracing her cheek in the picture with his finger's tip, delicate. He smiled as a bit of red brushed on the picture. She looked perfect with red.
He picked the picture up and stood, grabbing the bloodied axe that sat on the stool beside him. He headed out of the room, forgetting about the art that was on his bed in the other room – he would remember later to ask his personal maid to change the sheets again. The man walked into his red room, looked at all his equipment, which ranged from ropes and chains to whips and riding crops to axes and machetes.
"I need… something special." His voice was low, eyes darkening as he realized that none of his current instruments were good enough for the likes of Ana. He would have to order something new.
"But first…" Grey flipped the photo over and read his scribbled handwriting on the back. 'Clayton's Hardware Store,' it read, and gave the address. It took some research, but Christian was able to find where Anastasia worked. And tomorrow, he was going to pay her a little visit.
"You will be mine, Anastasia Steele." The man breathed, the corner of his mouth lifting as he turned the picture back over, holding it up to his lips and kissing her perfection. "Soon. Ana, soon. Soon you will be mine."