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✨Click to watch👉👉Beauty and The Beta 💔‘Remember who I am Bailey. You are not above me. Never will be. Could have been equal to me at most had I seen you as suitable to be my mate, but no. You were beneath that honor.' He sneers.😡 🔥I felt anger racing through me. ‘And you think I would not have rejected you?' I snapped, moving back toward the exit, not wanting to be here anymore. Until I felt a hand grabbing the back of my tank top, yanking me back.😫 ⚠️‘You want to reject me? How dare you! Who else would want such a feeble pathetic wallflower like you? No one-' he said but was interrupted by a voice, which made him shiver.😮 💥‘I want her.' I looked at the clock on my bedroom wall. I think I have delayed the inevitable for as long as I physically can. I should go to the packhouse to go and wish our pack's upcoming Alpha a happy birthday. The bane of my life. My brother’s best friend. One day to be Alpha Miles. Today he will turn 17, and meet his Alpha wolf. In all honesty, he was egotistical enough, thinking the world revolved around him, without him adding to that by finally gaining his wolf. Not your run-of-the-mill werewolf either. Oh no, Miles Davenport was destined to be an Alpha, so he would have a strong and powerful Alpha wolf, only adding to his arrogance and strength. The crazy thing is, Miles had once upon a time been one of my closet friends too. In my younger childhood... Friends, that kind of thing comes when your father is the Beta to the Alpha. The children spend a lot of time together, and become friends. My older brother, Jordan, became the wing-man to Miles. His closest friend and ally, who as his Beta when the time came, was only right. But as the years went on, the friendship between Miles and I changed. Friendship faded as he grew into a more popular sports star of our school. At the end of the day, he was always going to be popular, he was the upcoming Alpha after all, but as one of the top sports stars too, he was idolized. As was my brother. All the girls in school flocked around them like they were pop stars or something, and it was bizarre. I was nothing more to him now but a source of amusement for him and his sports buddies. A geek. Not one of the beauty queens who followed him around. Simply someone to make fun of. I had gone from enjoying time with my one-day Alpha, to hating him, in the space of a school year. He thought he was god’s gift, and in all honesty, if he was, he is a gift I would return… “Bailey!” I heard my Mum call from downstairs, telling me I was definitely running it close now for time. I know Jordan had already headed over to the packhouse a while ago with my Dad to meet his friend and our Alpha. “I know.” I yelled back, looking at the books on my desk, desperate to continue with the assignment I was working on. I would so much rather continue working on the assignment and gain the additional credit available, work toward going to the college I want to go to instead of going to a party for the big-headed bully, I got to consider almost family, considering he was the son of my Dad’s best friend. I stood from my seat, and walked to my mirror, adjusting my black skater dress I had chosen to wear today. Something plain and simple, easy to blend into the background, but a dress all the same if anyone asked why I hadn’t made an effort. Along with my chunky black sandals, I looked presentable, not that anyone would be looking at me. Today, all eyes would be on the birthday boy, as they always were. He would make sure of that. I flicked back my curly brown hair, before I walked out of the door, already dreading the hours that lay ahead… My Mum pulled the car into the parking spaces outside the packhouse, while my younger sister Morgan was flicking at the curls around my head, simply trying to irritate me. She knew I would rather be anywhere but here right now, and was loving every last moment of it. “Aww, you want to go home Bailey-boo?” she teased. “Stop you two, come on, your Dad is waiting inside. Let us go and find the birthday boy.” Mum says, sounding cheerful, completely oblivious to the fact how horrendous this party had the potential to be. She, too, worshiped Miles. Having seen him grow up alongside my brother, she seemed to think the sun shone out of his rear-end. It had always driven me insane. “He won’t even notice us there.” I muttered under my breath as I followed her up the steps of the back house, shaking my head at my sister and how overdressed she looked. She definitely looked like she was out to impress someone today. A small part of me wondered if she hoped she might be the fated mate of Miles. After all, he was meeting his Alpha wolf today. He will have shifted for the first time today, and today could potentially be the day he can sense his fated mate out there waiting for him! There had been so much buzz around school about this, so many of the girls were excited about the potential possibility they could be his fated mate. The one chosen for him by the moon goddess. The one destined to be with him. So many of them are desperate for it to be them. While there I was desperate for anything but. I could think of nothing worse! Yet, looking at the amount of effort my younger sister had made today, I am beginning to think she was one of the many she-wolves that was holding out that hope… We walked through the corridors of the packhouse, and it was filled with various pack members. Today was a day of celebration within pack, the birthday of the upcoming Alpha. And not just any birthday, the day he came of age. The day he met his Alpha wolf. The walls of the packhouse were adorned with decorations, music was blaring from various speakers dotted around the multiple rooms. “Ooff, sorry!” a giggling she-wolf said to me as she nearly knocked me off my feet as she knocked into me. I would rather be anywhere but here right now. This was far too hectic and far too loud for me. I simply glare at the back of the girl as she moves away from me, not a care in the world. I followed my Mum and my sister, who was almost skipping as she walked, toward the main lounge area. I can only assume my Mum had mindlinked my Dad to let him know we had arrived, and he said they were there, or else we could spend all day looking around for them! It appeared almost every member of the pack had turned up to celebrate the birthday of Miles Davenport. The lounge area was laden with people, music truly blasting, and everyone seeming to have a good time. Everyone but me. I caught the eye of my brother, leaning against the wall of the lounge, the furthest away from the door we had just walked into. He nodded in my direction before simply turning away. ‘Could have made an effort, Bailey.’ he mindlinked. ‘It is a birthday, not a funeral, you know?’ I felt my heart sink at his words. Great, the insults were starting already, which meant it would only be a matter of time until Miles started too. The two of them seemed to like working together like that. Finding great enjoyment in harassing me. I was only a year younger than both of them, and had desperately hoped the name-calling and insulting would ease off as they got a little older, but if anything, they seemed to get worse. All because I wasn’t like the girls they were interested in, I was sure of it. I wasn’t like the other girls. Made myself an easy target, my Mum told me, all because I enjoyed studying. Liked reading and learning. Said, I only made it harder for myself. The plan was to make it easier for myself by finding a way out… “Jordan says your dress looks like you are going to a funeral, Bailey.” Morgan teased, fluffing up my curls again. My long brown hair fell in thick, unruly curls down my back. They drove me mad at times. Especially when my brother and sister decide to mess with them. “Oh well, I wore a dress, like you asked.” I snapped, moving away from them, feeling angry already, so tempted just to turn around and walk home, only to be pulled back by my Mum. “We are going to wish Miles a happy birthday. You will stay for a while at least. I do not need to be explaining to your Aunt and Uncle yet again why you have walked out on a social event, Bailey.” Mum warned me, her tone sounding grumpy, I swear she had to have read my thoughts on leaving the party already. I am sure she hated having me as a daughter, likely wishing for one that was more sociable, and one that enjoyed being a part of everything, instead of one that would rather have her head in a book. “Awww, Happy Birthday, Miles!” I heard my sister squeal from by my side. I swear she spoke at a pitch so high only dogs could hear. Goddess knows why she is so excited. It is only his birthday. He likely doesn’t even care, he never normally does… As I looked up, his blue eyes were locked on me, I raised my gaze to meet his, and could see his eyes shift to a darker blue… was that his wolf? I see a snarl across his face as he suddenly storms from the room. What was that about? ‘Get out here.’ Miles is suddenly mindlinking me, and I have to say he sounded far from impressed. That, combined with the angry expression on his face, told me something was off. Would he have rather I had not come? Well, he was not the only one… ‘What?’ I questioned, completely confused. Was he annoyed over how I had dressed too? Jeez, it was just a dress. Does it really matter? I would go home if it was. ‘Outside now.’ He demanded once more, sounding even more irritated this time, making me realize I had little choice but to follow his orders, so I snuck away from the ongoing party back to the doors of the packhouse. Only to find Miles pacing along the bottom of the steps, looking a mixture of confused and angry. So why did he need me here? Someone to take his anger out on? I was not willing to be that, I was sure about that… Just as I was about to walk away, he looked up. “Crap took you long enough.” He snapped. I frowned, unsure what this was all about, but it was making no sense to me as I looked down toward him from where I stood at the top of the packhouse steps. His blue eyes shifted to the dark blue once more, like they had inside, taking me by surprise. His wolf is clearly lingering… “What is wrong, Miles? Do you want me to get Jordan?” I asked. “No I do not! I do not want anyone knowing this.” He snarls, a growl slipping from his lips, though whether that was aimed at me or whether his wolf was angry at him, I do not know… “I don’t think I understand…” I began. “You soon will.” He sneers, and I simply look to him in confusion. Nothing he says makes sense to me. Until he continues. “Only today did I realize. The thought makes me sick. Why our own moon goddess would play a trick like this on me, I don’t know. I am an Alpha. An Alpha. I deserve a strong mate. A beautiful mate to be proud of. Not some feeble pathetic wallflower.” My body trembles at his words. No. I had yet to gain my wolf. I did not know this yet. Why… Why him of all people? “I am your fated mate?” I question with a shaky voice. “Are you sure?” “Are you doubting me?” he yells. “And you won’t be. The moment you have your wolf, I will decide when the time is right to reject you.” My heart twists and contorts at the thought. Rejection was meant to be the most painful thing possible. Why would he want to reject the mate chosen for him by our own moon goddess? Am I truly so repulsive? A Year Later Yet another birthday party for our beloved upcoming Alpha. Ha. Not my beloved upcoming Alpha. I hated the man. Breaking my heart without a second thought. What I had done to deserve that I had never got a proper explanation from him. Other than the frequent insults, of why would he want to be with someone like me? Did I look like Luna material to him? I had no clue. What did Luna material look like in his eyes? Some blond bimbo, no doubt. They were the she-wolves he tended to spend his time with within our pack. The ones who worshiped the ground he walked on. That would do anything he asked of them. Ones that I highly doubted read much more than the work set of them at school. “Bailey!” my Mum yelled at me from the stairway of our family home. “Will you hurry up?!” “Do I really need to come to the party?” I responded. “I am telling you, Miles will not be bothered if I am not there!” “Your Aunt and Uncle will be though. And I am not explaining to them again why you are missing.” My Mum continues yelling. “Do you not realize just how many events you have missed this year, all because you have your head in a book?” “Yeah Bai-Bai. Such a geek. No wonder you have no friends.” My sister Morgan giggles from outside my bedroom door. “Piss off.” I hissed. “I have friends.” I stormed from my room, and down the stairs toward my waiting family. I planned to greet the birthday boy, not that he would care in the slightest. I know that he would rather not see me at all. And then I would sneak home. “Ew, are you wearing that?” Morgan asked. I looked down at the skinny black trousers I had on and the white tank top. Great. I can’t win. Nothing I wear is approved of by my sister, evidently named the fashion queen without my knowledge. Oh well, I am dressed and wearing it. I think it looked good with my chunky black sandals I had on… I scowled at my sister and walked out of the door. “Are we going or not?” I snapped at them all, truly not able to wait for the following month when I leave to go to university. Get away from them, and this pack! The party was well underway when we arrived, music pounding from the speakers as couples made out in every available space, so I averted my eyes as we walked through the corridors of the packhouse to the lounge where we would no doubt find Miles reigning over his people. Being all important, like he was partial to considering himself. ‘Why are you here?’ Miles’s voice filled my mindlink, before I had even fully entered the room behind my parents. Great. ‘I didn’t get a choice. Trust me, I would rather not be.’ I snapped back. I was getting more than a little tired of the way he would treat me. Yes, he planned on rejecting me. Decided I was not for him, but he could have left it at that. I didn’t need treating like I was some sort of social pariah because of the fact he decided I was not right for him. I do not think I deserved that. I had endured enough bullying through my time in high school, for the fact I enjoyed my education. ‘Oh. Excuse me? Are you implying you were not going to come to the party of your next Alpha?’ Miles links with some serious attitude. ‘Miles, you just asked why I had bothered coming. Now you are asking if I was not going to come? Make your mind up.’ I argued. ‘Remember who I am Bailey. You are not above me. Never will be. Could have been equal to me at most had I seen you as suitable to be my mate, but no. You were beneath that honor.’ He sneers. I felt anger racing through me. ‘And you think I would not have rejected you?’ I snapped, moving back toward the exit, not wanting to be here anymore. Until I felt a hand grabbing the back of my tank top, yanking me back. My eyes darted upward to see the dark eyes of Miles. Sneering down at me. Our Pack’s upcoming Alpha. The most arrogant man I think I have ever met. One, thankfully, I did not have to be mates with any longer as the stupid had chosen to reject his own fated mate before even giving her a chance. “Going somewhere Bailey?” he asked, his voice full of spite. “Well, I do believe you asked me why I was here, so I assumed you wanted me to leave.” I told him. Miles bows his head down so it is level with mine, he inhales deeply, like he still enjoys the scent of me. He has done this numerous times of late, which I find quite bizarre. But, I ignore him as he tilts his head to look at me, “Hmm, I think my Mum and Dad may have something to say if you leave. Their clever little Bailey. Heaven forbid.” He presses his forehead against mine. “Just stay away from me, and do not spoil my fun.” I shake my head in disbelief at him, as he stalks away. Did he even think for a moment I would be going near him if I could avoid it? I would rather be anywhere but near him! “Bailey, why are you harassing my friend for?” I heard my brother, Jordan demand, as he suddenly approached, causing many people to turn around and look at me. Wonderful. Nothing like starting pack gossip is there. I am sure Miles would appreciate that! “I wasn’t harassing him, he came to speak to me. Asking why I had come.” I told him, and my brother laughed. He is as much an idiot as Miles. Any of my friends who have big brothers hate how protective they are. Me? No, my big brother is the one leading all the bullying and treating me badly. He finds great embarrassment in the fact his younger sister is far from being one of the popular group, and is, in his words, ‘far too into her books’. I think, in all honesty, my entire family found me, in one way or another, a huge embarrassment. “Well, he has a point. Not like you will be joining in with the celebrations. You will probably be sitting in a quiet corner somewhere reading.” He teases. “Well, it is certainly more intellectually pleasing than any of you would be.” I smirked at him as I walked away from my brother who was standing looking confused. I am sure he had no clue what I meant. The scary thing is he will be the next, pack Beta. Heaven help our pack. Between him and Miles they only had one brain cell between them, and that was one that they shared, I am sure of it! And even then, I think it was rechargeable and started losing power and knowledge at a rapid rate! They only graduated high school because they paid people to do their work for them. As I snuck away, out of the busy lounge to the top of the stairway, where I hoped to hide out for as long as possible, I heard footsteps behind me. I quickly turned, hoping it was simply someone on their way to their bedroom or even to one of the spare bathrooms on this floor. But, sadly, luck was not on my side tonight. No. Miles was following me. Eyebrows raised and looking quite irritated. “Oi. I want to talk to you.” he demanded. “You asked me to go away a minute ago, didn’t you?” I asked him. “Don’t think so, think it was more a case of why you were here.” Miles says with a smirk. Sitting on the top step with me. “Miles, you have the whole pack here for your birthday, I am sure whatever you need to speak to me about can wait.” I shrugged, desperately craving peace, which, considering the pounding beat of the music playing, would be difficult. “No. Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” he questions, like he is irate at the fact I had not let him know. Why would I let him know? “Why would I? We aren’t friends, Miles. You also are not my Alpha yet. It was arranged with my parents, me and your Dad, as Alpha.” I explained to him, unsure why this would even bother him. If anything, I would think he would be glad to get rid of me. “You are going away though.” he murmurs. “That is generally what happens when you go to college or university. Yeah.” I said with another shrug. “There wasn’t one closer to home?” he hisses. “Because it seems to me you picked the one furthest away.” “What does it matter to you? You hate me. I won't be here, You get your wish of being rid of me.” I snapped, truly sick of him trying to dictate to me what I should and shouldn’t be doing. I had worked hard in school, so I could do this. My parents had spoken to my Aunt and Uncle, the Luna and Alpha of our pack to allow me special permission to go to a university out of state to study, saying it was what I had dreamed of. I had nothing holding me back. And, with the fact Miles did not want me for his mate, or his Luna, I truly did not. Not that any of them knew of that. That was our own secret. Even despite the pull to him as my mate since my wolf had arrived, I still found him truly repulsive. He sickened me. Though, the pains when he slept with the many she-wolves that visited his bed, made it even easier to detest the man that he had become. I still had no clue what I had done to deserve this treatment from this man, other than not being one of the popular group. But, I knew I deserved better than him. Miles glanced at me, momentarily a thoughtful look passed over his face, almost caring, before a hardness replaced it. “That much is true. No more having to see the disappointing failure the moon goddess made of mating me to you. At least not for a few years. Who knows, perhaps you will meet someone while there. I suggest you do. That way you won’t have to come back, because, I, as Alpha, will be looking for my Luna.” “Miles, I honestly do not care if you find someone else.” I told him, going to stand and head home, not wishing to spend another moment in the same place as him. As I went to move away, he grabbed my hand, pulling me to him, so I was once more sitting level with him on the top step of the first floor landing of our packhouse. “Always so righteous aren’t you Bailey? You say you don’t care? We will see. Well, this will be on my terms. I, Miles Davenport, reject you, Bailey West, as my fated mate…” he began, and my head began to whirl as his words sunk in. The realization and excruciating pain of what was happening becoming too much for me…

Victor's text hit Elara's phone at 9:47 PM. *Final notice. 48 hours or we seize the house.* She read it three times in the bathroom stall of the Thorne Dynamics ballroom, her hands shaking hard enough to nearly drop the phone into the toilet. Outside, two hundred of New York's elite celebrated another record quarter. Inside this stall, Elara's life was collapsing. Seven figures. That's what the debt had become over ten years. Medical bills from Leo's leukemia. Her mother's cancer treatment. Her father's gambling addiction. Numbers that had stopped feeling real and started feeling like a life sentence. The fire stairwell was empty. She kicked off her heels, and sat on the concrete steps. Sipping the remaining champagne, it was the 5th glass she’s had, pulling her knees to her chest, her expensive navy dress bunching around her thighs. Professional. Composed. That's what she'd been for three years as Marcus Thorne's executive assistant, you have to be, if you work for Marcus you’ll know he's the Devil in Dior. The stairwell door opened. Marcus descended slowly, his jacket unbuttoned, his tie loosened. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, carved jaw, dark eyes that missed nothing. He stopped two steps above her. He’s the type of man that turns heads when he enters a place, handsome? Yes, sexy? Yes, when it comes to work? a nightmare in black suits "You left the gala," he said. "I needed air." "You've been gone for eleven minutes." He moved closer. "I don't employ people who disappear." She looked away. "I’m sorry it was a family emergency, there's nothing you can fix." "Try me." Three years working under him, he literally gets off making her life miserable. Unreal goals, Inhuman workload, impossible deadlines, yet she always delivered and made sure she'd maintained perfect distance. Hated his guts, he was always set out to make her work difficult. Now, drunk on champagne and desperation, she felt it crumble. "My brother. Financial trouble. A debt collector. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars by tomorrow." He pulled out his phone immediately. "No." She grabbed his wrist. "You can't just…." "You work for me. Your problems are containable." His eyes locked on hers. "We're going to contain this." Something broke open inside her. For the first time in three years, she wasn't alone with it. He reached out, and for a terrifying second, she thought he would touch her face. Instead, his fingers brushed the collar of her dress, adjusting the thin strap where it had slipped on her shoulder. “Let go of control, just for a moment,” he said, his thumb resting where her neck met her shoulder, the heat searing her skin. "I can't," she whispered. "Yes, you can." He closed the final inch, ran his hands through her short dress, Elara felt electric waves through her. His mouth descended, not with the arrogance of a boss, it was gentle but with the demanding hunger of a man who had not been with anyone for too long. She kissed him back. It wasn't tender. It was desperate, her mouth against his, tasting cologne and expensive scotch. She expected him to pull away. Marcus Thorne didn't blur professional lines. Marcus didn't blur anything. Instead, he kissed her again. His hand gripped the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, destroying the careful pins. The other hand pulled her close until there was no space between them. He tasted like control and power, and she wanted to drown in it. He spun her around and pressed her back against the brick wall. His mouth moved to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks she'd have to hide tomorrow. "Tell me to stop," he said against her skin. She didn't. She pulled his shirt up instead, needing to feel him. His chest was solid muscle, warm skin stretched over ribs she could feel under her palms. He made a sound, almost a growl and then his hands were everywhere. Her dress was hiked up around her waist. His fingers found the edge of her underwear and tore them away completely, the fabric ripping in his grip. "Fuck," he breathed. "You're soaked." He didn't waste time. His hand pressed between her thighs, fingers sliding inside her, and she gasped into his neck. His thumb found her clit and worked it in rough circles while his fingers pumped deeper, fingering her so hard. She could feel her own wetness coating his hand, dripping down her inner thighs. He moved the other free hand pressing her boobs and sucking on it passionately, tongue curling around the nipple and biting softly yet hardly. Her hips rocked against his hand desperately. This was insane. This was career suicide. This was….Damn she hates her boss, how’s this possible, she tried to stop but she couldn’t, the champagne was hitting harder now. He stopped and stepped back just far enough to unbuckle his belt. His pants dropped. Already hard and thick, stroking it once before reaching for his wallet. "Don't you fucking move," he said. He tore open a condom with his teeth and rolled it on with one hand while the other gripped her hip, keeping her pinned against the wall. Then he positioned himself and pushed inside her in one hard stroke. Elara's cry echoed off the concrete walls. He was big, bigger than she'd expected, filling her completely, stretching her almost to the point of pain. He didn't give her time to adjust. He pulled out and thrust back in, establishing a brutal rhythm that knocked her back against the brick with each movement. "Is this what you wanted?" he demanded, his voice rough. "Is this why you kissed me?" She couldn't answer. Could barely breathe. He was hitting something deep inside her that made her vision blur. His hand moved from her hip to grip her thigh, pulling her leg up and around his waist, changing the angle, going even deeper. The cold wall at her back. His heat pressing against her front. The sound of their bodies colliding in the empty stairwell, wet and urgent and absolutely forbidden. "Fuck, you're tight," he groaned. "So fucking tight." He was hitting so fast and rough and didn’t notice the condom had broken. The pleasure was insane. Her orgasm built fast, a pressure that started at her core and radiated outward. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, tasting blood from biting her own lip. "Come," he commanded. She did. Hard and sudden, her muscles clenching around him as pleasure ripped through her body. She bit down on his neck to keep from screaming. He followed seconds later, his hips jerking erratically as he finished inside her, his breath harsh against her ear. For a moment, they stayed pressed together, both breathing hard, still connected. Then he pulled away. His expression was already closing off, back to the nonchalant ceo. He fixed his pants with mechanical precision while she slid down the wall, her legs shaking so badly she could barely stand. "That didn’t happen," he said quietly. Her heart dropped in her stomach. "Marcus" "Go home. It’s Christmas holiday, see you at work next week, make sure you’re early." He didn't look at her. "This won't happen again." He left before she could respond, his footsteps disappearing up the stairs. Elara sat alone on the concrete, her dress torn, his marks on her skin, and realized she'd just made the worst decision of her life. It was 1 week later when she bought the first pregnancy test. Then four more after that just to be sure. Shit!!! what the fuck have i done. Two Pink Lines It had been a week since Elara slept with the devil. Christmas wasn’t supposed to feel like this. The holiday was meant for family dinners and bad movies, not sterile hospital hallways that smelled like bleach and something darker she couldn’t name. But here she was, Day seven of her vacation, sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside her mother’s bed, pretending everything would be fine. Her phone buzzed. Another email from Marcus. *Subject: Q4 Report - Revisions Needed* She opened the attachment. Forty-three pages of financial projections that needed reformatting by tomorrow. On Christmas week. Because Marcus Thorne didn’t believe in holidays, only deadlines. “You’re working again,” her mother said softly. Elara looked up. Her mother’s face had that grey pallor that came with stage three cancer, her cheeks hollow, but her eyes were still sharp. Still watching everything. “Just a quick edit.” Elara locked her phone and forced a smile. “Nothing major.” “You work too hard, baby.” “The job pays well, Mama. Really well.” The lie tasted bitter. Her savings account had $3,000 left after this month’s payment to Victor. The chemo her mother needed cost $80,000. “I’ve got it covered. The treatment, everything. You just focus on getting better.” Her mother’s thin hand reached out, wrapping around Elara’s wrist. “I don’t want you sacrificing your life for me.” “I’m not sacrificing anything.” Elara squeezed back gently, careful of the IV line. “You took care of me my whole life. It’s my turn now.” “Has your father come by?” The question landed like a stone in still water. “No.” Elara kept her voice neutral. “Haven’t seen him all week.” “Elara…” “And I’m praying it stays that way.” She couldn’t hide the edge in her tone. “Luca showing up only means he needs money or he’s running from someone he owes. Either way, it’s trouble we don’t need right now.” Her mother’s eyes filled with that particular sadness that came from loving a man who kept breaking her heart. “He’s still your father.” “He’s a gambling addict who put us in this mess.” Elara stood, smoothing down her jeans. “I need to head home, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Earlier if you need me.” “You’re a good girl, Elara. Too good for all this.” Elara kissed her mother’s forehead, tasting the salt of unshed tears she refused to let fall. “Get some rest, Mama. I love you.” “Love you too, baby.” The taxi ride home was quiet. Elara stared out the window at the Christmas lights strung across brownstones, families visible through warm windows, living lives that didn’t involve debt collectors and dying mothers and mistakes made in fire exits. She pulled out her phone, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. Mimi had posted pictures from her campus in London, surrounded by friends at some holiday party. Elara double-tapped the image, feeling the distance between them like a physical ache. The next post was one of those viral memes. A girl holding up twelve fingers with the caption: *Period check. 12/12 months DONE. We survived besties.* Elara’s thumb froze mid-scroll. Twelve months. When was the last time she’d gotten hers? She tried to think back. November had been hell at work with the annual report. October… she couldn’t remember. Everything blurred together in a haze of hospital visits and late nights at the office and Victor’s constant threats. But she’d gotten it in November. She was sure. Maybe. Possibly. Her heart started doing something uncomfortable in her chest. “Miss? We’re here.” The taxi driver was watching her in the rearview mirror. Elara paid quickly, her hands shaking as she handed over crumpled bills. The bodega on the corner was still open, fluorescent lights harsh against the darkening street. She walked in like she was in a dream, past the rows of chips and energy drinks, to the back wall where the pharmacy items were kept. Pregnancy tests. An entire shelf of them. This was stupid. She was being paranoid. Stress could delay periods. She’d read that somewhere. And they’d used a condom. Marcus had used a condom. She’d seen him put it on. But intrusive thoughts were a bitch, and Elara had never been good at leaving questions unanswered. She grabbed the cheapest box and paid without making eye contact with the cashier. Her apartment was dark and cold. She hadn’t been home much this week, spending most nights on the hospital’s uncomfortable chairs. The space felt foreign now, like it belonged to a different version of herself. One who hadn’t fucked her boss in a stairwell. The bathroom light flickered twice before staying on. Elara tore open the box with shaking hands, reading instructions she already knew by heart from countless pregnancy scares in college that had amounted to nothing. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. One line meant not pregnant. Two lines meant… She didn’t let herself finish the thought. The test felt absurdly light in her hand. Such a small thing to hold so much weight. She did what needed to be done, set the stick on the edge of the sink, and pulled out her phone to set a timer. Three minutes. She couldn’t watch it. Instead, she sat on the closed toilet lid and stared at the cracked tile on the floor, counting the seconds in her head because the silence was too loud. Her phone buzzed. Another email from Marcus. She didn’t open it. The timer went off. Elara stood slowly, like her bones had aged a decade in three minutes. She picked up the test with hands that didn’t feel like her own. Two pink lines. Clear as day. Unmistakable. She bought four more tests from three different bodegas, spacing them out so the cashiers wouldn’t remember her face. Took them all within an hour, lining them up on the bathroom counter like evidence at a crime scene. Two lines. Two lines. Two lines. Two lines. Elara sat on her bathroom floor as the reality settled into her bones. She was pregnant. With Marcus Thorne’s baby. “Shit.” Her voice cracked. “What the fuck have I done?“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ The Devil’s Proposal Elara hailed a taxi, dropped into the back seat, the taxi smelled like stale coffee. Elara rummaged through her tote bag for the third time, fingers brushing past lip gloss and crumpled receipts, searching for the USB drive that held Marcus’s edited Q4 reports. If she’d left it on her kitchen counter, she was dead. Not metaphorically dead. Actually dead. Marcus Thorne would fire her on the spot, and worse, he’d do it with that blank expression that made you feel like an insect he’d stepped on without noticing. Her fingers closed around the small drive. She exhaled. “Rough morning?” the driver asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “You have no idea.” Rough didn’t cover it. The past week had been hell wrapped in a nightmare and served cold. She’d worked through Christmas, editing financial projections while her mother slept in a hospital bed and five pregnancy tests sat hidden in her bathroom drawer like evidence of a crime she couldn’t undo. And Marcus. God, Marcus had made sure she earned every cent of her salary. Emails at 2 AM. Revision requests on Christmas Day. A forty-page report that needed complete reformatting because he decided he didn’t like the font. The man was the devil in Dior. No, worse. He was heartless in Hugo Boss. Satan in Suitsupply. Why not just quit? The question had been circling her brain for three years like a vulture. Because she couldn’t. Before this job, she’d been a janitor at a corporate office in Manhattan, mopping floors at 5 AM and dodging the eyes of executives who looked through her like she was furniture. Jobs were scarce when you didn’t have connections or a degree from the right school. And this job, for all its hell, paid well. Well enough that her mother had a hospital bed instead of dying on a clinic floor. Well enough that Leo, her junior brother, could stay in community college. Well enough that she could keep Victor, the debt collector from taking the last thing they owned. The taxi pulled up to Thorne Dynamics Tower, all glass and steel stretching into the grey January sky like a middle finger to everyone who couldn’t afford to work there. Elara paid the driver and stepped onto the sidewalk. The building loomed above her. She made the sign of the cross, muttering under her breath, “Dear God, about to work with the devil again today. Keep me safe.” It was sarcastic. Mostly. The lobby was already buzzing with employees, everyone moving with that particular Monday morning energy that felt more like a death march than a workday. Elara checked her phone. 8:47 AM. She was late. “Elara!” She turned to find Emeka striding toward her, coffee in one hand, his designer scarf draped over his shoulder like he was walking a runway instead of heading to accounting. He looked her up and down, eyebrows rising dramatically. “Girl, you’re glowing. What happened during the holiday? You met someone?” “Emeks, I’m late. Can we not?” “Oh, we’re absolutely doing this.” He fell into step beside her as they headed toward the elevators. “You’ve got that glow. That ‘I had good sex’ glow. Spill.” “There’s nothing to spill.” “Lies. I can smell lies, babe, and you reek of them.” Elara’s phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced down at the screen. *Mr. Thorne: My office. Now.* Her stomach dropped to her feet. Emeka leaned over her shoulder, reading the message. “Is that the devil?” She nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. “Well, don’t keep him waiting.” Emeka’s grin turned wicked. “Go on before he drops hell on earth. And babe? Whatever you did during Christmas, do it again. That glow is everything.” Elara didn’t respond. She was already moving toward the private elevator that led directly to Marcus’s top-floor office, her heels clicking against the marble like a countdown. The ride up felt like drowning in slow motion. She stared at her reflection in the polished steel doors. Dark circles under her eyes that concealer couldn’t quite hide. Hair pulled back in a tight bun that made her look professional and miserable. She looked like someone who’d spent the week having a mental breakdown in installments. The doors opened with a soft chime. Marcus’s office was exactly as she remembered. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Minimalist furniture that probably cost more than her annual salary. Everything is cold, clean, controlled. Just like him. He stood behind his desk, hands in his pockets, staring out at the skyline. He didn’t turn when she entered. “Good morning, Mr. Thorne.” Silence. She stayed by the door, clutching her bag like a shield. The air in the room felt heavy, charged with something she couldn’t name. Her mind raced. Did he know? Had he somehow found out about the pregnancy? Was this the part where he fired her for unprofessional conduct and she lost everything? “Sit.” It wasn’t a request. Elara moved to the chair across from his desk, lowering herself slowly. Her hands were shaking. She clasped them together in her lap, willing them to stop. Marcus turned finally, his dark eyes locking onto hers. His expression gave away nothing. No anger. No warmth. Nothing. He looked at her the way someone might look at a contract they were considering signing. The silence stretched. Ten seconds. Twenty. She was about to break, about to say something, anything to fill the terrible quiet, when he spoke. “Marry me.” Elara blinked. The words didn’t make sense. They were English, she understood English, but strung together like that they became nonsense. Her brain scrambled to process. Did he hit his head over Christmas? Did he think the sex in the stairwell meant something? Did he somehow know about the pregnancy and this was his twisted solution? “I…..” “Should I repeat myself?” His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came before hurricanes. Elara’s mouth opened. Closed. It opened again. No sound came out. Her heart was doing something violent in her chest, slamming against her ribs like it was trying to escape. Marcus Thorne, her boss, the devil who’d made her life hell for three years, the man who’d fucked her in a fire exit and then dismissed her with cold finality, had just asked her to marry him. And judging by the look on his face, he wasn’t joking. My devil on earth had just made it official.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ One Million Reason “Marry me.” The words hung in the air between them like smoke. Elara stared at Marcus, waiting for the punchline, the smirk, anything that would indicate this was some elaborate joke at her expense. Nothing came. Is this man insane? “You heard me.” His tone was flat, like he’d just asked her to schedule a meeting, not commit to a lifetime legal bond. God, she despised this man. “What is this?” Her voice came out sharper than intended. “Some kind of mental breakdown? A psychological experiment? The physical workload wasn’t torture enough, so now we’re moving into emotional manipulation?” “Marry me, and I will…..” “No.” The word came out loud. Too loud. Sharp enough to cut through the thick glass walls of his office and reach the assistants stationed outside. She saw heads turn, eyes widening before quickly looking away. Marcus blinked. It was the first genuine reaction she’d seen from him in three years. Actual surprise flickering across his face before the mask slammed back down. “No?” “Should I say it in French? Morse code? Sign language?” Elara’s hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t fear. It was rage. Pure, undiluted rage at this man who thought he could control everything, including her. “Which translation works best for you, Mr. Thorne?” “You haven’t even heard my offer.” “I’m not interested in whatever twisted game you’ve cooked up in that calculating brain of yours.” She stood, chair scraping against the floor. “Find another assistant to play with.” Marcus watched her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. The look on his face was almost comical. Almost. She’d just become the first person in Thorne Dynamics history to tell Marcus Thorne no, and he genuinely didn’t know how to process it. Elara turned to leave. “One million.” She stopped. Her hand was on the door handle, fingers frozen mid-grip. “One million what?” “Dollars.” Slowly, she turned back around. Marcus hadn’t moved. He stood behind his desk, hands still in his pockets, expression carefully neutral except for that slight tightness around his eyes that suggested he was recalculating every assumption he’d made about this conversation. “One million dollars,” she repeated. The number felt absurd in her mouth. Fake. Like Monopoly money. “For what? A year? Six months? How long does this arrangement last?” “Two years. A marriage contract. You play the role of my wife. After twenty four months, we divorce. You walk away with the money.” Elara laughed. It came out bitter and sharp. “You think you can just throw money at me? After three years of treating me like I’m nothing? Like I’m some object you keep in that office to make your life easier?” She took a step closer to his desk. “All the impossible deadlines. The emails at 3 AM. The constant criticism. The way you look through me like I’m invisible. And now you want me to marry you?” “It’s a business transaction.” “It’s insane.” “It’s practical.” Marcus pulled his hands from his pockets, placing them flat on the desk. “I need a wife. You need money. This solves both problems.” “You don’t know anything about my problems.” “I know you’re drowning in debt. I know your family is one payment away from losing everything. I know you spent Christmas in a hospital instead of enjoying your holiday.” His eyes locked onto hers. “I know Victor called you six times last week.” Ice flooded her veins. “How do you….” “I pay attention, Miss Vance.” The use of her last name felt like a slap. They’d had sex a week ago. His marks had barely faded from her neck. And now they were back to Miss Vance, like nothing had happened. Like she was still just the assistant. The employee. The thing he kept around for convenience. “Take your time,” Marcus said, settling into his chair with infuriating calm. “Think it over. Run the numbers. You’ll come around.” The certainty in his voice made her want to scream. “I won’t.” “You will.” Elara turned and walked out. She didn’t storm. Didn’t slam the door. Just walked out with her head high and her hands steady, even though everything inside her was screaming. The assistants at their desks kept their eyes down, suddenly fascinated by their computer screens. It was the first time in three years she’d walked out of Marcus Thorne’s office without being dismissed. And surprisingly, he didn’t call her back. No sharp command. No snide comment about professionalism. Nothing. Her own office was smaller. Cramped. A desk shoved against a window that overlooked the building next door instead of the city skyline. But it was hers, and right now she needed the space to breathe. Elara dropped into her chair and pressed her palms against her eyes. One million dollars. The number kept circling her brain like a vulture. That kind of money would pay off Victor. Cover her mother’s treatment. Give Leo a real shot at a future instead of community college classes he could barely afford. That kind of money would save them. But marriage? To Marcus Thorne? The man who’d made her life miserable for three years? The man who’d fucked her in a stairwell and then act like she was nothing? Her phone buzzed. She ignored it. The office phone rang. “Miss Vance speaking.” “Hi, um, there’s someone here to see you?” The receptionist’s voice was hesitant. “He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says it’s urgent. His name is Victor.” Elara’s blood turned to ice. Victor. The debt collector. Here. At her office. “Tell him….” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Tell him I’ll be right down.” She hung up before the receptionist could respond. Her hands were shaking again, but this time there was no rage to hide behind. Just pure, animal fear. Victor had found her office. He’d tracked her down to the one place she thought was safe. And if he was here, it meant the forty-eight hours were up. It meant she was out of time.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ And he’s here to collect the money she had no hand in spending, her father, her father the drunk gambler had been borrowing money from Victor. Broken Glass Victor was waiting in the lobby, leaning against the reception desk like he owned the place. Designer suit. Expensive watch. Nothing about him screamed debt collector except the dead look in his eyes when they landed on her. Elara’s stomach twisted. “We need to talk,” he said. “Not here.” She grabbed his arm, steering him toward the exit. The last thing she needed was her colleagues witnessing this. “Outside.” They crossed the marble lobby in silence, through the revolving doors and into the cold January air. The parking lot was mostly empty at this hour, just a few scattered cars and the distant hum of traffic. Elara didn’t stop until they were behind a concrete pillar, away from the building’s glass walls. “What are you doing here?” Her voice came out harsh. “How did you even find my office?” Victor smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Your father gave me your details. Workplace, address, everything. Luca’s been very cooperative lately.” Of course he had. Luca would sell out his own children if it meant saving his skin for another day. “What do you want?” “Your father hasn’t been answering his phone for two weeks. His weekly payment is overdue.” Victor pulled out his phone, scrolling through something before turning the screen toward her. Numbers. Dates. A debt that had somehow grown even larger. “The house goes up for collateral if I don’t get payment by tomorrow.” “Tomorrow?” Elara’s voice cracked. “That’s impossible. I need more time.” “You’ve had ten years, Elara.” “Please.” The word tasted like ash. She hated begging. Hated the way her voice went small and desperate. But this was her mother’s house. The only thing they had left. “Just give me one more week. I’ll figure something out. I’ll get you the money.” “One week won’t change anything.” Victor pocketed his phone. “You don’t have it now, you won’t have it then.” “I’ll find a way.” “How? You going to ask your boss for a raise?” He gestured toward the tower behind them. “Girls like you don’t get miracles. You get buried.” “I’m not asking for a miracle. I’m asking for time.” Victor studied her for a long moment. She could see him calculating, weighing her worth against whatever pressure Luca’s debt had put on him. Finally, he sighed. “Twenty-four hours, Elara. That’s all you get.” He started walking back toward the street. “Clock’s ticking.” Tick. Tok. She watched him go, her legs suddenly unsteady. Twenty-four hours. One day to come up with money she didn’t have. One day before they lost everything. The sound of footsteps made her turn. Marcus was walking through the parking lot, phone pressed to his ear, talking in that clipped tone he used for business calls. He must have been heading to his car. His eyes swept past her, lingering for just a second before moving on. He’d heard. She knew he’d heard. The parking lot wasn’t that big, and Victor’s voice carried. But Marcus kept walking. Didn’t stop. Didn’t acknowledge her. Just continued toward his black Mercedes like she was part of the scenery. Elara stood there, watching him disappear into his car, and felt something cold settle in her chest. Of course he didn’t care. Why would he? She was just the assistant. Just another problem that wasn’t his to solve. She went back inside, grabbed her bag from her office, and left without telling anyone. The building felt too small suddenly. Too suffocating. “Elara!” Emeka caught her at the elevator, slightly out of breath like he’d jogged to catch up. “Where are you going? It’s only 2 PM.” “I need to see my mum.” The lie came easily. Too easily. “She’s not feeling well.” His expression softened immediately. “Oh babe, I’m sorry. Do you need anything?” “No. I just need to go.” “Okay. Text me if you need me, yeah?” She nodded and stepped into the elevator before he could see her face crumble. The subway ride home was a blur. Bodies pressed together. The smell of sweat and cheap cologne. Someone’s music bleeding through their headphones. Elara stared at the floor and tried not to think about Victor’s words. Twenty-four hours. The house. Her mother. One million dollars. The thought of what happened at the office started coming back to her. It’s absurd she’s even thinking about it, it’s Marcus Thorne, why would ever want to marry Marcus Thorne, she thought to herself. No. She wasn’t that desperate. She wasn’t going to sell herself to Marcus Thorne for money. There had to be another way. Her apartment building looked the same as always. The familiar brownstone that had been home for the past five years. She climbed the steps to her floor, keys already in hand. The door was open. Elara stopped. She’d locked it this morning. She always locked it. Her hand pushed the door wider. Inside, her wardrobe was open, clothes thrown across the floor. Drawers pulled out and overturned. Everything scattered. “No. No no no.” She dropped her bag and ran to her bedroom closet. Shoved aside the shoes and boxes stacked at the bottom. Her hands found the metal lockbox she kept hidden in the back corner. It was open. The small lock was broken. Empty. Her heart skipped. Three thousand dollars. Every cent she’d managed to save over the past months. Money meant for her mother’s treatment. Money she’d scraped together from skipped meals and extra shifts and selling anything she didn’t absolutely need. Gone. Only one person had a key to her apartment. Luca. Her father had robbed her.

The Chosen by Marcus Lee. Chapter One. ‘Hold on, and don't let go.' I look around, wondering if there will be more instructions, but the door to the room has already closed. I'm gagged securely and have been told by a masked captor not to remove it. Whilst my hands and feet are free, I don't dare untie the gag, not yet. Others are crammed into the room with me, all in soiled clothing, filthy from their journey here, wherever here is. Everyone is wide-eyed and scared as they look upon each other for the first time. It seems we're all roughly the same age, although of varying size. I want to scream and cry for help, but that will be a waste of energy. A moon globe hangs from the ceiling, lighting the room we've been herded into. The floors, walls, and ceiling are covered by panelled wood. As my fingers absently trace the grain, I discover the wall surface is marred by hundreds of scratches, whereas the floor and ceiling shine with a deep, polished lustre. Despite still being held captive, at least I can now walk around. It's the first time in two weeks that I've been allowed out of a small crate that confined me like a caged animal. Two weeks in a box stinking of panic, fear, and claustrophobia, my only company the desperate voices and tears of unseen others. Hold on, and don't let go. What does that mean, Malina? I ask myself. I study my surroundings while most of the youths sit on the floor, exhausted. Some try to untie the gags, which are so tight that it's hard to breathe. Thirteen leather loops hang from near the moon globe above me. Another is placed in each corner of the room - seventeen in total. I wonder what they might be for. Seventeen loops, but over twenty people. Hmmm. Even on tiptoes, they're just beyond my fingertips. As I lower my arm, I catch the gaze of a filthy, blond lad taking note of what I'm doing. His hair and cleft chin suggests an Astorian bloodline, and he has the strangest eyes. There's a distant jangling of chains, followed by a grinding noise, and then the floor begins to shudder. Those sitting, scramble to their feet, as with a lurch, the floor splits down the centre. Everyone moves quickly away from the gap as the floor shakes and begins to slide back beneath the walls. It isn't long before the distance between the two sides of the floor is about two paces wide. Cold fetid air rises from the depths, and I retreat away from the edge with growing unease. Hold on, and don't let go. The bigger boys begin shoving anyone and everyone smaller out of the way, so they can get closer to the corners' transient safety, and being one of the smallest, I can't even get near. Two boys are trying to open the door, banging on it, pushing their shoulders hard against the unforgiving wood, but to no avail. Relentlessly, the floor continues to move, and the gap between the two halves becomes ever wider. Moans of fear fill the small room, and several boys and girls are crying. A puddle of urine gathers at the feet of a boy, and everyone edges away. Don't just stand here! I admonish myself. I'd always been quick of mind in the orphanage, but here I am, freezing from fear. I quickly move to the open edge of the floor and gaze down into the black abyss. The moon globe that easily illuminates the whole room doesn't shed enough light to penetrate to the bottom. The air that comes from below is foul. It reminds me of the back of the butcher's shop situated behind the orphanage. It assaults my senses, smelling like rotting meat. If the floor continues to open at the same rate, people will soon start to fall in, and being small, I’ll be one of the first. Do something! I look at the loops in the middle of the ceiling. It's still an easy jump to grab them, but I'll be left hanging over a horrifying drop, and for how long, I don't know. I'm skinny, malnourished, and it's unlikely I can hold on for long. I'd have preferred the straps in the corner, but I can't get through the press of bigger youths. Another lurch, and those banging on the door move away as the floor retracts further. Everyone here has the same filthy, disowned look I have. No one wears fine clothes, has good shoes, or even a semblance of styled hair. They're all outcasts, perhaps orphans like me. No one will miss us if we die here. Hold on, and don't let go. My heart has never beat this fast. I make a decision, and my hands shake. It's hard to catch my breath past the thick gag, but it's now or never. I take two steps back, then, propelled by trembling legs, leap and catch hold of the dangling leather. My sweaty palm slips, and I expect to fall, but as my weight bears down, the leather loop tightens around my hand, lending me its support. Tears course down my cheeks. I've been frightened many times in my life; fear is nothing new, but this! Sobs wrack my body. Below my feet is nothing but blackness, and those words resound in my head. Hold on, and don't let go. Swinging my legs, I bring up my other hand to grab the leather and only then note the wide-eyed gazes of everyone huddling against the walls directed at me. Suddenly, the blond boy runs from the group and leaps, catching hold of the loop next to mine. He sways wildly back and forth, but his grip is sure and strong. Once again, our eyes meet. One of his eyes is blue, the other green. To have different coloured eyes is to be considered cursed in Astoria, and those born with this defect are usually killed at birth. I'd never seen anyone with them before. Then again, most people have never seen yellow eyes like mine either. We stare at each other for a while, and I can sense his terror, but he manages a brisk nod. Others quickly follow our lead with a pounding of feet and squeals of fear. The grinding gears screech louder, and the floor retracts faster. The largest boys have claimed the loops in each corner of the room, securing their safety. They bully everyone else away, fists pummel those who are too slow to move. Only the strong will survive, the law of the streets. The distance between the floor and the central straps widens, and a small girl gathers her courage and leaps. She doesn't make it. With a gag tied firmly around her mouth, she can't even scream as she disappears, arms and legs flailing, to be swallowed whole by the darkness. My tears follow, falling into the depths along with others from those now hanging around me. There are only two straps left vacant in the middle of the ceiling, and a further two girls run and jump. Thankfully, they make the distance and hang on, knuckles white, swinging backwards and forwards like ripe fruit. The smell of fresh faeces fills the air, nauseating, overtaking the smell of rotting flesh. I want to vomit in fear and disgust at the smell, but know that if I do, the gag will cause me to choke, so I swallow the reflex down. All the loops are now taken, yet two boys and three girls are still pressed tight against the walls, the edge of the floor mere inches from their toes. They try to dig their fingers into the wood, desperate to find a purchase. Now I realise where the hundreds of scratches have come from. The two boys look around desperately. Having failed to secure the corner loops, they now eye those of us dangling from the middle of the ceiling. I guess what's going through their minds. Please, no! The two boys, arriving at the same decision, leap as one. There are no free straps left, and they’re too far to have made it anyway, but they leap nonetheless and grab onto the ankles of the girls who'd last made the jump. Seconds later, all four disappear into the pit, arms and legs kicking. Not long after, the three girls trying desperately to hold on to the wood panelling, follow, their deaths strangely quiet. As I look around, fifteen of us hang on, arms trembling, sweat, tears and urine dripping. By the time the floor is cranked back into place, only twelve remain. Everyone falls to the floor. The smell of fear is rank, and I know my own stench adds to the thickness of the air. How long we wallow in misery and our own filth is hard to say. My hope that this ordeal is over is shattered when the gears start rumbling, chains jangle, and the horror begins all over again. This time around, I struggle to hold on from the very beginning. My hands are tired, and the loop I've chosen is damp with sweat. Quickly, the pain in my hands, arms, and shoulders becomes excruciating. Maybe I should just let go, fall into the dark embrace of the pit, and end the torment? My moans are pitiful through the gag as death approaches and whispers to me like a friend. Just as I'm about to give in to that seductive voice, the Astorian boy comes to my rescue, his hand closing over mine. It hurts, his grip is powerful, but now I can't let go even if I want to. The floor grinds shut again, and as I land, collapsing in exhaustion, I’m shocked that just eight of us are left. The door to the room opens, and a robed and masked woman enters. The eyes give away her sex, as does her movement; graceful, purposeful, feet placed with certainty. Yet every step somehow exudes the potential for violence, like a predator stalking prey. 'You will say nothing. You will do as you're told without hesitation. There are to be no questions. If you fail at anything, you will die. If you question anything or disobey my command, you will die.' The voice is slightly muffled by the cloth mask, yet the message is simple and chilling. Like a cat, the woman stalks amongst us, a glistening, tiny dagger in her hand. With swift movements, she severs our gags. I draw in a deep breath, almost choking at the stench, but so grateful at being able to breathe freely. The woman walks toward the door, pauses, and looks over her shoulder, beckoning for us to follow. 'My name is Lystra,' she says. 'Follow me if you want a chance to live.' ***** We scurry along corridors illuminated by torches. Their flickering red light creates a hellish ambience, and I wonder if I should have let go of the loop after all, and embraced sudden death. The air here is tinged with dampness, and I fear some disgusting spores will take root and fester in my lungs if I survive. Our soiled clothes only add to the foulness of the air. Sobs and whimpering accompany the scuff of stumbling footsteps as my rag-tag group of filthy survivors follow Lystra, too scared to disobey or be left behind. She halts at a closed iron-reinforced door, and we hang back, not daring to approach too close. After a quick search within her robes, she produces a key and turns it in the lock. It swings silently open under her touch. Fresh air wafts in, and following a flick of Lystra’s hand, we file past, heads bowed. As I step into the open, the horror I’d just survived briefly fades. I gawk in wonder, for although I stand in something akin to hell, it’s a hell overlooked by the heavens. I'd witnessed a training ring before, outside the soldiers' barracks in my hometown, and there’s no doubt I’m standing in one. Yet, despite its familiarity, it's as unlike that training circle I knew as fire is to water. My rag-tag group and I stand in the heart of a mountain or maybe a dead volcano. Way above us, blue sky and clouds offer a tantalising glimpse of heaven, and indeed, the interior slopes of the mountain are covered in trees and vines, lush and colourful. I can see birds flying amongst the foliage and animals leaping around. Yet, as my gaze travels downward, the vista begins to change. First, the mountainside from halfway down is blackened, stripped of natural growth, and looks to have been burnt down to the bare rock. Then, below that, it's been fashioned into a coarse, circular wall. Above the wall on the far side of the circle is a balcony upon which five dark-robed figures stand, observing us as if we were nothing but insects scurrying around their feet. Set intermittently within the wall are doors, and from them, groups of filthy, frightened youths spew forth. Shortly, there are about sixty of us staring around, a mixture of wonder, hopelessness and fear plastered on our faces. Stop gawking, Malina. Take stock! I’m standing at the perimeter of the training ring ... but what a ring. It measures about two hundred paces across, with a raised circular dais in the centre. Robed guards hold crossbows at the ready wherever I look. I don't know how long I've been standing here, but Lystra's sharp voice cuts through my thoughts. 'If you want to live, you won't be the last to the dais and back again.' Silence greets her words, not that anyone would dare question anything. Then I see movement from the corner of my eye, and as I look around, I can see the other distant groups of children streaming toward the central dais. Almost as one, we turn and throw ourselves into this race for life. The bare rock of the training circle floor is uneven, and my bare feet hurt with every step. Six of my group are already pulling ahead, and I strive to run faster. Running was never my strong suit, and I haven't eaten sufficiently in weeks. I feel weak, and my gasps for breath quickly turn to sobs. A tubby boy runs next to me as we lag behind the others. We’re still fifteen paces from the dais as those ahead turn and race back toward us. I can see his wide eyes snatching glances at me as sweat pours down his face. Come on, Malina, I urge myself. Faster! Then. as everyone runs past, skinny arms and legs pumping, I find myself alone as I reach the dais. I touch it with my hand, then turn back. I’m too slow, and worse, I can barely see. Tears and snot stream down my face, running into my mouth as those ahead finish the race. Finally, I catch up to the group, lungs heaving. No one looks up except for him with the strange eyes. On his face, as if clearly written, I can see relief for himself but also sorrow as he looks at me. Lystra draws a long dagger from within her sleeve and stalks toward me. RUN! Despite my survival instinct telling my legs to move, I don’t have the strength. I wish I could, although to where I don't know, but anywhere to be able to draw breath a few more times would suffice. Maybe I'd have used the time to look at the sky and see the clouds a final time. Yes, the clouds. I tilt my head back. Look at the clouds closely, Malina. You won’t see Lystra, her blade, or even feel it! Death will end this nightmare. Lystra’s footsteps approach and stop. I’d heard it said that when death is upon you, all your memories flash in front of your eyes. I just wish I’d had happier ones. ----- Prepare yourself for a relentless tale of survival that spans worlds, is filled with creatures of legend, tales of redemption, love, betrayal, and an incredible prophecy that might just save the human race. It all begins with the Mountain of Souls and continues with The Last Hope, The River of Tears, The Oldest Foe, and the finale, The Chains of Destiny. ----- For lovers of:- High Fantasy | Dark Fantasy | Heroic Fantasy | Epic Fantasy | Action and Adventure | Sword and Sorcery ----- FREE on Kindle Unlimited. Also available formats: Kindle | Print | Audible

PERSONAL NIGHTMARE ASTRA The hallway smelled like cheap body spray and desperation. “Is the little piggy gonna cry?” one of the jerks sneered, his voice loud enough to bounce off the lockers. They circled the other girl like hyenas, poking her, laughing when she flinched. I recognized her shaky hands clutching her books to her chest. Same hands I’d seen on myself in the mirror too many times. I pulled my own hoodie up higher, letting the fabric swallow my hair and half my face. Keep moving. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t exist. I knew the rules: if they saw me, I’d be next. And nobody—nobody—ever stepped in when it was my turn. Why should I play the hero now? I took another step. Then a pair of expensive sneakers planted right in front of me. My heart slammed so hard I tasted it in my throat. “Going somewhere, Trash-tra?” That voice. Low, lazy, laced with venom. Zane freaking Ashton. I froze. Of course it was him. The king of this hellhole. Star quarterback. Golden boy. My personal nightmare. He wasn’t with the piggy crowd, he ran with his own pack. Four of them flanked him now, all smirks and letterman jackets, like they’d rehearsed this in the locker room. Zane tilted his head, dark hair falling just over one eye, and flicked my glasses with one long finger. They slid crooked across my nose. “S-stop it,” I whispered. He leaned in closer, mocking my stutter perfectly. “S-stop it.” I hated how my whole body vibrated when he got this close like every nerve remembered every time he’d made me feel small. I hated him. I hated the way the entire school worshipped him. Yes, objectively he was stupidly handsome: sharp jaw, bright green eyes, broad shoulders that filled out that jersey like it was custom-made. But to me? Ugly. Rotten. A walking red flag in cleats. This wasn’t random hallway cruelty. This was personal. I glared up at him through my smudged lenses, channeling every ounce of sass I kept buried deep. “Move.” His lips curved not a smile, more like a predator deciding whether to play with its food. “Or what, Trash-tra? You gonna write me a strongly worded essay?” His friends snickered. One muttered something about “nerd.” My cheeks burned, heat crawling up my neck, but I didn’t drop my stare. I’d learned early: looking away was surrender. The bell rang suddenly, sharp and deafening. Everyone scattered like roaches, rushing to class. I tried to sidestep him. Zane shifted, blocking me effortlessly. He leaned down until his breath brushed my ear, voice dropping so low only I could hear. “Keep walking around like you’re invisible, and maybe one day you will be. But not to me.” A shiver raced down my spine, cold, unwanted, electric. He straightened, smirking like he’d won something, then turned and sauntered off with his squad, leaving me rooted to the spot. The hallway emptied. I sucked in a shaky breath, fingers trembling as I fixed my glasses. “It’s almost over,” I muttered to myself, the words barely audible. “Senior year. One more semester. Then I’m gone.” But deep down, I knew better. Guys like Zane didn’t let things end that easily. The rest of the school day dragged on in a haze of lectures I barely heard and hallways I tried to disappear in. I kept my head down, hoodie up, weaving through corridors and avoiding any spot where Zane or his crew might appear. When the final bell finally rang, I didn’t wait around. I bolted out the side exit, grabbed my scooter from the rack, strapped on my helmet, and slung the delivery bag over my shoulder. I kicked the scooter to life and headed straight to the strip on Maple Street, the busy stretch with the pizza place, burger joint, and coffee shop where orders came fastest after the school rush. It was my daily routine: park near the curb, open the app, wait for the first ping. The city air hit different out here, cooler, freer. My regulars were the only people who ever smiled at me like I mattered. “Extra pepperoni, just how you like it, Mrs. Hannah.” I handed over the warm box at her door. The old lady’s wrinkled face lit up. “You’re a blessing, sweetheart. Here…” She pressed a crumpled five into my palm. “For your trouble.” I tried to wave it off, but she wouldn’t hear it. “Thank you, Mrs. Hannah. Have a good night.” Next stop: Mr. Brown’s apartment on the third floor. He opened the door in his usual bathrobe. “Saved me from another frozen dinner,” he said, chuckling. “You’re keeping me alive, kid.” I laughed—real, for the first time all day. “Happy to help, Mr. Brown.” I ran four more deliveries before the sky turned bruised purple. My legs burned, my throat dry, but every dollar counted. I had no idea this would be my last normal night. When I finally pulled up to our building, my stomach dropped. Everything was outside. Mom’s faded quilt, my textbooks, clothes spilling from ripped bags, a cracked lamp, my old stuffed bear half-buried under papers, scattered across the cracked sidewalk like trash. A couple of little kids from the next building were poking through it, giggling as one held up my old sketchbook. “No—drop that!” I lunged forward, snatching it back. My voice cracked. “That’s mine.” They scampered off, laughing. I knelt, trying to gather things, hands shaking so badly I couldn’t hold anything. The door creaked open. Mrs. Delgado, our landlady, stepped out with her arms crossed, face scrunched in a familiar frown. “Two months, Astra. Two months behind. I warned you.” I stood up fast, heart hammering. “Please, Mrs. Delgado. I’m working every day after school. My mom’s in the hospital, you know that. The bills….” “I know.” She cut me off. “I feel for you, girl. But I got my own bills. This ain’t charity.” People were staring, neighbors on balconies, a guy walking his dog. Heat crawled up my neck. I dug into my pocket, pulled out the crumpled bills from today’s tips, maybe forty bucks total and thrust them toward her. “Please. This is all I have right now. Take it. I’ll get more tomorrow, I swear.” She looked at the money like it insulted her, then snatched it anyway. “Not even close to what you owe.” She pocketed it and turned away. “You’ve got till morning to clear this mess off my property.” The door slammed. I sank to my knees on the cold concrete. Everything hurt, my chest, my eyes, the back of my throat. Tears came hot and fast, silent at first, then choking sobs I couldn’t stop. No one came over. No one asked if I was okay. Neighbors watched from windows, then looked away. I had no friends to call. No aunt, no cousin, no one. Books and TV always gave the lonely girl a secret support squad, but real life didn’t work that way. At Harrington Academy, the fancy private school I’d clawed my way into at thirteen after winning that stupid statewide science competition—nobody had ever really wanted me around. The scholarship covered tuition, not belonging. My one almost-friend freshman year drifted away when her real friends decided I was too “weird.” Too raggedy. Too poor. I stopped trying after that. I started packing what I could salvage into my backpack and two grocery bags, clothes, books, Mom’s favorite scarf, the bear. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. An old voice behind me. “Child, you got somewhere to put all this?” Mrs. Rivera, the elderly lady from 3B. She leaned on her cane, eyes soft. I sniffed, wiped my face on my sleeve. “No. I… I don’t.” She sighed. “Bring what you can carry up to my place. I got space in the closet. Come get it tomorrow or the next day when you figure things out.” I stared at her, throat too tight to speak. “Thank you,” I managed. We hauled what we could, two trips. She didn’t ask questions, just patted my arm when we finished. I slung the heaviest bag over my shoulder and started walking. No money for bus fare, but the hospital wasn’t far. Three miles. I could do three miles. The streets blurred past. My sneakers slapped pavement, shoulders aching. By the time I reached St. Mary’s, the sky was full dark. Nurses at the entrance gave me weird looks, a girl with bags, tear-streaked face. I didn’t care. I found Mom’s room on autopilot. Fluorescent lights buzzed. She was asleep, small and pale under the thin blanket, IV dripping slowly. She didn’t stir when I came in. Dr. Ray was in the hall, clipboard in hand. He saw me and his face changed—concern, then alarm. “Astra? What’s going on?” I opened my mouth. Nothing came out at first. Then the dam broke. I slid down the wall, bags tumbling, and just… bawled. Ugly, wrenching sobs that echoed down the corridor. Everything poured out—the eviction, the money, the stuff on the sidewalk, Mom not remembering my name last week, how I was failing her, failing everything. Dr. Ray knelt beside me, voice low and steady. “Hey. Hey, breathe. Tell me what happened.” But all I could do was cry harder, because saying it out loud made it real. And I wasn’t sure I could survive real anymore. NEW JOB ASTRA Dr. Ray’s office smelled like disinfectant and stale coffee. I sat across from him, clutching the handkerchief he’d handed me, pressing it hard against my eyes until the fabric was damp. My voice came out small and shaky. “Everything is too much,” I whispered. “I’m really trying my best, juggling three part-time jobs with school and Mom’s hospital bills and rent and everything else. I just… I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.” Dr. Ray stayed quiet for a moment, letting me breathe. He leaned forward slightly, his expression steady, patient — the way he always looked when delivering bad news. “You’ve been carrying more than most adults,” he said gently. “Anyone in your position would feel overwhelmed.” A weak laugh slipped out of me. “I must look terrible.” “You look exhausted,” he replied calmly. “Not terrible.” His voice was kind, but professional — the reassuring tone of a doctor, not someone crossing a line. He slid the tissue box closer across the desk. I wiped my face quickly, trying to pull myself together. “I’ll figure something out,” I said. “I’ll take more shifts. Maybe another job after school. Even if I have to drop out—” The words caught in my throat. Dropping out. After four years at Harrington Academy. After fighting so hard to stay there. I swallowed hard. “And… my mom,” I asked quietly. “Is she getting any better?” Dr. Ray exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair. “The prognosis hasn’t changed,” he said. “Early-onset Alzheimer’s progresses differently for everyone, but her memory loss is accelerating. She’s having more confusion episodes, and physically she’s starting to struggle — balance, coordination. The medication can slow things down, but it can’t reverse the disease.” My chest tightened. Tears slid silently down my cheeks again. He paused, then added carefully: “And the hospital can’t continue extending credit much longer. I’ve advocated for you as far as I can, but the billing department will need payment soon. Otherwise, they’ll begin discharge planning.” The words landed like bricks. I stared down at the floor. “I understand,” I whispered. Silence settled between us for a few seconds. Then Dr. Ray shifted in his chair, his tone changing slightly — more practical now. “There may be another option,” he said. My head snapped up. “What kind of option?” “A job,” he replied. “A live-in position.” My heart skipped. He continued: “I know a family — very wealthy, very private. They come here regularly for treatment. They’re looking for someone responsible to stay in their home and help care for their children. The pay is generous. And it includes housing.” Housing. A place to sleep. My spine straightened instantly. “Yes,” I said, breathless. “Yes, I’m interested.” He studied my face for a moment, making sure I understood. “They’re particular people,” he said. “They value privacy and discretion. Not everyone is comfortable in that environment.” “I don’t mind,” I said quickly. “I just need the job.” Another pause. Then he nodded. “All right,” he said, reaching for his phone. “Let me call them.” My fingers curled tightly in my lap as he stepped to the side of the room. My pulse hammered in my ears. Please. Please let this work. I listened to fragments of the conversation: “Yes… I have someone suitable… Responsible, hardworking… Final-year student… Yes, she can start immediately.” A short pause. Then he ended the call and turned back toward me. “You got the job,” he said. For a second, I just stared at him. Then the tears came again — not from fear this time, but relief. I pushed out of the chair and hugged him without thinking. He stiffened in surprise for half a heartbeat, then gently patted my shoulder — formal, reassuring. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. And for the first time in days, I believed it. **** “Relax,” he said again, softer this time. “They’re going to love you.” “I’m… relaxed,” I lied. He chuckled. “No you’re not. That foot-tapping has been going for the last ten minutes.” I looked down, my left foot was drumming against the floor mat like it had its own heartbeat. I pressed my palm hard against my thigh to stop it. “Sorry.” “You have nothing to be sorry for. Everything’s going to be fine.” He glanced at the bags between my legs. “And is that everything you need?” “Well, yes, most of my things. I don’t really have much, and the rest of my stuff is with Mrs. Rivera, one of my neighbors. If I start this job, hopefully I can keep some of it in the room they give me, and the others I can pick up later when I get paid.” Dr. Ray nodded once, eyes on the road. “You will,” he said calmly. “This job pays well enough that you won’t have to worry about storage fees or losing anything. Just focus on settling in tonight.” I nodded, but my stomach stayed knotted. The city lights blurred past the window, and every mile felt like it was pulling me further from the life I knew. Dr. Ray’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel. “They’re… particular about who they let in,” he said quietly. “Just be careful what you ask about.” I blinked. “What do you mean?” He shook his head, eyes forward. “Nothing. Just… trust me on this one.” That didn’t make me feel better. We turned off the main road onto a quieter street lined with tall trees. Then the gate appeared, black iron, massive, with a gold crest at the top. It slid open automatically as we approached, smooth and silent. My breath caught. “Oh my god…” Dr. Ray gave a soft huff of amusement. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s the reaction most people have the first time.” We rolled through the gate and up a long, curving driveway lit by soft lanterns. The mansion rose ahead of us, three stories of pale stone, arched windows glowing warm gold, ivy climbing the walls like it had been there forever. It didn’t look like a house. It looked like a place with rules. I turned to him. “How rich are these people?” He smiled faintly. “Rich enough,” he said. “Come on.” He parked near the fountain in the circular drive. I grabbed my bags, heart hammering, and followed him up the wide stone steps to the double oak doors. They opened before we even knocked. A beautiful blond woman stood in the doorway, tall, elegant, wearing a cream silk blouse and jeans that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Her posture was straight, composed, like she was used to being obeyed. Behind her, a man in a crisp black suit, definitely a butler, stepped aside silently. “Ray,” she said warmly, stepping forward to hug him. “Elira,” he replied. “Good to see you.” Then her gaze shifted to me. She didn’t smile immediately. She looked. Slowly. Carefully. Taking in my clothes, my shoes, the bags in my hands. Then, at last, her lips curved. “You must be Astra.” I swallowed. “Good evening, ma’am.” “Oh,” she said softly, studying my face. “You’re very pretty.” The compliment didn’t feel casual. It felt like an observation. “Come in,” she said. “Please.” We stepped inside. The foyer alone was bigger than my old apartment. Marble floors. A chandelier the size of a small car. Fresh flowers arranged on every surface perfectly spaced, perfectly placed, not a single petal out of line. Everything looked beautiful and…….controlled. As Elira led us down the hallway, my eyes caught on a closed door at the far end. There was a lock on it. Old, heavy and out of place in a house this polished. She noticed where I was looking. Her smile came quickly. A fraction too quickly. “That’s just storage,” she said smoothly. “Nothing to worry about.” I nodded. But something in my chest tightened anyway. She led us into a living room with plush cream sofas, a roaring fireplace, and a long glass table covered in food, trays of macarons, tiny sandwiches, fruit tarts, chocolate-dipped strawberries, little cakes. Everything was arranged perfectly. Too perfectly. “Help yourselves,” Elira said, gesturing gracefully. My mouth watered, but my stomach twisted too hard to eat. Dr. Ray picked up a macaron and popped it into his mouth like this was completely normal. Elira sat across from us, crossing her legs neatly. “So, Astra,” she said. “Tell me about yourself. You have experience caring for children, yes?” I sat up straighter. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve babysat for my neighbors, younger kids, sometimes infants. I’m good with routines, feeding, bedtime stories, homework help. I’ve never had any complaints.” She listened without interrupting, her expression thoughtful but unreadable. “That’s good,” she said. “What school do you attend? Ray mentioned you’re in your final year.” “Harrington Academy.” Her brows lifted slightly. “My boys go there too.” I blinked. “Boys?” “Yes,” she said. “Three. One is in his final year just like you. The other two are twins. Eight years old.” A senior and two little boys. Manageable. Hopefully. She continued asking questions about schedules, discipline, cooking, schoolwork, routines. Each one calm. Precise. Like she was checking boxes in her head. Then she paused. “And your family?” she asked gently. Her gaze stayed steady on mine. “Who would expect you home in the evenings? Anyone who might object to you living here?” My throat tightened. “It’s just me,” I said. “My mom’s in the hospital. Early-onset Alzheimer’s. I’m her primary contact, but I can manage my time. I always do.” Silence settled between us. She studied me now not politely. Carefully. Evaluating. “And you won’t bring drama into my home?” she asked softly. “No boyfriends or distractions?” Heat crept up my neck. “No, ma’am. I don’t really… have time for that.” A flash of Zane’s face crossed my mind, those green eyes always finding me in a crowd. I shoved the thought away. Another pause. Long enough for my palms to start sweating. Finally, she leaned back. “You understand,” she said slowly, “this is not just babysitting.” My chest tightened. “My family values privacy. Loyalty. Discretion. If you live here, you represent this household.” I nodded quickly. “I understand.” Silence again. Heavy and measured. Then she leaned forward slightly, studying me one last time. The room felt too quiet. Then…. She smiled. “You’re hired.” My breath caught. “The position pays five thousand dollars a month, room and board included,” she continued. “I will also authorize a two-thousand-dollar advance tonight so you can handle any urgent expenses.” Five thousand. A month. My hands trembled. She slid a folder across the table. “This is the contract,” she said. “Take a look.” I lifted it carefully. The pages felt thick, Official and Important. My eyes skimmed the lines, live-in duties, childcare, confidentiality, no outside jobs without permission. The pen hovered over the paper. Just for a second. Then I signed. Elira took the contract back, her smile warm. Satisfied. “Welcome to the Ashton family, Astra.” Ashton. The name hit me like ice water. Zane Ashton. I had just signed my life away… to the house of the boy who made mine hell. INSTABILITY ASTRA “This is going to be your room,” Elira said as she pushed open the door and led me inside. My breath caught. The bedroom was bigger than any room I had ever seen or been in. Soft cream walls. A massive queen bed piled with white linens that looked untouched. A wide window overlooking the dark garden. An ensuite bathroom. There was a sleek desk by the window, a side table with a lamp glowing warm gold, and a velvet chaise in the corner like something from a magazine. A closed door on the far wall probably led to a walk-in closet. Everything smelled faintly of lavender and new paint. I stood frozen in the doorway, bags still dangling from my shoulders, feeling like I had stepped into someone else’s dream. Elira watched me quietly, a small, knowing smile touching her lips. “It’s sparse right now,” she said. “But you can decorate however you like. The walls were painted recently, so no nails for now. But you may add plants, posters whatever makes it feel like yours. This is your space while you’re here.” My throat tightened. No one had ever given me permission to make anything mine before. “Thank you,” I managed. “I… I don’t even know where to start.” “You will.” She stepped back toward the door, then paused. Her posture shifted slightly, the warmth still there, but something firmer settling underneath it. “But before I leave you to settle in,” she continued, tone gentle but unmistakably serious, “there are a few rules you’ll need to follow.” I nodded quickly. My glasses slid down my nose. “Of course. Anything.” She raised one manicured finger. “First: privacy is sacred in this house. You do not enter rooms that are closed or locked. You do not ask questions about matters that do not concern you. If something feels… off, you come to me or my husband. Not the boys or staff. Me.” The locked door from earlier flashed in my mind. The heavy metal latch. Her too-quick smile. “Understood,” I said. She studied my face for a moment, making sure. Then she continued. “Second: the twins come first. Always. If they wake at two in the morning because of a nightmare, you respond immediately. No complaints or delays.” Her voice softened slightly. “They have had enough instability already.” I wondered what kind of instability she meant. “Third,” she said, meeting my eyes again, “no outside drama. No friends staying over. No boyfriends sneaking in. No posting about this house or this family online. What happens here stays here.” The way she said it didn’t feel like a request. It felt like a boundary carved in stone. Heat crept up my neck. “I don’t have anyone to bring over,” I said quietly. “And I don’t really post much.” She held my gaze for a long beat. Weighing. “Good,” she said at last. Then she stepped slightly closer. “Fourth and this is the most important one.” Her voice dropped just enough to pull my full attention. “Zane can be… difficult. He is protective of his brothers and of this house.” My stomach flipped. This was his house. Zane Ashton’s house. The boy who made my life miserable. “But if he pushes your boundaries,” she continued calmly, “or treats you unkindly, you come to me immediately. Do not attempt to handle him alone.” The word difficult landed like a stone in water. “Yes, ma’am,” I said automatically, then winced at how small my voice sounded. Her lips curved slightly not quite a smile. “I expect you can follow the rules,” she said. “I can,” I replied. She reached out and squeezed my shoulder lightly. The touch felt almost maternal, reassuring. “You’re going to do well here, Astra. Get some rest. The twins will be up early tomorrow, and they will be very excited to meet you.” She turned to leave, then paused in the doorway. “Oh… one more thing.” Her eyes flicked briefly toward the closet door. “If you hear anything strange at night, footsteps, doors opening it is likely just the house settling. Old homes make noise.” A small smile returned to her face. “Don’t worry about it.” She stepped out and closed the door softly behind her. The click sounded louder than it should have. I stood there for a long moment, heart thudding unevenly. The room was beautiful. The bed looked soft enough to swallow me whole. The air smelled clean and expensive. But her last words lingered. If you hear anything strange at night… I set my bags down slowly. Then I crossed the room. My hand hovered over the closet handle. ***** I stepped out of the shower with a small smile. I had spent nearly an hour under the hot spray, letting the steam wash away the day’s grime and fear. The bathroom was ridiculous, marble tiles, rainfall showerhead, heated towel rack. I wrapped myself in one of the fluffy white towels and padded back into the bedroom. The room felt less overwhelming now. Almost… mine. My gaze drifted back to the closet door. It had been staring at me since Elira left. I sighed, shook out my damp hair, and crossed to my bags. I pulled out my faded pajamas, an oversized T-shirt and soft shorts that had seen better days and slipped them on. Comfortable. That was all that mattered. Then I turned back to the closet. I counted to three. Then I opened it. The door swung silently. Inside: rows of empty shelves, hanging rods bare, a full-length mirror on the back wall. A faint scent of cedar and nothing else. No boxes. No secrets. Just space. Normal. I exhaled slowly. Maybe I was being paranoid. My phone buzzed on the side table. One new message from Dr. Ray. Ray: You settled in okay? If anything feels off, call me. Anytime. You’re not alone in this. A grateful smile tugged at my lips. Me: Thank you, the room is beautiful. I’m okay. Really grateful for everything. I hit send. My stomach growled loudly. I pressed a hand against it. I had barely eaten all day. Elira had said the kitchen was open. Still… it was late. The house felt too quiet. But hunger won. I slipped on my socks so my footsteps wouldn’t echo, cracked the bedroom door, and listened. Silence. I padded down the hallway past closed doors and expensive paintings. The staircase curved into shadow below. Just fruit. In and out. The kitchen was massive, gleaming counters, double ovens, a refrigerator that looked like it belonged in a showroom. Moonlight spilled through tall windows, turning everything silver. Then I saw it. A plate on the counter. Covered in foil. A sticky note sat on top. Astra in case you're hungry. Heat it if you like. — E My chest tightened. She had remembered. She had expected me. I peeled back the foil. Steam drifted upward. Grilled chicken. Roasted vegetables. Creamy mashed potatoes. A small salad. It smelled incredible. I blinked quickly. Don’t cry. I carried the plate to the microwave and set the timer. Then I turned to the fridge. Rows of labeled containers. Fresh fruit. Yogurts. Juices. I grabbed the orange juice and searched for a glass. The cabinets were high. I stretched onto my tiptoes and pulled one open. The hinge creaked softly. Then…. A voice cut through the silence behind me. Cold, sharp and familiar. “Who the hell are you… and what are you doing?” I froze. Every muscle locked. I knew that voice. I had hoped, prayed even that I wouldn’t have to see him until morning. But he was here. Now. And standing right behind me. NOT OVER ZANE I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, the low rumble dying into silence. Stepping out, I rolled my shoulder, feeling the ache from practice still buried deep in the muscle. The house was dark except for the soft glow of the security lights. Everyone was asleep or at least they should have been. I fished the spare key from my pocket, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. The foyer was dead quiet, marble cold beneath my sneakers. I was halfway to the stairs when a soft rustle drifted from the kitchen. I stopped. Not loud. Just… movement. I knew this house. Knew the hum of the fridge, the settling groans in the walls, the old pipes knocking at night. This wasn’t that. Mom would never be in the kitchen this late. Dad wasn’t home. The twins were out before nine, and the staff knew better than to wander around after midnight unless something was wrong. So who the hell was in there? My pulse kicked up. I eased my backpack off one shoulder, set it silently against the wall, and moved toward the kitchen doorway. I reached the threshold. There she was. Back to me, standing on tiptoe in front of an open cabinet, reaching for a glass she couldn’t quite grab. Short. Curvy. Dressed in an oversized T-shirt and faded shorts. Hair damp and clinging to the back of her neck. I didn’t recognize her at first. “Who the hell are you,” I said, voice low and sharp, “and what are you doing?” She froze. Then she turned. And my whole body went still. Astra Hawthorne. Trash-tra? For one second, I genuinely thought I was hallucinating. Her eyes went huge behind those stupid glasses. “I…I’m not stealing,” she stammered. I stared at her, my brain refusing to catch up. Astra. In my kitchen. In my house. At midnight. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I snapped, stepping closer. “How did you get in?” She gripped the edge of the counter. “I live here……now” I laughed, short and disbelieving. “You live here?” Her chin lifted, shaky but stubborn. “Elira hired me. I’m the new live-in babysitter for your brothers.” The words hit like a punch to the throat. Astra Hawthorne. Sleeping under my roof, walking my halls, and touching things in my house like she belonged here. My jaw clenched. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “I’m not,” she said, trying for steady even though her hands were shaking. “I signed the contract. I’m staying.” I moved closer until she had to lean back against the counter. “You think you can just walk into my house and act like you belong here?” I said quietly. Her breath caught, but she didn’t look away. “I’m not acting. I was hired.” My gaze flicked to the counter. Foil-covered plate. My mother’s handwriting on the note. Astra followed my stare. “She left food for me,” she said. “I have permission to be here.” That made something ugly twist in my chest. I planted one hand on the counter beside her, boxing her in without touching her. “You will go upstairs,” I said, each word clipped, “pack your things, and tell my mother this isn’t happening.” Her throat bobbed. Then she said, “No.” I let out a harsh laugh. “You think that was a suggestion?” Her eyes flashed. “I’m not leaving because you told me to.” That answer lit a fuse. My hand shot out before I could think. I grabbed a fistful of her damp hair and yanked her head back hard. “Ahhh,” She gasped and then let out a low groan of pain as her neck arched, exposing the soft line of her throat. “You don’t belong here,” I said. “You didn’t belong at school, and you sure as hell don’t belong here.” Pain flickered across her face, quick and sharp, but it didn’t break her. She swallowed and whispered, “That’s not your decision.” For a second, I just looked at her. At the trembling shoulders. The fear in her eyes. The stupid, stubborn way she still held my stare. Then the kitchen lights snapped on. “What is going on here?” My mother’s voice cut through the silence like glass. I straightened immediately, stepping back half a pace but not taking my eyes off Astra. Mom stood in the doorway in a silk robe, her face calm in that way that meant she was furious. “Zane,” she said. “Why are you cornering her?” “I don’t want her here,” I said flatly. “Get rid of her.” Mom walked farther into the kitchen, placing herself between us. “She is staying,” she said. I looked over her shoulder at Astra. She was still pressed against the counter, breathing too fast, one hand braced behind her, her face pale. “This thing?” I said coldly. “She has a name,” Mom replied. “And she works for this family now.” I laughed once, bitter. “You hired her? Seriously?” “Yes,” she said. “And you will treat her with basic respect.” Astra looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor, but her chin was up again. That look got under my skin. Still scared and shaking but refusing to fold. I stepped back fully, hands flexing at my sides. “Fine,” I said, voice low. “Let her stay.” My gaze locked on Astra one last time. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I turned and walked out of the kitchen. I could feel her staring after me. And deep in my gut, I knew this wasn’t over. Not even close.