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Determined to stop the bullying, she vowed to make her family pay. Her disabled fiancé proposed a marriage alliance to help her fight back. What started as a deal turned into love--he adored her, and she discovered she was his savior all along! ===== "Janice, how vicious you could be! Do you even realize what you've done to your sister? " "I brought you back, gave you all you needed, and offered you a place to belong. Is this how you thank me? You're going to learn your lesson today!" Laurie Edwards snarled, her rage boiling over as the whip struck her daughter with a brutal, echoing crack. The sharp snap of the whip reverberated through the vast mansion, silencing the servants who stood as still as sculptures, not daring to utter a single word. Despite this, Janice Edwards remained stoic, her slight frame quivering as she clenched her teeth tightly, bearing the excruciating pain that seemed to rip through her skin. With Laurie's arm each swung, marking Janice's back with deep, crimson streaks, her face turning pale. Yet, her gaze remained steady, lit with a spark of resolve. Maybe she had become numb to such brutal punishments. "Now, apologize to Delilah." Panting from the exertion, Laurie stood with one hand resting on her hip, eyes blazing as she glared at Janice. "Why should I apologize when I've done nothing wrong?" Janice met Laurie's gaze, her voice firm, each word a defiance. Laurie's fury peaked as she saw Janice's unyielding stance. Gripping the whip tightly, she declared, "Then I will not stop until you apologize today." At that crucial moment, Delilah Edwards, Laurie's adopted daughter, clutched Laurie's arm, her eyes brimming with tears as she implored, "Mom! Please, no more hitting Janice. It's actually my fault--I never told her about my allergy to mango." "Delilah, your heart is too big. She nearly got you killed, yet here you are, defending her." Laurie sighed, patting Delilah's hand gently, warmth flooding her voice. "She's just malicious. In her desperate bid for attention, she gave you mango pudding, knowing well about your allergy. How utterly cruel, don't you think?" "But I swear, I didn't know!" Janice protested, tears welling up in her eyes as she faced the tight-knit pair before her. "I really didn't know about her allergy!" "Still making excuses?" Laurie snapped, landing another strike on Janice, her words icy and biting as the sting radiated across Janice's skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Ever since Janice had returned to her family, any dispute involving Delilah invariably ended with Janice taking the blame. No matter her arguments or the evidence she presented, it was always brushed aside as deceitful. When Delilah had a fall down the stairs, she had accused Janice of pushing her, and their parents had sided with Delilah without a second thought. Even though Janice was their flesh and blood, she seemed to hold a lesser place in their hearts than Delilah, the adopted one. In their eyes, perhaps she was nothing more than a schemer, always out to hurt Delilah to win some affection. Delilah cast a sympathetic look towards Janice. "Mom, I get where Janice is coming from. After all, I've take her place as your daughter for over a decade. If I were in her shoes, I'd probably feel bitter too. Perhaps if I leave, she'll finally feel at peace, and the family can mend." Her words, coated in a veneer of concern, were a clever ruse to cast Janice further into disfavor, and Laurie swallowed the bait wholeheartedly. Janice's heart sank deeper into despair, a silent tally of grievances against her family mounting with each passing moment. In an instant, a sharp whip snapped her back to the harsh present. She locked eyes with Laurie, whose gaze was frosty and filled with contempt. Laurie's voice cut through the air, icy and sharp. "Just look at Delilah, always so thoughtful and polite! If you were even half as considerate, I'd be over the moon. Yet here you are, denying your mistake, as if to piss me off on purpose." Janice stood her ground firmly. "I'll tell you once more, the pudding I handed her had no mango in it. If you doubt me, just check the grocery list!" "Why even bother to check? It's not like Delilah would deceive us about such things." Laurie, her faith in Delilah unshakable, saw no need to confirm the items listed for shopping. "Mom..." Delilah's voice trembled, her act delicately woven with vulnerability. "If it eases Janice's mind, then perhaps I did wrong her." "Delilah, please, don't cry. You don't deserve to suffer this way. I'll ensure that ungrateful girl is held accountable." Laurie's gaze hardened, her grip on her whip tightening, her authority palpable. "If you don't want to apologize, that's entirely up to you. In three days, Efrery will host its first fashion design contest. If you give your design draft to Delilah, I'll let this go." Again? Those icy words pierced Janice, sending a deep shiver through her being. Throughout the year, she had tirelessly given in, desperate for a sliver of her family's acknowledgment and praise. From the start, the bedroom had been hers by right. But they coaxed Janice into surrendering it, saying Delilah had grown attached to its comforts. Even her rightful identity as the Edwards family's daughter had been obscured, all to safeguard Delilah's pride. The list of such sacrifices stretched endlessly. To stay with this family and gain their favor, Janice had given up more than she cared to admit. But now, Laurie was pushing her to give up her design draft for the fashion contest, her future hanging in the balance. "Say something," Laurie urged as Janice remained silent. "Have you lost your voice?" "Mom, please," Delilah interjected, gripping Laurie's arm, shaking her head. "Janice is competing too. What will she do if she hands over her draft to me? Though I feel confident about winning, I..." She paused, coughing weakly, her frame quivering as though she might faint. "I don't think my health allows it." "She caused you harm, it's only right she makes amends." Laurie locked eyes with Janice with a penetrating stare. "I'll ask you one last time--are you giving up the draft or not?" Janice's chest tightened as she took a deep, uneven breath. "Mom, aren't I your daughter too?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly. "You claim to be my daughter, but you disregard my wishes?" This overt display of favoritism broke Janice's heart completely. She closed her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. "I'll let her have the draft." A sly smile flickered across Delilah's face. While Janice was often too yielding, her design skills were top-notch. With Janice's draft in hand, clinching first place seemed all but guaranteed. "You do have a conscience after all," Laurie remarked, one eyebrow arched as she nonchalantly flung the whip aside and offered Delilah a warm smile. "With Janice's design draft, you can stop stressing about the competition. Just relax and enjoy the award when it comes." "Thanks, Mom," Delilah responded, her face lighting up with a joyful grin. Yet, shortly after, a timid look crossed her face as she glanced at Janice. "But won't Janice resent me for using her draft?" "Would she even dare?" Laurie's voice turned frosty as she fixed a stern gaze on Janice. "If she harbors any resentment, she'll find herself out on the streets. The Edwards family don't keep the ungrateful around, family or not." "What if Janice accuses me of stealing her design?" Delilah's voice was tinged with worry. "Then I will ensure that every bit of her involvement is obliterated, crediting you alone." Laurie's harsh words stunned Janice, her heart sinking deeper into despair with each moment. Had her year of endurance and compromise been in vain? "Huh!" Janice scoffed, a bitter laugh breaking through as the final remnants of her hopes disintegrated, leaving her utterly disillusioned with the family. Chapter 2 Fighting Back "What's so funny, Janice?" Laurie tilted her head in confusion. "I laugh at the absurdity of my own foolishness, how time and again I've surrendered, only to feed your boundless greed," Janice answered, her laughter tinged with a sharp, mocking edge. "Greed? Isn't it your duty, as an elder sister, to make concessions for Delilah?" Laurie's retort came wrapped in a veneer of self-righteousness, unaware that the spark of hope in Janice's eyes had long been extinguished. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Janice declared with determination, "I kept stepping back, hoping my sacrifices would kindle even a spark of affection from you. But my efforts were in vain, dismissed and trampled upon as if they were nothing but failures." Her voice rose, reverberating with force around the room. Janice rose from the floor, her posture now reflecting a mix of defiance and strength. "You promised me a life of opulence upon my return to the Edwards family. Yet, what have I received? Not even the courtesy of a decent meal. Tell me, beyond using and crushing me, have you ever acted with a shred of humanity?" With her hands clutching her chest, Janice continued, "I am your own daughter! Have you ever, even once, called me 'sweetie'?" Her laugh then broke through, hysterical yet filled with sorrow. Laurie frowned, her voice icy as she responded, "Isn't this all because you want to hear me call you 'sweetie'? Fine. Sweetie! Is that what you wanted?" With a sharp, almost manic laugh, Janice shook her head. "Mrs. Edwards, your pathetic attempt at fake love is almost entertaining." At that moment, her laughter ceased abruptly, her eyes turning cold and piercing. "I no longer crave your affection. As of today, I sever all bonds with the Edwards family." "This is outright rebellion!" Laurie exclaimed, her fury palpable as she grasped the whip again and lashed out at Janice. However, Janice intercepted the whip effortlessly, her expression steely and resolute. "Do you still want to hit me? Once, I was your daughter, and I tolerated a mother's discipline. But now, we share no bond. By what right do you raise your hand against me?" A sly smirk twisted Janice's lips, her previously gentle demeanor now replaced with a rebellious edge. She wrested the whip from Laurie, giving it a casual flick through the air. "You hit me just now. It seems only fair to return the favor." "What are you going to do?" Laurie staggered back, her expression one of shock as Janice turned from a docile victim into a figure of daunting courage. With a deafening snap, the whip struck Laurie's body, leaving a fiery sting in its wake. "How dare you hit me!" Laurie cried out in pain, her rage reaching a boiling point. "You won't get away with this!" "Janice, how could you hit Mom?" Delilah exclaimed in shock. Janice cast a chilling glance at Delilah, sending shivers down her spine. Delilah couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling, pondering the drastic change in Janice. "If you're so concerned about her, why don't you take the hit for her?" Janice snapped, her words cutting through the air. With that, the whip lashed out, striking Delilah sharply. "Ah!" Delilah shrieked as the lash connected, a wave of intense pain overwhelming her thoughts. She couldn't believe this. Janice must have lost her sanity to strike her. "Janice, stop this madness! I won't allow you to harm Delilah!" Laurie roared, rushing to encase Delilah in her arms, disregarding her own agony. But Janice was relentless, her whip mercilessly striking Laurie again and again. Laurie's cries of pain echoed through the room, her body quaking, her eyes rolling back as if she were about to pass out. Yet this agony was nothing compared to the suffering Janice had gone through for a year. She was holding back right now. Otherwise, Laurie would have already succumbed. "Janice, please, stop! You're killing Mom! It's all my fault. Hit me if you must, but please..." Delilah pleaded, her words cut off as Janice yanked her from Laurie's protective embrace. "Janice, let go of Delilah!" Despite her own suffering, Laurie was still worried about Delilah. What a "great" mother she was! "Aren't you allergic to mango?" Janice snorted, a sinister smile playing on her lips. "What the hell are you doing? You better let me go right now! Dad's going to be back any minute, and when he hears what you did to Mom, he'll rip you apart!" Delilah's heart thudded in her chest, her trembling hands frozen by her sides as she gaped at Janice in horror. "Then I'll make sure you're gone before he can lay a hand on me." Janice seized a mango pudding from the table and pressed it against Delilah's lips. Delilah twisted and writhed, but Janice's grip was like steel, leaving her choking as the pudding was thrust down her throat. "Stop, Janice! You'll kill her!" Laurie bellowed, her voice laced with terror. "Someone, please! Stop this madness!" Reacting to Laurie's cries, the servants quickly closed in on Janice. Without a moment's hesitation, Janice whipped out the lash, cracking it in the air with a sharp snap that struck a servant harshly. "Take one more step, and you're fucking dead!" she declared, her eyes glinting with a chilling resolve that froze the servants in their tracks. They exchanged looks of disbelief. Was this really the same girl who had always absorbed her suffering in silence? "Delilah, please, talk to me!" Laurie crawled towards her, tears streaming down her face. "Don't scare me like this!" "Mrs. Edwards, perhaps it's time you witnessed how your dear daughter handles her allergic reactions." She sneered and strode out of the room. This place no longer felt like a home. The servants gathered around, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion. They were unaccustomed to seeing such a bold display of defiance from Janice, who was usually so meek and accommodating. The memory of Janice beating Laurie and forcefully feeding Delilah mango pudding hung heavily in the air, a chilling reminder of the ordeal. Chapter 3 A Deal Janice stepped out from the Edwards family's mansion, her gaze drifting slowly over the silent, empty street. Despite the residual pain that clung to her, a peculiar lightness blossomed within her chest. Reflecting on her year with the Edwards family, she acknowledged the suffocating nature of her existence there. Driven by a deep-seated desire for family warmth, she had willingly shackled her own desires, hoping in vain for a sliver of their affection. Sadly, all she encountered was sheer apathy and relentless demands. Janice cast one final glance at the mansion, its walls exuding a haughty splendor, a silent testament to aristocratic pride. "Let's see how long your greatness lasts without me around," Janice muttered under her breath, turning her head away. As she took a step towards her new freedom, a voice unexpectedly halted her. "Miss Edwards, you truly are full of surprises." Janice spun around. Before her, guided by a bodyguard, was a man seated in a wheelchair. His features were arrestingly handsome--the sharp contours of his face striking, his presence effortlessly commanding the light around him despite his seated position. However, he was a man marked by a disability. This very disability had led Delilah to scorn him, compelling the Edwards family to bring Janice back to take Delilah's place in an arranged marriage to him. "Mr. Green, what exactly are you implying?" Janice's voice was sharp, her eyes narrowing with a palpable intensity that suggested imminent danger. Aiden Green, with a slight lift of his brow, regarded her with a curious expression. "I must admit, I'm taken aback. I didn't expect you, typically so docile, to reveal such a formidable side. It's quite unexpected." "Have you been watching me?" Janice's tone grew colder, her fists tightening subtly as she braced herself for any necessary confrontation. Unruffled, Aiden signaled with a subtle gesture for his bodyguards to hold their positions. "Considering you are my fiancee, I believe it's rather normal for me to take an interest in your affairs, wouldn't you agree?" "Yes," Janice conceded, softening her posture as she stepped closer to Aiden. "But are you truly prepared to accept me as your fiancee? I remember well your previous demeanor towards me--it was rather dismissive, even bordering on contemptuous." "That was in the past," Aiden replied, his voice halting as he locked eyes with Janice, whose gaze no longer bore traces of vulnerability. In that moment, he perceived a change in her, as if she was a completely different person. "I now believe you are indeed suited to stand beside me." Janice's smile danced in the evening breeze, her hair fluttering like silken threads. Her smile, though beautiful, carried a frosty undertone. "Mr. Green, let's cut to the chase. What are you really after?" Aiden raised his eyebrows, intrigued. The changes she had undergone were even more significant than he had imagined. "Let's make a deal," he suggested smoothly. "Alright, go on," Janice urged, her eyes locked on his with resolute poise. "You've severed ties with the Edwards family. Once Connor is back, he won't let this slide." Aiden's voice was low and captivating. "I'm in a position to shield you from their backlash and offer the support you need to chase your ambitions. You loathe them now, don't you? You're out for retribution, I guess?" Janice's eyes narrowed, a spark of recognition flickering within. Aiden had pierced right through her facade. The Edwards family had presumed that bringing her back was a charitable gesture. However, she would prove them wrong. She would show them how ignorant they were and what immense wealth and prosperity they had missed. "And what is it that you want?" she inquired, her voice steady. "Let's go register our marriage tomorrow." Aiden's words made Janice momentarily stunned, but then her lips curled into a smile. "Deal." Chapter 4 No Allergies? The Edwards family was now shrouded in an oppressive and somber air. With Connor Edwards, Laurie's husband, back, a palpable tension had settled in, stifling enough that the servants didn't dare to make a sound. Connor's fury was barely contained as he pounded his fist on the table, his voice a menacing growl. "Unbelievable! Hitting her mother was bad enough, but forcing Delilah to eat mango pudding too? Was Janice crazy?" Laurie urged, "Connor, you have to stand up for Delilah. We took Janice in, clothed her, fed her and provided shelter, yet look how she repays us. Such actions could tarnish our good name if word spreads." "She will return and apologize," Connor vowed, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. He turned to address the butler. "Where is Janice now? Get her back to me." "Aiden Green has taken her away." "What?" Connor was taken aback. "Aiden Green? What in the world is happening?" The butler shook his head, his own confusion evident. "Mr. Green's timing was suspicious. He only appeared after Janice's outburst. Maybe there's something going on between them." A cold realization dawned on Connor as he pieced the events together. Janice's boldness probably stemmed from her association with Aiden. "She thinks she's untouchable with Aiden in her corner. Does she think that worthless man's support allows her to act however she pleases?" At that moment, Bartley Carter, the family doctor, descended the staircase. Connor and Laurie, momentarily setting aside their brewing anger, turned to him with concern. "Bartley, how is Delilah doing right now?" "Miss Edwards merely had a scare, nothing of grave concern." "What? That doesn't make sense!" Laurie frowned, her face a mixture of shock and concern. "She ate an entire mango pudding." Bartley hesitated for a moment, his brows furrowing in bewilderment. "What's so bad about eating a whole mango pudding?" "She has a mango allergy." "That's not the case. Miss Edwards has no such allergy." Stunned, Connor and Laurie exchanged bewildered looks. Delilah wasn't allergic to mango? Did Delilah really throw an unfounded accusation at Janice? "Bartley, are you absolutely certain about Delilah's lack of allergy?" Laurie pressed on, seeking confirmation once more. "Absolutely. If she were truly allergic, consuming such an amount would have necessitated an emergency hospital visit," Bartley affirmed with professional confidence. Recognizing Bartley's expertise and dedication, Connor and Laurie nodded in acceptance of his diagnosis. "Thank you, Bartley," Connor remarked gratefully. "I'll ensure the consultation fee is transferred to you later." Bartley acknowledged with a nod. "If there's nothing further, I shall take my leave now." Connor asked the butler to see Bartley out. Turning around, he found Laurie immersed in contemplation, her gaze distant and unfocused. "Could it be that Delilah faked her allergy just to set Janice up?" Shaking her head slightly, Laurie responded, "I'm just relieved Delilah isn't truly allergic to mango. By the way, now that Janice is with Aiden, what do you think we should do?" "Ha! As if Aiden was willing to protect her without our backing. She'll be crawling back soon enough, begging to be forgiven!" Connor predicted with a sneer. Laurie nodded in agreement. Janice had been cruel, but at the end of the day, she was nothing more than an ungrateful girl, not worth wasting another moment on. With these thoughts stirring in her mind, she ascended the stairs to Delilah's room. "Mrs. Edwards, you need to stand up for Delilah." As Laurie stepped through the doorway, a middle-aged woman dressed in a maid's uniform grasped her hand. It was Daryl Quimby, the devoted servant of the Edwards family. As soon as she saw Laurie, Daryl began to complain, "I've looked after Delilah since she was a child, treating her like my own daughter. To see her endure such pain cuts me deeply. Although Janice is your own flesh and blood, she is ungrateful. Despite all the love the Edwards family has showered upon her, she struck you and nearly took Delilah's life. It's utterly reprehensible." "Daryl, please, try to calm down. I assure you, I won't let this slide. Janice may be my own daughter, but I won't overlook her actions." "Delilah is incredibly fortunate to have such a loving mother." Laurie smiled. "I'm the one who's truly fortunate to have Delilah as my daughter." She moved deeper into the room and approached Delilah, who lay frailly in the bed. A pang of concern tightened her chest at this sight. "Delilah, my dear, how are you feeling?" "I'm feeling a lot better now, Mom. Bartley just confirmed that I'm not allergic to mango." Tears streamed down Delilah's face as she put on an act of guilt. "Mom, do you think I set Janice up?" Laurie shook her head. "No, sweetheart. I believe you, dear. This must have been a simple misunderstanding. Plus, it's a relief to hear you're not allergic to mango. I would have been really worried otherwise." A faint, wistful smile flickered across Delilah's face. "Mom, maybe it would be best if I left. Janice's sudden madness today scared me. She must hate me so much. If I'm gone, she'll probably be happier, and things might be more peaceful for the Edwards family." "Delilah, you have such a big heart." Laurie sighed, feeling sorry for Delilah. "Even after all this, you're thinking about Janice's feelings. If only she could see the goodness in you like I do. After today, I cannot see her as my daughter anymore." "Mom, Janice is a poor girl..." "Let's drop the subject," Laurie replied sharply, waving her hand with an air of finality. Her expression soured at the mention of Janice's name. "Focus on your rest. You know, the fashion design competition is in three days. When you clinch the first prize, I'll appoint you as the vice president of our company." "Mom, you're the best." Inside, however, Delilah's thoughts took a scornful turn. How delightfully gullible the Edwards family was, swayed by mere sweet nothings. Poor Janice had not only given her design to her but had also been ousted from the Edwards family. Delilah believed it wouldn't be long before she seized control of all that belonged to the Edwards family. The upcoming fashion design competition was no ordinary event. Hosted by Routique Fashion, a titan in the industry known for setting the global fashion trends, the event was a spectacle in its own right. Among the luminaries of the fashion world was JE, a name spoken with utmost reverence. Regarded as a visionary among her peers, JE's creations were deemed masterpieces, setting the standards for all aspiring designers. Yet, JE remained shrouded in mystery, never once stepping into the public eye. Rumors abounded, and some fanatics even dangled a million-dollar bounty for a real-life encounter with the elusive designer. The Edwards family had long been leading figures in the fashion world. Laurie, as a celebrated designer, held considerable sway over industry trends. Her role as a judge at the imminent competition only cemented their family's influential legacy. Chapter 5 Why Is She Here? At the designer competition venue, Delilah, adorned in a sumptuous ensemble, strolled through the hall, exuding confidence and vivacity. Her presence commanded the attention of many. Recognizing her potential victory, acquaintances swarmed around her, eager to ingratiate themselves. It was an open secret that Laurie, a towering figure in the world of fashion design, meant that the competition's grand prize was almost certainly destined for Delilah. Winning would not only affirm her talent but also secure her a prominent position within Edwards Group's fashion division. "Miss Edwards, you are absolutely radiant today! Surely, this exquisite outfit is your creation?" "Indeed, Miss Edwards' flair for design is a beautiful echo of her mother's legacy--truly captivating. Even her casual outfits set her apart. I have no doubt that her entry for today will leave us all spellbound." Delilah held her head high with an air of pride. She was looking forward to the jealous stares that would follow her anticipated triumph. "Thank you, I am deeply honored. My mother's mentorship has been invaluable." Nearby, Laurie listened with a smile, her heart swelling with pride. "It's your innate talent too, Delilah. Without it, even the finest mentorship would falter." "By the way, Mrs. Edwards, I heard your other daughter will also be in the competition. Why haven't we seen her yet?" someone asked. Laurie's demeanor hardened, and she replied sharply, "I have only one daughter, Delilah. Who are you referring to?" The crowd fell into a hushed silence. Although the true daughter of the Edwards family had not been publicly acknowledged, rumors had circulated. Laurie's feigned ignorance took everyone aback. Laurie's brow furrowed, her voice laced with contempt. "You must be mistaken. Are you talking about that girl who can't even sketch a simple design? She has no place here in this competition." The crowd exchanged looks, piecing together Laurie's harsh dismissal as a blatant denial of her own flesh and blood, favoring her adopted daughter as the heiress. However, they didn't care whom the title belonged to. They just needed to know who was cherished by the Edwards family. "I heard JE is supposed to make an appearance at today's event. Being a judge, you must have heard something about that, Mrs. Edwards?" "Wait, JE is going to be here?" Laurie's eyebrows shot up, her voice laced with surprise as she processed the unexpected news. The thought of JE attending ignited an excited thrill deep within her. Her design firm had hit a snag on a challenging project, but JE's presence could effortlessly draw in enthusiastic collaborators. "Mrs. Edwards, you didn't know?" Regaining her poise, Laurie answered with a gracious smile, "Well, I really shouldn't say." Her answer was tactful, skillfully masking her unawareness while implying that she was privy to secrets she couldn't divulge due to confidentiality constraints. "Mrs. Edwards, if there's ever a chance, we'd love for you to introduce us to JE!" "Of course," Laurie agreed amiably. Soon, a lively crowd gathered around Laurie, exchanging trivial niceties. They were all driven by the same ambition--to forge a connection with a luminary in the fashion design industry through Laurie. A wave of pride washed over Delilah. The more prominent Laurie became, the more she, as her daughter, would shine. If Janice happened to witness her reveling in this glowing admiration, adored like a queen, she'd absolutely be burning with envy, wouldn't she? Delilah's eyes suddenly snapped to a familiar silhouette. Was that Janice? What was she doing here? Had she come to submit another design for the competition? ...... What happens next? 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I took the worst-paid, worst-idea job on the island to pay off the debt my ex left me — and accidentally found the best life I've ever had. 🔥 The listing said "caretaker for exotic creatures." It didn't mention that behind seven sealed doors live seven monsters — and not one of them is interested in my heart, only in ruining me for anything human. 😳 The one who breathes underwater keeps me under till I forget my own name. The one with tentacles never runs out of hands. No strings. No feelings. No man asking how I feel in the morning. Just the best s*x of my life, on repeat, each one wilder than the last. 🐙 I came here broken, swearing off love forever. I never said anything about monsters. 💋 The only problem? What I signed up for goes far deeper than I ever read — and the price is one I never agreed to pay. 🤫 ——————————————————— Chapter 1 — Crystal's POV Position: [not specified]. Location: Saint-Barthélemy, on-site housing provided. Compensation: €4,500/month. Start date: immediate. Requirements: female, single, good health, experience with caregiving preferred. Good fertility. Nature of work: daily care and interaction with exotic creatures. Interested applicants reply to this address only. I'd found it buried in a local forum between an ad for a retired fisherman's boat and someone selling homemade coconut oil, and I'd screenshot it before it could disappear, the way things on that forum tended to do. I read it for the fourth time, and it didn't get any less suspicious. The waiting room was trying hard to impress. White leather chairs, a marble coffee table, and a massive aerial photograph of Saint-Barthélemy's coastline. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Checked my phone, read the listing again. "Weird listing, right?" The woman two chairs over was watching me. Mid-thirties, tanned, the kind of sun-bleached hair that came from actually living near the ocean She nodded at my phone. "No company name, no job title. Just 'exotic creatures' and a salary that's too good to be real." "We might be considered crazy for coming here." "Honey, half the island applied. That money?" She whistled low. "I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. I'd scrub dragon cages for that number." I almost laughed. But before I could open my mouth, the door at the end of the room opened, and a voice cut through. "Crystal Le Grand?" I put my phone away so fast I nearly dropped it. The woman who stepped through was the kind of beautiful that made you immediately aware of every flaw on your own face. Her badge was saying ‘Anaïs’. Tall, dark hair pulled into something effortlessly perfect, sharp cheekbones. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "That's me." I stood and extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. I love your shoes, are those…" "Follow me, please." Anaïs turned on those shoes I wasn't allowed to compliment and walked back through the door. I followed, hand still half-raised, smile dying on my face. She was the assistant to the facility's owner, and she had the interpersonal warmth of a tax audit. She led me to a small office, gestured to a chair, and opened a folder without looking at me once. "I see here you were previously married. Is that correct?" "Correct." I smiled tightly. ‘Best’ decision I never made. I was twenty-one and stupid and in love, and he had a smile that made me forget nobody had ever taken care of me without a price tag. "And your current relationship status?" "And your current relationship status?" "Single. Very, very single. The marriage was annulled, so technically I was never even married. Fun little legal detail." My now ex-husband vanished and left a stack of credit card statements with my name on them. Debts I didn't know existed, signatures I stupidly signed without looking. Now I understood why he'd been in such a rush to walk me down the aisle. Not in the name of love, but because he couldn’t wait to max out credit cards in his wife's name. Anaïs wrote something without looking up. The pen moved in short, precise strokes. Her nails were clean and unpolished, trimmed to exactly the same length. "Your credit history shows some irregularities. Can you explain?" "Student loans. You know how it is." I laughed. Anaïs didn't. Everything about this woman was controlled — posture, breathing, the way she held her face like a mask. Student loans my ass. I've got about four weeks of savings, a mountain of debt, and a disabled brother whose care I help pay for. "Menstrual cycle. Regular or irregular?" I blinked. "Regular, but that's kind of a…" "Clothing size?" "Eight. Sometimes ten if it's European sizing, which, honestly, always feels like a personal attack." "Professional experience?" "Nursing. Two years at Hôpital de Bruyn before I took a break." Before my fiancé convinced me to quit. "I'll take care of us, baby. You deserve better than nightshifts and bedpans." Turns out what he meant was he'd strip away every safety net I had, then vanish. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel — he's disabled. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No one." Anaïs's pen stopped moving. She looked at me and something shifted across her features. Quick, controlled, barely there. Surprise and something sharper underneath it, almost like satisfaction. Then it vanished, and she was writing again. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No. Caleb was my whole social life, which, again, is a red flag. I'm seeing all the red flags now." Anaïs closed the folder, excused herself, and returned two minutes later with him. Albert Bernard, the owner of this company, walked into the room. Tall, obscenely handsome, the kind of man whose jaw looked sculpted rather than grown. He shook my hand with both of his and smiled like we were already old friends. "Crystal! Anaïs tells me you're perfect." "She… Really? She didn't seem…" "Wonderful! Tell me about your sex life." I choked on nothing. "My what?" "Your sex life. Active, dormant, somewhere in between?" He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "I ask because I want you to be comfortable. Some of the work here is intimate in nature: not sexual, but physical, close-contact, and I need to know your boundaries won't make you a liability." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Albert tilted his head like a man watching a fish try to climb a tree. "I'll go first, since you look like you might swallow your own tongue. I'm bisexual, and the last person I was with told me I had the emotional availability of a desk lamp. Your turn." Surprisingly, It worked. Something about his absurd candor cracked the seal. I was still stiff when I found myself talking: "Dormant. Dead, actually. My ex killed any interest I had in men, and honestly, at this point the only physical contact I want is the kind where nobody asks how I'm feeling afterward." Albert listened with his chin on his fist and nodded like everything I said was fascinating. The contract was three pages. I should have read every word. I read the salary line, the housing clause, and the duration — twelve months, renewable — and I signed. Albert clapped his hands together. "Anaïs, transport! We leave now." “H-Hold on, what?” “Why wait? You’re gonna have so much fun there!” Anaïs stood, and as she passed Albert's chair, his hand swung out and slapped her across the ass — casual, proprietary, the sound sharp in the small room. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just kept walking. I stared. My mouth opened, closed. Two attractive adults, I told myself. Clearly a thing between them. Who am I to judge? God knows I wouldn't mind someone who looked like either of them doing that to me. I tried to forget the look on the other candidates' faces when Albert enthusiastically told them to leave because the position was closed. Outside, a black SUV waited with the engine running. Anaïs took the wheel without a word; Albert held the rear door open for me with a little bow that was either gentlemanly or mocking, hard to tell with him. I climbed in, and the leather seats were cool against my thighs. Nobody spoke. Anaïs drove like she'd made this trip a hundred times, eyes fixed ahead, and Albert scrolled through his phone beside me. The drive took us to the island's far eastern edge, where the roads narrowed to dirt and the vegetation thickened until the ocean disappeared behind a wall of green. The facility sat at the end of a gravel path — low concrete, no signage, built like something designed not to be found. Inside, the air was cooler and carried a strange undercurrent, something organic and faintly mineral, like wet stone in a cave. Albert walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a tour guide. "Your schedule will be straightforward — feeding rounds three times a day, health checks once in the morning, and the rest of the time is yours to spend with the residents. Think of it as..." I was trying to listen, I really was, but then we passed a corridor junction and I saw the monitor. A security screen mounted high on the wall, showing a dark chamber in grainy night vision. Something massive was moving inside: too many limbs, too fluid, and a thick muscular appendage uncurling against the reinforced glass, ridged suckers pressing flat against the surface. My vision tilted. The corridor stretched and compressed, fluorescent lights bleeding into long white smears. My knees folded, and the last thing I registered before the dark swallowed everything was the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek. ——————————————————— What happens when she stops wanting to leave? 🫣 Read Monstrously Yours Now! 🐙🔥

To exact revenge, she struck a deal with the cold, ruthless head of a powerful family. After their plan succeeded, he cornered her against a wall, his voice almost pitiful. "I helped you take down those people. Don't you think you owe me some time alone?" She froze, stunned. Had their alliance turned into something else? ===== "You've weathered countless storms over the years. Welcome home, Arabella." At the celebratory dinner, a young man in a perfectly tailored suit found himself unwilling to look away from Arabella Stanley. She possessed an otherworldly beauty, her sharp features sculpted with precision and wrapped in an aura of cool detachment. Her piercing eyes revealed nothing of her inner thoughts, and when she spoke, her voice carried the same arctic chill. "I'm leaving now." Joshua Willis, the young man, seized the moment without hesitation. "Allow me to drive you home." Arabella offered no resistance. The car glided through the night. The city lights blurred past as Joshua stole glances at her profile. "When do you plan to return to the company? Our empire continues to flourish." Their partnership had begun years ago through a chance project, and Joshua had witnessed Arabella's brilliance firsthand. He had persuaded her to join forces, and together they had forged a company that now dominated the entire industry. Arabella maintained her measured tone. "I'll decide when the time feels right. For now, I simply want to reach home." "Understood completely. You must be eager to reunite with Daisy. She's undoubtedly thriving. I've been directing all the premium projects to your aunt's husband throughout these years." Joshua's grin widened as he angled for recognition. Arabella and her twin sister Daisy Stanley had lost their parents at the tender age of six, and their aunt Meagan Tucker had stepped in to care for them both. Arabella acknowledged him with a subtle nod. "I appreciate that." Her delicate fingers found the cherry blossom pendant resting against her throat, clicking it open to reveal a treasured photograph of herself and Daisy. Arabella's expression remained stoic in the image, but Daisy's smile blazed with pure joy. Studying her sister's radiant face, Arabella felt an unfamiliar warmth soften her features. After their parents' tragic death, Arabella and Daisy had become each other's entire world. Daisy had always been their family's ray of sunshine, illuminating every room she entered. At twelve, Arabella had been handpicked by the government for a classified operation that consumed seven years of her life. Now that the mission had concluded, she could finally return to Daisy. She had forwarded nearly every government paycheck to her sister, ensuring Daisy lived in comfort and security. Joshua's eyes widened in amazement as he witnessed Arabella's smile. The legendary ice queen was actually smiling? His curiosity about Arabella's sister intensified dramatically. The car approached an upscale residential community, where each house boasted its own meticulously maintained garden. The vehicle glided to a stop in front of a house. This was the home Arabella's parents had bequeathed to them, now shared between Meagan and Daisy. The estate glowed with warm light, alive with the sound of cheerful laughter. Daisy seemed to be flourishing beautifully. With that thought in mind, Arabella preserved her gentle smile as she crossed into the front yard. A weathered doghouse sat in the corner of the property. Someone knelt beside it in the shadows. Through the dim evening light, Arabella couldn't distinguish the person's features, but she watched them scooping food directly from the bowl placed on the ground. Why would someone be eating beside the doghouse? Concern creased her brow as Arabella approached cautiously. The figure appeared startled and scrambled quickly into the doghouse. Arabella's bewilderment deepened. Then a soft, trembling voice drifted from within the shelter. "Please don't strike me again. I won't make any mistakes. I'll be so much more careful..." That voice belonged to Daisy. Arabella's heart shattered instantly. She lunged forward, pulling the figure from the doghouse. Even in the pale moonlight, she recognized her beloved sister immediately. Daisy stared back, her eyes swimming with disbelief. "You..." she breathed, as though she feared her mind was playing cruel tricks on her. "Daisy, is that truly you?" Arabella's voice trembled with disbelief. When Daisy nodded weakly, a glacial fury erupted within Arabella, her eyes igniting with volcanic rage. "Bella..." Daisy whispered, still trapped in shock. "You've actually come back?" The moment felt impossibly surreal to Daisy, like a vision conjured from desperate longing. Arabella, sensing something terribly wrong, reached out to touch Daisy's forehead. Her skin burned with fever. Before Arabella could process this discovery, Daisy crumpled into her arms like a broken doll. Arabella cradled her sister, whose body felt heartbreakingly frail and ice-cold despite the raging fever consuming her. Arabella's heart crystallized into something harder than diamond. The front door of the house suddenly burst open with violent force. "Daisy, you worthless creature! It's been several minutes, and you're still not finished eating? Get inside immediately and wash those dishes!" Meagan's voice sliced through the night air like a bl**e. Arabella pivoted slowly, her predatory gaze locking onto her target. Meagan had transformed dramatically over the years. Once haggard and perpetually exhausted, she now radiated wealth and privilege, adorned in an expensive designer coat and gleaming jewelry that caught the porch light, presenting herself as the very embodiment of refined elegance. Meagan's bl**d turned to ice under Arabella's lethal stare. "You... Arabella? When did you arrive?" "What have you done to her?" Arabella advanced with calculated steps, her voice dropping to a menacing whisper. Meagan instinctively retreated, unsettled by the predatory intensity burning in Arabella's eyes. But she quickly rallied her confidence, reminding herself that Arabella was still just a young woman. She twisted her lips into a cruel sneer. "Daisy shattered a dish, so I administered appropriate punishment. You've been absent for years. Do you possess any understanding of how challenging life has been here? I never allowed her to starve or sleep without shelter. If you weren't my brother's daughters, I wouldn't have wasted my time with either of you." In one fluid motion, Arabella's hand shot out and seized Meagan by the throat, her expression transforming into something carved from arctic stone. Meagan ga**ed desperately, clawing at Arabella's iron grip. "Let... me... go..." "This is my house," Arabella declared, her voice carrying the finality of a death sentence, her eyes radiating lethal intent. "You forced Daisy to perform menial labor. You made her sleep in that doghouse like an animal. You possess remarkable audacity, Meagan." In the warm light streaming from the house, Arabella finally saw what Daisy had been consuming. It was the leftover food. Holding her sister, who felt as weightless as a dying bird and appeared ghostly pale and utterly drained, Arabella felt her heart shatter into countless pieces. Her precious sister had endured this nightmare! "Meagan," Arabella said, her voice saturated with deadly promise, "when you moved into our home, you swore a sacred oath that you would care for Daisy." Meagan bristled at Arabella's bold use of her first name, the disrespect cutting deep. But she shrank backward when she witnessed the murderous gleam dancing in Arabella's eyes. Arabella had always been fundamentally different from other children. She was cold and fearlessly bold. When Arabella had lived here, Meagan had performed the role of a dutiful aunt, though barely meeting even the lowest standards. But the moment Arabella departed, Meagan had seized absolute control, systematically crushing the gentle-spirited Daisy beneath her cruel authority. She had never imagined Arabella would return to witness her crimes. "I did take care of Daisy! She made a mistake, so I disciplined her accordingly. What's so terrible about that?" Meagan's words died in her throat as Arabella's grip tightened mercilessly, making her feel as though death itself was reaching for her soul. "Arabella?" The violent commotion finally drew the attention of the people inside. Meagan's husband and daughter noticed the deadly confrontation unfolding at their door. Through the wide open front door, Arabella observed them living luxuriously in a spacious and magnificently decorated villa, with a table overflowing with exquisite delicacies. The people inside wore expensive clothing that spoke of comfort and abundance. Meanwhile, Daisy had been sleeping in a doghouse, consuming leftovers. Arabella's eyes burned with unshed tears as the devastating truth crashed over her with overwhelming force. Chapter 2 Can You Check Who Made The Payment Khloe Tucker was fuming. "Let go of my mom, Arabella! Back then, she offered to take care of you and Daisy out of kindness. Is that how you repay her? You show up after disappearing for years, acting like you're some kind of hero? What, did you run off, get pr**nant, and have a kid or something? What a joke!" Khloe threw Arabella a nasty glare, but deep down, she actually hoped Arabella might stay. Having her back would mean more help around the house. But Arabella's eyes had already gone cold. Without saying a word, she entered the house and kicked the dining table hard. Dishes flew everywhere, crashing onto the floor and shattering into pieces. Before anyone could react, Arabella grabbed two vases and hurled them straight at Khloe and her father. They hit them squarely, and bl**d started trickling down their faces as they screamed in shock. Her voice was ice. "You've got one day. Get out of my house." Without waiting for a reply, she stormed out with Daisy in her arms. She flagged down the first taxi she saw and rushed her sister straight to a hospital. Back at the villa, chaos broke out. "Mom! That psycho actually attacked me!" Khloe sobbed, staring at the scratches on her face in the mirror. "What if I'm left with scars?" Meagan's fury boiled over. "She's gotten way too bold after all these years! If she shows her face again, she won't be so lucky. We're not nobodies anymore. We've joined hands with Norman Group. There's no way she can stand against us!" She gave Khloe a comforting pat. "Don't worry, honey. I'm taking you to a hospital right now." *** At the hospital, the doctor examined Daisy and frowned. "Her leg's been broken for a while, and she's covered in bruises. Some of her teeth are missing too. What kind of sister lets this happen?" Arabella's voice was low. "It's my fault." Her bangs fell over her eyes, hiding whatever she was feeling inside. The doctor, noticing how quiet she was, spoke gently. "I've done what I could for now. But if someone's been hurting you two, you need to report it. Keeping quiet won't fix anything." Arabella gave a small nod and moved to stand beside Daisy's hospital bed. Daisy, now nineteen, looked heartbreakingly fragile. Her thin frame looked like it couldn't support itself, and her wrists seemed more like twigs than limbs. Her short hair was uneven, dry, and choppy, like someone had taken scissors to it without a second thought. Arabella gently lifted the blanket, and her heart dropped. Daisy's skin told a horrifying story. Old whip marks crisscrossed her legs, and dark burn spots marred her arms. Each scar screamed of cruelty. Arabella's breath caught, and before she could stop them, tears rolled down her cheeks. "Bella..." Daisy's voice was barely a whisper. Arabella immediately reached for her hand. "I'm here," she said softly. "I... missed you," Daisy murmured, her voice hoarse. Arabella clutched her hand like a lifeline. "I missed you too. I thought if I worked hard, I could give you a better life. But I was wrong. I never should've left you alone. I swear, I'm not going anywhere again." The warmth in Arabella's voice seemed to melt Daisy's tension. Slowly, her expression softened. After making sure Daisy was settled, Arabella went to sort out the payment. "The charges have already been covered," the nurse said with a kind smile. Arabella blinked. "What? Who paid?" Joshua crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed the thought. There was no way he knew about this yet. "Can you check who made the payment?" she asked. The nurse gave an apologetic shake of the head. "Sorry, that information's private. Maybe a family member helped out?" At the word family, Arabella's face turned to stone. She gave a short nod and walked off without another word. If someone had helped, she was going to find out who. Meanwhile, down the corridor, Meagan strolled beside her daughter, Khloe, who was fresh out of the emergency room with her face patched up. "I'm not letting Arabella walk away from this," Khloe snarled, bitterness burning in her voice. "Calm down," Meagan said sharply. "You'll reopen your stitches if you keep flaring up like this. Be more like your sister--grace under pressure." That seemed to cheer Khloe up. A smug smile tugged at her lips. "As long as my sister keeps shining, that's all that matters. She's the youngest dancer in the Griridge Troupe now. Daisy really thought she could outshine her? She was delusional. That broken leg was karma, if you ask me. And if my sister finds out how Arabella treated me--oh, she'll tear her apart." "She's got a big show coming up," Meagan reminded her. "Let's not distract her. One step at a time." She tapped Khloe's nose lightly, but then her expression stiffened as she spotted Arabella ahead. Khloe saw Arabella too, and just the sight of her brought back the sting of humiliation. Her rage boiled over. Without thinking, she grabbed her studded handbag and swung it with all her strength toward Arabella's back. Arabella's instincts kicked in. Just as she turned around, a tall man came into view. With quick reflexes and strong arms, he grabbed the bag mid-air by its strap, stopping it like it was nothing. The sudden pull made Khloe lose her balance, and with a startled scream, she fell to the floor. Chapter 3 Grab Your Things And Come With Me "Khloe!" Meagan hurried to her daughter's side, helping her up while shooting a vicious glare at the man who had shown up out of nowhere. "Who the h**l are you? Arabella's new guy or what?" The man didn't bother responding. His sharp eyes gave nothing away, cold and unreadable, like the still, deep sea that hid its danger. Then he began walking toward Meagan, each step loud and heavy on the hospital floor. Meagan instinctively took a step back. Her ch**t tightened, making it hard to breathe. Deep down, something told her this man wasn't just any stranger--he was trouble. Trying to mask her unease, she snapped, "Arabella, you'd better think twice before crossing us again. You and your sister were lucky we let you stay at all! If you ever want back in, come crawling, and maybe we'll consider it." Yanking Khloe's arm, Meagan stormed off. Arabella stood silently, watching them go. Let them stay? That house was legally Daisy's and hers. She glanced at the man and caught sight of a pi**ol, just for a second, before it disappeared beneath his jacket. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Who was this guy? He turned and looked directly at her. Arabella finally saw his face--handsome as h**l, rough around the edges, and those icy eyes didn't blink or soften for anyone. He gave off a vibe that screamed danger--Arabella had never felt anything like it. No surprise Meagan bolted--anyone with sense would have. "Arabella Stanley," he said. His tone was calm and low, but there was a chill in it that made her skin prickle. Arabella glanced him over. "You're the one who paid for my sister, right?" He gave a faint nod. "You're quick. Grab your things and come with me." Arabella's brows drew together. "Excuse me?" Who even was this guy, showing up with mystery and attitude? Before things got tenser, another man stepped in--less intimidating but equally serious. "Miss Stanley, allow me to explain. This is Mr. Asher Gordon. His father and your dad served together in the military. Before his father passed away, he asked Mr. Gordon to watch over your family. Mr. Gordon only recently returned from service and has been trying to track you down since." That explained the military presence, the icy calm... the way he moved like someone trained for war. Arabella studied Asher again. He didn't seem threatening now, but just closed off, like someone with a wall too thick to climb over. She stayed calm. "You got anything to back that up? Anyone can say that." Asher reached into his pocket and pulled out a weathered photo. It showed two men in dusty uniforms--one was definitely her father. The other looked a lot like him. She stared at it for a long moment before replying, "I'll think about it." "Fair. Let's exchange numbers," Asher replied without any small talk. Arabella added his contact. His WhatsApp display was just a solid black box. Funny enough, hers was the same. A strange little coincidence, she thought. Then the assistant added her as well. "Dominick Powell, Mr. Gordon's right hand. Reach out if you need help with anything, anytime." Arabella gave a nod. "Got it." With that, the two men walked off, and Arabella made her way back to Daisy's room. Shortly after, two silent, suited bodyguards appeared at the door--they were clearly sent by Asher. Arabella didn't ask questions. She got to work helping Daisy clean up--changing her into fresh clothes and gently washing her hair, trying to fix its brittle, uneven mess. But when she saw the scars and ci**rette burns covering Daisy's body, her eyes welled up again. Holding back her tears, she carefully rubbed her homemade cream onto the wounds. Then, without wasting a second, she opened her laptop. She had to find out what had happened to Daisy while she was gone, so she hacked into the villa's security system. Sadly, what she saw made her sick to her stomach. It wasn't long after Arabella left that Daisy was thrown out of her own bedroom and made to sleep in a doghouse. The cheerful, lively sister Arabella remembered didn't smile anymore. She saw footage of Daisy juggling multiple part-time jobs, only to get ha**ssed and pushed around. Even so, she kept working hard and made it into one of the top universities. But during her very first semester, she ended up with a broken leg. She was studying dance, and just like that, the injury shattered everything she had dreamed of. The pieces fell into place too easily. Khloe's sister, Elissa Tucker, was in the same class. Arabella's gut told her that leg injury hadn't been some fluke. After that, Daisy barely left the house. She was treated like hired help, scrubbing floors, cooking meals, and still sleeping out in that d**n doghouse. Yet every time Daisy texted her, it was the same lie. "I'm doing fine. Don't worry about me. You just take care of yourself." Arabella's vision blurred. While her sister was being broken piece by piece, their aunt's family was thriving. Their business had taken off, thanks to a lucrative deal with the Vanguard Group. Khloe, a middle school dropout, was suddenly a digital influencer. Elissa was famous and popular in the college. Meagan was rubbing shoulders with high-society ladies, and her husband had become some corporate hotshot. Arabella clenched her jaw and slammed her fist against the table. She didn't even feel the sting. Every bit of success she had worked for... had only served to feed that vile family's greed. And the one person she had sworn to protect had suffered in silence the entire time. Chapter 4 This Revenge Is Mine To Carry Out Arabella took a slow breath, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and her eyes turned cold, like a fire had been snuffed out and replaced with ice. Her fingers gripped her phone tightly as she made a call. "That major project--it hasn't been handed over to the Tucker Group yet, right? Cancel it. Completely." Her voice was calm but firm. "And get to the Griridge Hospital. Now." On the other end, Joshua sounded startled. "Arabella? What's going on?" "You'll see when you get here. Bring a few things with you." True to form, Joshua didn't waste time. Less than half an hour later, he rushed into the hospital, and the moment his eyes landed on the girl in the hospital bed, he froze like a statue. She looked so much like Arabella--same face, but all color drained, bruised, battered, her body wrecked like it had been thrown away and forgotten. Joshua's fists clenched. "Who did this? Tell me who it was. I'll make them pay, I swear it!" That was the sister of a preeminent figure... and they treated her like this? Arabella didn't flinch. "I'll handle it myself. Slowly," she muttered, picking up a pair of sc**sors from the table. Before Joshua could react, the sc**sors had already cut through her long, silky hair. The strands dropped to the floor in silence. He stared, stunned. "Arabella... you're not actually..." "I am," she said. "This revenge is mine to carry out." Joshua swallowed hard, goosebumps rising on his arms. The way she said it--it was clear. H**l was coming for someone. Arabella glanced at him. "Also, what do you know about the Gordons?" "The Gordon family?" He immediately straightened. "They're legendary. Way beyond the top elite families. Super wealthy, but incredibly discreet. I've only ever worked with the right-hand man of their current CEO." "You mean Dominick Powell?" Arabella asked casually. Joshua's jaw dropped. "Wait, you know Dominick? Don't tell me... are you saying the Gordons were involved in what happened to Daisy?" Arabella gave him a blank stare before calmly explaining Asher's connection and what he had said earlier. Joshua slapped his thigh, clearly overwhelmed. "Asher Gordon? If it's really him, then yeah, no one's faking that. He leads the family. Rumor has it he's ex-special forces, quiet as a ghost, but deadly. If someone crosses him, they don't get a second chance." Arabella didn't react. She just stared at the floor, her thoughts turning in circles. Then she spoke, steady and cold. "You should head out now. Also... sell my villa." Joshua hesitated. "That place... that's your parents' home. Are you sure?" Arabella looked over at Daisy's fragile frame. "She was tortured in that house. There's no comfort left there. Just get rid of it." Her voice cracked slightly. "And if possible, find a buyer who's impossible to deal with." Joshua gave her a long look, then nodded. "Understood. I've got a bunch of properties lined up. If you ever need a place, it's yours." "Thanks." She didn't look up, and Joshua, sensing she needed space, quietly slipped out the door. Left alone, Arabella gently held Daisy's hand and murmured, "I swear, everyone who hurt you... I'll make them pay for it tenfold." That night felt endless, and sleep didn't come. The next morning, Arabella stood quietly outside a dance studio at Griridge University's dance department, listening through the open door. "Elissa, things have been so dull without that pathetic girl around," someone inside snickered. "I know, right? No one to fetch us coffee, no one to mess with. It's no fun without a punching bag," another chimed in. Peering through the glass window, Arabella spotted Elissa in the middle of the dance studio. Years ago, Elissa had been just a pale, skinny kid. Now she was dressed in a flowing white dance outfit, all elegance and grace, like something out of a dream. Surrounded by classmates, Elissa flashed a gentle, modest smile at the comments. "Guys, don't say that. Let's not be mean." "You're too kind, Elissa," Joyce Lambert, her good friend, scoffed. "That girl sponged off your family for years. If it were me, I'd have thrown her out of your house on day one." Arabella narrowed her eyes slightly. Calling it their house? Seriously? That place belonged to her and Daisy. Elissa and her family were the ones living off of them. Elissa tilted her head, her voice syrupy sweet. "She's my cousin, after all. Her parents passed away. If we didn't take her in, she would've had nowhere to go." Her fake compassion earned gasps of admiration from the crowd. What a generous soul, they all seemed to think. The loud chatter in the dance studio instantly stopped the moment Arabella walked in. "Daisy?" Joyce blinked in surprise. She stared at Arabella, stunned. She looked the same, but... something about her felt different now. Chapter 5 Got Yourself A Su**r Daddy The dance studio fell silent, as if someone had hit pause. Every single eye was locked on Arabella, but she acted like she didn't see a thing and confidently made her way to the back, where she began stretching like it was just another day. Joyce's jaw clenched. "Daisy, you've got some nerve showing up out of nowhere like this!" Joyce barked, marching over and swinging a sharp kick at her. "Just because we've gone easy on you doesn't mean you're not taking orders from us!" But Arabella moved with ease, dodging the kick without breaking a sweat. Joyce lost her balance and hit the floor face-first with a loud, painful thud. "You dodged me?" Joyce screeched in disbelief. Her face turned red with fury as she raised her hand to s**p Arabella. But just like before, Arabella slipped out of reach like a shadow. Joyce's swing caught nothing but air, and she stumbled forward, grabbing her lower back with a wince. "D**n it!" "My bad," Arabella said gently, her voice almost too soft to catch. Joyce wanted to explode, but something about Arabella's calmness made her hesitate. She didn't dare swing again. Instead, she snapped, "What are you just standing there for? Get over here and help us stretch already!" "So, Daisy's really back," she thought smugly. "Still the same pathetic errand girl." Arabella's gaze briefly darkened, but she gave a polite nod like an obedient student. She knelt beside Joyce and began helping her with leg stretches. Joyce smirked. "You look even sadder than before. Honestly, it's pathetic." But then, a painful scream cut through the air. Joyce's leg jolted, and she broke into a cold sweat, grabbing her thigh. "My leg... what the h**l? Did you snap my leg?" The class crowded around her in a frenzy. "Is she alright? Someone call for help!" "Look, the teacher just walked in!" Their panic was cut short as the teacher entered the room. Arabella still had Joyce's leg in her hands. Calmly, almost casually, she gave it a subtle twist. "Ah!" Joyce screamed even louder, nearly in tears from the pain. "What's going on in here?" The teacher frowned, scanning the chaos. "My leg! It feels broken... I can't--" Joyce wailed, then blinked in confusion. Just seconds later, she could move it again. "Wait... what?" "You look fine to me." The teacher shot a look at Joyce--one that wasn't exactly sympathetic. She had seen enough of these girls' antics over the years. "I don't care what drama you're cooking up on your own time, but today's important. The Griridge Troupe selection is happening. The dean and senior faculty will be here shortly, so I expect everyone to act like professionals." "I swear, I..." Joyce began, trying to protest. "That's enough." Elissa cut her off, stepping forward with an easy smile. "Let's not waste more time. Joyce, calm down." Elissa's tone made it clear--this wasn't the time to pick fights. Joyce had no choice but to bite her tongue and swallow her anger, though her glare at Arabella could have burned through steel. The teacher clapped her hands, and class began. During the last twenty minutes, a few other teachers showed up to observe. By the time class ended, the room was filled with a mix of nervous energy and excited chatter. "God, I really hope I get picked. Dancing alongside Elissa would be a dream come true." "Elissa, don't forget us when you're famous!" someone teased. Elissa gave her signature angelic smile. "Of course not. You're all my people." Then someone dropped a name that made the entire class go silent. "They say Isabella might be watching today." Gasps rippled through the room. Even Elissa blinked in shock, her breath catching. Isabella Wallace was the icon of modern dance. Her performances were legendary, her choreography unrivaled. Just being seen by her could open doors. "If Isabella notices me, that's it. That's my breakthrough," Elissa thought, her gaze sharpening with quiet ambition. But then someone spoke up, disrupting the mood. "I saw Daisy dancing earlier. Honestly, she wasn't bad at all." Joyce scoffed loud enough for the room to hear. "Daisy? Please. She's pathetic. No way she'd get picked." Turning her attention to Daisy, she said, "Hey, what are you still doing here, anyway? Go get our lunch. You remember our order, right?" Without a word, Arabella nodded and walked off, her tall frame moving with a silent elegance despite the slump in her shoulders. "Ugh. Even the way she walks is irritating. Does she actually think she's all graceful or something? What a complete eyesore!" Joyce sneered. By the time Joyce, Elissa, and the rest of their group showed up at the cafeteria, laughing and cracking jokes, Arabella already had their meals prepared. Her eyes quietly scanned each of them--calm, blank, giving nothing away. But in her mind, she was taking note of everything. Joyce, whose father ran the Lambert Group, was spoiled beyond belief and filthy rich. Next to her was Kenzie Marsh--the meek, glasses-wearing music student who practically worshipped the ground Elissa walked on. And behind them, the two guys were followers, plain and simple. They were all muscle without a mind. Joyce looked at the food Arabella had bought and narrowed her eyes. "Well, well. Where'd you get the cash, huh? Got yourself a su**r daddy? I thought you were broke, freeloader." Joyce kept running her mouth but still dove into the food--everyone was starving after dancing all morning. However, midway through eating, something went terribly wrong. Joyce coughed violently, bl**d trickling from her lips as she clutched her throat, her eyes wide in panic. The others followed suit, gasping, hands around their necks, as if something sharp was tearing through their throats. "It burns--what's happening?" they wh**zed, struggling to speak as pain ripped through them. Elissa stared at her in disbelief, still holding her throat. "Daisy... what did you do?" "That little bi**h's getting revenge!" Joyce screamed, losing it completely. "You think Elissa letting you tag along means we'll go easy on you? You're dead!" Furious, she flung her food tray at Arabella, while the two boys beside her instinctively lunged forward, ready to grab her without hesitation. Chapter 6 Do You Have Any Proof The students nearby were numb to this kind of chaos. "Alright, that's enough," Elissa said, her voice sounding gentle on the surface but hollow beneath it. She stayed comfortably seated, not bothering to step in--after all, she never did when things got ugly. Meanwhile, Arabella, calm and collected, didn't even flinch. When the tray came flying her way, she calmly reached up and caught it in one smooth motion. The momentum flipped the tray's course, and it slammed straight into one of the two boys' faces. The food, laced with slivers of glass, sliced across his skin, and bl**d trickled down his cheek in thin, terrifying lines. "S**t! That hurts!" he cried out. One look at the bl**d was enough, and he collapsed in panic, completely out cold. The other guy didn't back down. Snarling, he reached for Arabella's hair, yanking it hard. "You think you're tough, Daisy? Huh?" His fist flew toward her face, but Arabella caught it mid-swing like it was nothing. His expression froze. She slowly twisted his arm until his knees buckled. "Ahhh! It hurts--stop, please! I'm sorry!" he howled, his face turning as pale as chalk. The second she let go, he hit the floor and curled into himself, sobbing in pain. One of the girls considered helping, but after seeing Arabella in action, she backed off without a word. What a bunch of clowns. Arabella stared at them, her gaze sharp and cold, like she was looking at tr**h. "Have you lost your fu**ing mind?" Joyce screeched, still in denial. Her hands shook as she picked up a chair and hurled it with all her strength. Arabella shifted her weight, spun, and kicked the chair right back--slamming it into Joyce's head. Bl**d splattered instantly. Elissa jumped up in horror, shrieking, "Oh my God!" The cafeteria exploded with shouts. "She's gonna k**l someone! Go find a teacher!" "What is wrong with her? Is she high or something?" "Honestly, she's kind of a badass..." "Shh! Don't let anyone hear you say that!" Thirty minutes later, the university president's office was a pressure cooker. The fight was way too intense to sweep under the rug. Daisy, Elissa, and the rest of the group were hauled in for questioning. Joyce and the others had been bandaged up, but their egos were just as bruised. Elissa looked ready to cry, still rubbing her sore throat like it had swallowed fire. She was furious, terrified the damage was permanent. "Call your parents," the president ordered Arabella sharply, trying to make sense of the madness. "Now." Joyce jumped in before Arabella could speak. "She can't. Her parents are dead!" she sneered. "She's been mooching off Elissa's family for years. No morals. No manners. Just expel her already!" Taken aback, the president looked Arabella up and down. "So, what exactly happened?" Joyce didn't miss a beat. "She put glass in our food. She tried to hurt us and then went berserk. She needs to face consequences!" Arabella didn't even blink. Her voice came out calm and cold. "Do you have any proof? And while we're at it--did I even lay a finger on you first? Pretty sure your side started swinging." "Liar!" Joyce snapped, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. Arabella turned her gaze to the president, cool and steady. "Why don't we pull up the cafeteria security footage?" Silence dropped like a stone. Joyce's face stiffened, and her jaw clenched tight. "We only hit her because she gave us food full of glass! She deserved it!" Arabella tilted her head slightly. "Where's your proof that I put it there?" she asked softly. "Because I have proof of something else." She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. A video began to play. The footage was damning. It showed Joyce and her gang shoving a sandwich filled with glass into Daisy's mouth. As Daisy's lips b**d, they laughed like it was some sick joke. It was raw and unforgivable. Arabella's ch**t tightened as she watched it, the pain as fresh as the day she found it on Daisy's phone. Even the president's face shifted. He turned to Joyce and her friends with a sharp, icy glare. For a split second, panic flashed across their faces. Trying to smooth things over, Elissa quickly said, "Sir, yeah, Joyce went too far, and we're really sorry. But Daisy was talking tr**h first--Joyce just lost her temper." Arabella raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Is that so? Well then, I'll just upload this little clip online and let the public decide who the real victim is." "Absolutely not!" the president barked. "Miss Stanley, if that video gets out, it'll drag the university through the mud. Let's not blow this out of proportion. Apologize to each other, and we'll call it even." Joyce looked outraged. "What? She beat the crap out of us! Why should we just let it go?" Her friends chimed in, just as outraged. Meanwhile, Elissa leaned toward the president and whispered with a sweet smile, "My dad's set to donate $1 million to the school. Just thought you should know." The president's expression shifted. His tone changed. "Daisy," he began, "what they did was wrong. But your response was excessive. This could've been handled differently. You can either apologize now and move forward, or you'll be expelled. And if you upload that video, trust me, public opinion won't be on your side. That would be reckless." Arabella stared at him. So that was what this was. Now she understood why Daisy had been stepped on for so long. These people weren't protecting students--they were protecting their pockets. Joyce, smelling victory, leaned back with a smug grin. "Daisy, you really thought you had the upper hand? You're nothing but a parasite clinging to Elissa's family like a leech. Don't act like you matter. You want to stay here? Then get on your knees and l**k my shoes clean. Maybe, just maybe, I'll let you off the hook." Joyce looked at Arabella like she wasn't even human. Elissa didn't say anything at first, but the fire burning behind her calm expression gave her away. Her throat still hurt, and what bothered her more was the embarrassment. Deep down, she wanted to lash out at Arabella. But on the outside, she just let out a quiet sigh, like she was more hurt than mad. "Daisy, I honestly don't know what happened to you," she said. "But if you can't apologize to us, then pack your things. You're no longer welcome in my home." The president didn't bat an eye. "That's enough. You're done here. Pack up and get out." He waved Arabella off like she was a fly in the room before turning to Elissa with a tight smile. "You're injured. Go rest. We'll take care of everything." Joyce smirked, finally feeling like the universe had balanced itself. With their heads held high, they all moved to strut out like they had won a prize. "Quite the scene," came a calm voice from the doorway, all eyes turned. Arabella raised an eyebrow. How was he here! ...... What happens next? 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I took the worst-paid, worst-idea job on the island to pay off the debt my ex left me — and accidentally found the best life I've ever had. 🔥 The listing said "caretaker for exotic creatures." It didn't mention that behind seven sealed doors live seven monsters — and not one of them is interested in my heart, only in ruining me for anything human. 😳 The one who breathes underwater keeps me under till I forget my own name. The one with tentacles never runs out of hands. No strings. No feelings. No man asking how I feel in the morning. Just the best s*x of my life, on repeat, each one wilder than the last. 🐙 I came here broken, swearing off love forever. I never said anything about monsters. 💋 The only problem? What I signed up for goes far deeper than I ever read — and the price is one I never agreed to pay. 🤫 ——————————————————— Chapter 1 — Crystal's POV Position: [not specified]. Location: Saint-Barthélemy, on-site housing provided. Compensation: €4,500/month. Start date: immediate. Requirements: female, single, good health, experience with caregiving preferred. Good fertility. Nature of work: daily care and interaction with exotic creatures. Interested applicants reply to this address only. I'd found it buried in a local forum between an ad for a retired fisherman's boat and someone selling homemade coconut oil, and I'd screenshot it before it could disappear, the way things on that forum tended to do. I read it for the fourth time, and it didn't get any less suspicious. The waiting room was trying hard to impress. White leather chairs, a marble coffee table, and a massive aerial photograph of Saint-Barthélemy's coastline. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Checked my phone, read the listing again. "Weird listing, right?" The woman two chairs over was watching me. Mid-thirties, tanned, the kind of sun-bleached hair that came from actually living near the ocean She nodded at my phone. "No company name, no job title. Just 'exotic creatures' and a salary that's too good to be real." "We might be considered crazy for coming here." "Honey, half the island applied. That money?" She whistled low. "I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. I'd scrub dragon cages for that number." I almost laughed. But before I could open my mouth, the door at the end of the room opened, and a voice cut through. "Crystal Le Grand?" I put my phone away so fast I nearly dropped it. The woman who stepped through was the kind of beautiful that made you immediately aware of every flaw on your own face. Her badge was saying ‘Anaïs’. Tall, dark hair pulled into something effortlessly perfect, sharp cheekbones. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "That's me." I stood and extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. I love your shoes, are those…" "Follow me, please." Anaïs turned on those shoes I wasn't allowed to compliment and walked back through the door. I followed, hand still half-raised, smile dying on my face. She was the assistant to the facility's owner, and she had the interpersonal warmth of a tax audit. She led me to a small office, gestured to a chair, and opened a folder without looking at me once. "I see here you were previously married. Is that correct?" "Correct." I smiled tightly. ‘Best’ decision I never made. I was twenty-one and stupid and in love, and he had a smile that made me forget nobody had ever taken care of me without a price tag. "And your current relationship status?" "And your current relationship status?" "Single. Very, very single. The marriage was annulled, so technically I was never even married. Fun little legal detail." My now ex-husband vanished and left a stack of credit card statements with my name on them. Debts I didn't know existed, signatures I stupidly signed without looking. Now I understood why he'd been in such a rush to walk me down the aisle. Not in the name of love, but because he couldn’t wait to max out credit cards in his wife's name. Anaïs wrote something without looking up. The pen moved in short, precise strokes. Her nails were clean and unpolished, trimmed to exactly the same length. "Your credit history shows some irregularities. Can you explain?" "Student loans. You know how it is." I laughed. Anaïs didn't. Everything about this woman was controlled — posture, breathing, the way she held her face like a mask. Student loans my ass. I've got about four weeks of savings, a mountain of debt, and a disabled brother whose care I help pay for. "Menstrual cycle. Regular or irregular?" I blinked. "Regular, but that's kind of a…" "Clothing size?" "Eight. Sometimes ten if it's European sizing, which, honestly, always feels like a personal attack." "Professional experience?" "Nursing. Two years at Hôpital de Bruyn before I took a break." Before my fiancé convinced me to quit. "I'll take care of us, baby. You deserve better than nightshifts and bedpans." Turns out what he meant was he'd strip away every safety net I had, then vanish. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel — he's disabled. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No one." Anaïs's pen stopped moving. She looked at me and something shifted across her features. Quick, controlled, barely there. Surprise and something sharper underneath it, almost like satisfaction. Then it vanished, and she was writing again. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No. Caleb was my whole social life, which, again, is a red flag. I'm seeing all the red flags now." Anaïs closed the folder, excused herself, and returned two minutes later with him. Albert Bernard, the owner of this company, walked into the room. Tall, obscenely handsome, the kind of man whose jaw looked sculpted rather than grown. He shook my hand with both of his and smiled like we were already old friends. "Crystal! Anaïs tells me you're perfect." "She… Really? She didn't seem…" "Wonderful! Tell me about your sex life." I choked on nothing. "My what?" "Your sex life. Active, dormant, somewhere in between?" He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "I ask because I want you to be comfortable. Some of the work here is intimate in nature: not sexual, but physical, close-contact, and I need to know your boundaries won't make you a liability." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Albert tilted his head like a man watching a fish try to climb a tree. "I'll go first, since you look like you might swallow your own tongue. I'm bisexual, and the last person I was with told me I had the emotional availability of a desk lamp. Your turn." Surprisingly, It worked. Something about his absurd candor cracked the seal. I was still stiff when I found myself talking: "Dormant. Dead, actually. My ex killed any interest I had in men, and honestly, at this point the only physical contact I want is the kind where nobody asks how I'm feeling afterward." Albert listened with his chin on his fist and nodded like everything I said was fascinating. The contract was three pages. I should have read every word. I read the salary line, the housing clause, and the duration — twelve months, renewable — and I signed. Albert clapped his hands together. "Anaïs, transport! We leave now." “H-Hold on, what?” “Why wait? You’re gonna have so much fun there!” Anaïs stood, and as she passed Albert's chair, his hand swung out and slapped her across the ass — casual, proprietary, the sound sharp in the small room. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just kept walking. I stared. My mouth opened, closed. Two attractive adults, I told myself. Clearly a thing between them. Who am I to judge? God knows I wouldn't mind someone who looked like either of them doing that to me. I tried to forget the look on the other candidates' faces when Albert enthusiastically told them to leave because the position was closed. Outside, a black SUV waited with the engine running. Anaïs took the wheel without a word; Albert held the rear door open for me with a little bow that was either gentlemanly or mocking, hard to tell with him. I climbed in, and the leather seats were cool against my thighs. Nobody spoke. Anaïs drove like she'd made this trip a hundred times, eyes fixed ahead, and Albert scrolled through his phone beside me. The drive took us to the island's far eastern edge, where the roads narrowed to dirt and the vegetation thickened until the ocean disappeared behind a wall of green. The facility sat at the end of a gravel path — low concrete, no signage, built like something designed not to be found. Inside, the air was cooler and carried a strange undercurrent, something organic and faintly mineral, like wet stone in a cave. Albert walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a tour guide. "Your schedule will be straightforward — feeding rounds three times a day, health checks once in the morning, and the rest of the time is yours to spend with the residents. Think of it as..." I was trying to listen, I really was, but then we passed a corridor junction and I saw the monitor. A security screen mounted high on the wall, showing a dark chamber in grainy night vision. Something massive was moving inside: too many limbs, too fluid, and a thick muscular appendage uncurling against the reinforced glass, ridged suckers pressing flat against the surface. My vision tilted. The corridor stretched and compressed, fluorescent lights bleeding into long white smears. My knees folded, and the last thing I registered before the dark swallowed everything was the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek. ——————————————————— What happens when she stops wanting to leave? 🫣 Read Monstrously Yours Now! 🐙🔥

New arrivals at Lissprime!

My sister was autistic. The doctors called it "severe sensory overload." The rule was simple: No sudden noises. Ever. So my whole life was set to mute. I never wore heels. I never raised my voice. I wasn't even allowed to laugh. It was all to keep her from having a meltdown. My father, Victor, the Don of the Castellano family, would grip my shoulder. His face was a mask of apology. "Sera, you're my good girl. Protecting your sister is our duty. You're healthy and strong. You can sacrifice a little for her, can't you?" That day, I was on the second-floor terrace and accidentally knocked over a pot of white roses. The sound of it shattering sent my sister, who was sunbathing in the garden below, into a meltdown. For the first time, Victor glared at me like I was the enemy. He roared, "Can't you just be quiet? Do you want to drive her insane?" My sister backed away in terror, right into a glass table, and let out a piercing scream. Victor charged past me, a blur of rage and panic. He slammed into me on the stairs as I was running down to help. I lost my footing and crashed chest-first into the sharp corner of a wrought-iron banister post. Pain exploded in my chest. I opened my mouth to scream, but only silence came out. My family swarmed around my shrieking sister. No one even glanced at me. My lungs filled with blood. I was drowning on the floor. They all thought my sister, the one with autism, needed the family's comfort. They thought I just took a fall. That I could wait. They were wrong. Chapter 1 Every breath was a shard of glass in my throat. My ribs were broken. Bloody foam frothed at my lips, staining the white marble crimson. "Can't you just be quiet? Do you want to drive her insane?" My father, Victor, roared so loud the whole mansion seemed to shake. I wanted to tell him it was an accident, but my throat was full of blood. I couldn't make a sound. By the shattered glass table, my sister, Chloe, was curled into a ball, hands clamped over her ears, letting out a piercing scream. "She did it on purpose! She wants to kill me! Get her away from me! Get her away!" My mother, Elena, knelt in front of her, tending to the shallow cut on her arm and cooing. "It's okay, baby, it's okay. Mommy's here. She won't bother you again." I tried to lift a hand, to ask for help. But more blood foamed at my lips. Darkness was closing in. “Dad… Mom…” My voice was barely a whisper. No one looked back. My vision was blurring. Their world had shrunk to my sister, trembling by the broken table. My mind flashed back to the afternoon that changed everything. I had raced home, clutching an acceptance letter from the lead dancer program. "Mom, I got into the Royal Ballet Company!" I burst through the door, my words tumbling out. Elena snatched the letter from my hand. She ripped it to shreds right in front of me. "Are you crazy, Sera?" she hissed, glancing upstairs in fear. "The sound of pointe shoes will make Chloe sick!" I just stood there, frozen, the smile dying on my face. "But Mom, it's the Royal Ballet! There were only three spots in all of New York!" My voice trembled. "My instructor called me a prodigy…" "You're the good one." Elena stroked my hair, her eyes full of pity. "The whole family has to protect your sister. You're healthy. You can sacrifice a little for her, can't you?" I nodded. In my room, I packed my dream away, swallowing it like a shard of glass. The pool of blood on the floor was getting bigger. My breathing grew shallow and fast. I started seeing spots. "Mom, it hurts!" I struggled to reach out. Elena glanced over, her face a mask of annoyance. "Sera, stop being so dramatic. Can't you see Chloe's not well? We'll deal with you later." My sister's screams grew more hysterical. "Get her out! Get her out of this house!" She grabbed a heavy marble vase from a nearby pedestal and smashed it on the ground, sending shards flying. Victor rushed to her side, holding her like she was made of glass. "It's okay, Chloe, Dad's here. You're safe," Victor’s voice was as gentle as a spring breeze. "Daddy took care of your careless sister. No one will ever hurt you again, my angel." My fingers scraped against the iron railing. A nail cracked, leaving a thin smear of blood on the metal. Chapter 2 I remembered last month's family dinner. A formal affair. I was in a white dress, a ghost in the corner. But the daughters of a rival family found me anyway. "Well, look what we have here. The invisible princess." Isabella Rosetti blocked my path, a cruel smirk on her lips. Two other girls, both my rivals from the ballet academy, flanked her. "I hear you stole my spot at the Royal," Isabella’s voice was pure venom, coated in honey. "You really think you're good enough?" They shoved me into a dressing room and locked the door. "You think you're so special?" Anna took out a small pair of scissors and started snipping at my dress. "Your own parents don't even care about you." I tried to fight, but there were too many of them. "Please, don't," my voice shook. "You can have the spot. I'll give it to you." "Too late for that," Isabella said, grinding her sharp heel into my toes. "You should've learned your place sooner." Blood seeped through my white stockings. But I bit back the scream. I choked down the tears. One sound, one sob, and it would reach Chloe. She would have another meltdown. They left me in there for a whole hour. They only let me out after the dinner was over. I limped back to the mansion in my ruined dress. When Elena saw my ruined dress and bleeding toes, her face hardened. "Sera! What did you do?" I hung my head, hiding my bleeding hands behind my back. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'll go change." Darkness was finally taking over. I heard Victor on the phone. "…Yeah, Chloe had another episode. Send the best doctor. We're bringing her to the private hospital now." Footsteps rushed past me. No one stopped to ask why I was so quiet. "Sera, go get Chloe’s noise-canceling headphones!" Elena commanded without a second glance. I tried to answer, but my lips wouldn't move. "Pathetic. Always trying to steal Chloe's moment," Victor muttered in disgust. My last thought was of the day I packed away all my pointe shoes and leotards, locking them in a trunk for good. "Why are you quitting?" my ballet instructor had asked, shocked. "You're the most gifted student I've ever seen!" "The sound of the shoes... it makes my sister want to die," I said, staring at the floor, unable to meet her disappointed eyes. "The doctor said her brain needs absolute silence." Now, all those locked-up dreams were dying right here with me. The sound of the private doctor's car grew closer. I heard Elena cry out, "Chloe! Hold on! The doctor is here!" A flurry of footsteps, and the mansion doors were thrown open. A gust of night air cut through the coppery tang of blood. "Where's the patient?" a familiar male voice asked. "Here! Quick! My daughter's fading!" Victor answered urgently, pointing toward the broken table. I wished someone, anyone, would just look down and see another daughter bleeding out, waiting to be saved. The medical team rushed straight to Chloe, carefully dressing the cuts on her arm. No one noticed me dying in the corner. "A sensory episode is a critical emergency…" The voice faded. Then... nothing. I felt strangely light. Something was leaving my body. The pain was gone. I was floating in the air. I looked down and saw my body. The nineteen-year-old girl lay in a pool of her own blood, her face pale, with dried blood on her lips. Her fingers were broken, her nails caked with blood. That was me. Sera Castellano. The Don's eldest daughter. Dead on the marble stairs of her own home. "Quick! Get her in the car!" Victor's voice came from downstairs. Victor carefully lifted my sister, now wearing her headphones, and strode toward the Maybach waiting outside. "She's going to be okay, right?" Elena followed close behind, her eyes filled with tears for her injured younger daughter. "She'll be fine with prompt treatment," the doctor assured her. "The cuts aren't deep." The car door opened. Victor gently placed Chloe in the back seat. Elena was about to get in, but she paused. "Wait, where's Sera?" My soul drifted toward the car, watching Elena's confused face. "Forget about her! Chloe is what matters!" Victor snapped, already securing his favorite daughter. Elena hesitated for just a second, then slid into the car. The engine roared to life, and the Maybach pulled away from the mansion. The Maybach's tires crushed the white rose petals scattered on the driveway. I floated in the night air, watching the car carry my entire family into the darkness. Only I knew that those crushed white roses were the gift I'd spent six months growing for Victor's birthday. Chapter 3 My soul drifted like a feather in the air, watching the mansion shrink behind me. I felt like a ghost who didn't belong. In the corner of the staircase, my phone was still blinking with unread messages. Cassio's name was on the screen. "Sera, Natalie Portman is in Swan Lake tonight at Lincoln Center. I know she's your favorite dancer. Why aren't you here?" "Show's about to start. I'm in the VIP box. Waiting for you." "Are you okay?" I stared at the messages, a bitter feeling washing over me. Cassio Romano. Heir to our rival Romano family. He was handsome, elegant, and the only man who saw me. He'd spent two years trying to get my attention. He knew I loved ballet. He was always inviting me to shows. But I never dared to say yes. First, because of our families. Second, because I was terrified my sister would find out and have a meltdown. "If you ever go out with those bad men, I'll jump from the balcony!" Chloe had shrieked at me once. So I turned Cassio down, time and time again, missing every performance. This time, he had bought the most expensive VIP tickets, just so I could see the ballerina I idolized. Too bad I would never see her now. My soul drifted toward the hospital. I passed through walls and car windows, ending up in the top-tier suite at St. Mary's Private Hospital. Chloe was lying quietly on a white bed, her face pale but her breathing steady. The girl who had been screaming her head off now looked as fragile as a porcelain doll. "The sedative worked," Dr. Morrison said, putting down his stethoscope. "Her heart rate is back to normal. The sensory overload has passed." Victor let out a long breath, his tense shoulders finally relaxing. "Thank God." Elena held her daughter's hand, her eyes wet with tears. "I thought I was going to lose her." I floated near the ceiling, watching the happy family. I wanted to scream, to make them look at me, but the living can't hear the dead. "Was anyone else hurt at the scene?" a young nurse asked as part of her routine. Elena waved a dismissive hand. "No one important. Just Sera. She slipped. She's fine." Slipped and fell? I stared at Elena. If I could cry, my tears would be a flood. They hadn't even noticed I had stopped breathing. "Mommy…" Chloe's weak voice came from the bed. Elena immediately leaned in. "Baby, you're awake? How do you feel?" "My head hurts," Chloe whispered. "It was Sera… She wanted to hurt me." "No, she didn't, baby," Elena soothed, stroking her hair. "Sera wasn't trying to hurt you. She just knocked over the flowerpot by accident." "No!" Chloe's voice suddenly sharpened. The heart monitor began to beep rapidly. "She did it on purpose! She's jealous of me! She wants me dead!" Doctors and nurses rushed to her side, checking her vitals. "She's a disgrace!" Chloe shrieked, her voice sharp as glass. "Dad and Mom only love me! She's a nobody!" I floated in the air, watching my sister's twisted expression. Her words were like daggers to my soul. But it wasn't the words that chilled me. It was the look in her eyes. Pure, calculating venom. "Her heart rate is spiking again. We need to administer another sedative," a doctor said hastily. Victor looked at his daughter, his heart breaking for her. "This is all Sera's fault! That thoughtless girl!" I thought of all the "episodes" over the years. Every time I got a little attention, every time I tried to have a little freedom, Chloe would have a "sensory breakdown" at the perfect moment. "Chloe said you hid her dolls." "Chloe said you were practicing your dance moves at night just to wake her up." "Chloe said you put something strange in her aromatherapy diffuser." Even now, after I was dead, they still believed every word she said without question. Just then, Victor's phone rang. He stepped into the hallway to answer it. "Hello? Oh, it's you, Alfred. What?!" The color drained from his face. "No! That's impossible!" His voice trembled violently. "Are you sure it was Sera?" The old butler's voice cracked over the line, "Sir... It's Sera. She fell onto the finial of the stair railing. There was blood everywhere..."

"What if he doesn't fit?" I asked it like a scientist reading off a clipboard. He answered it like a promise: "Then we find out how much you can learn to take." 😳 Four tentacles in the water — one at my wrist, one at my waist, one sliding slow up my thigh — learning the exact shape of me, inch by impossible inch. 🐙 "Tell me when it's too much," he said. I never did. 🔥 I walked into that chamber so sure of the limits of my own body. He spent the whole night proving every single one of them wrong — and by morning I was the one asking for more. 💋 Turns out I wasn't broken. I was just waiting for something that was never going to be human. 🤫 ——————————————————— Chapter 1 — Crystal's POV Position: [not specified]. Location: Saint-Barthélemy, on-site housing provided. Compensation: €4,500/month. Start date: immediate. Requirements: female, single, good health, experience with caregiving preferred. Good fertility. Nature of work: daily care and interaction with exotic creatures. Interested applicants reply to this address only. I'd found it buried in a local forum between an ad for a retired fisherman's boat and someone selling homemade coconut oil, and I'd screenshot it before it could disappear, the way things on that forum tended to do. I read it for the fourth time, and it didn't get any less suspicious. The waiting room was trying hard to impress. White leather chairs, a marble coffee table, and a massive aerial photograph of Saint-Barthélemy's coastline. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Checked my phone, read the listing again. "Weird listing, right?" The woman two chairs over was watching me. Mid-thirties, tanned, the kind of sun-bleached hair that came from actually living near the ocean She nodded at my phone. "No company name, no job title. Just 'exotic creatures' and a salary that's too good to be real." "We might be considered crazy for coming here." "Honey, half the island applied. That money?" She whistled low. "I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. I'd scrub dragon cages for that number." I almost laughed. But before I could open my mouth, the door at the end of the room opened, and a voice cut through. "Crystal Le Grand?" I put my phone away so fast I nearly dropped it. The woman who stepped through was the kind of beautiful that made you immediately aware of every flaw on your own face. Her badge was saying ‘Anaïs’. Tall, dark hair pulled into something effortlessly perfect, sharp cheekbones. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "That's me." I stood and extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. I love your shoes, are those…" "Follow me, please." Anaïs turned on those shoes I wasn't allowed to compliment and walked back through the door. I followed, hand still half-raised, smile dying on my face. She was the assistant to the facility's owner, and she had the interpersonal warmth of a tax audit. She led me to a small office, gestured to a chair, and opened a folder without looking at me once. "I see here you were previously married. Is that correct?" "Correct." I smiled tightly. ‘Best’ decision I never made. I was twenty-one and stupid and in love, and he had a smile that made me forget nobody had ever taken care of me without a price tag. "And your current relationship status?" "And your current relationship status?" "Single. Very, very single. The marriage was annulled, so technically I was never even married. Fun little legal detail." My now ex-husband vanished and left a stack of credit card statements with my name on them. Debts I didn't know existed, signatures I stupidly signed without looking. Now I understood why he'd been in such a rush to walk me down the aisle. Not in the name of love, but because he couldn’t wait to max out credit cards in his wife's name. Anaïs wrote something without looking up. The pen moved in short, precise strokes. Her nails were clean and unpolished, trimmed to exactly the same length. "Your credit history shows some irregularities. Can you explain?" "Student loans. You know how it is." I laughed. Anaïs didn't. Everything about this woman was controlled — posture, breathing, the way she held her face like a mask. Student loans my ass. I've got about four weeks of savings, a mountain of debt, and a disabled brother whose care I help pay for. "Menstrual cycle. Regular or irregular?" I blinked. "Regular, but that's kind of a…" "Clothing size?" "Eight. Sometimes ten if it's European sizing, which, honestly, always feels like a personal attack." "Professional experience?" "Nursing. Two years at Hôpital de Bruyn before I took a break." Before my fiancé convinced me to quit. "I'll take care of us, baby. You deserve better than nightshifts and bedpans." Turns out what he meant was he'd strip away every safety net I had, then vanish. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel — he's disabled. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No one." Anaïs's pen stopped moving. She looked at me and something shifted across her features. Quick, controlled, barely there. Surprise and something sharper underneath it, almost like satisfaction. Then it vanished, and she was writing again. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No. Caleb was my whole social life, which, again, is a red flag. I'm seeing all the red flags now." Anaïs closed the folder, excused herself, and returned two minutes later with him. Albert Bernard, the owner of this company, walked into the room. Tall, obscenely handsome, the kind of man whose jaw looked sculpted rather than grown. He shook my hand with both of his and smiled like we were already old friends. "Crystal! Anaïs tells me you're perfect." "She… Really? She didn't seem…" "Wonderful! Tell me about your sex life." I choked on nothing. "My what?" "Your sex life. Active, dormant, somewhere in between?" He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "I ask because I want you to be comfortable. Some of the work here is intimate in nature: not sexual, but physical, close-contact, and I need to know your boundaries won't make you a liability." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Albert tilted his head like a man watching a fish try to climb a tree. "I'll go first, since you look like you might swallow your own tongue. I'm bisexual, and the last person I was with told me I had the emotional availability of a desk lamp. Your turn." Surprisingly, It worked. Something about his absurd candor cracked the seal. I was still stiff when I found myself talking: "Dormant. Dead, actually. My ex killed any interest I had in men, and honestly, at this point the only physical contact I want is the kind where nobody asks how I'm feeling afterward." Albert listened with his chin on his fist and nodded like everything I said was fascinating. The contract was three pages. I should have read every word. I read the salary line, the housing clause, and the duration — twelve months, renewable — and I signed. Albert clapped his hands together. "Anaïs, transport! We leave now." “H-Hold on, what?” “Why wait? You’re gonna have so much fun there!” Anaïs stood, and as she passed Albert's chair, his hand swung out and slapped her across the ass — casual, proprietary, the sound sharp in the small room. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just kept walking. I stared. My mouth opened, closed. Two attractive adults, I told myself. Clearly a thing between them. Who am I to judge? God knows I wouldn't mind someone who looked like either of them doing that to me. I tried to forget the look on the other candidates' faces when Albert enthusiastically told them to leave because the position was closed. Outside, a black SUV waited with the engine running. Anaïs took the wheel without a word; Albert held the rear door open for me with a little bow that was either gentlemanly or mocking, hard to tell with him. I climbed in, and the leather seats were cool against my thighs. Nobody spoke. Anaïs drove like she'd made this trip a hundred times, eyes fixed ahead, and Albert scrolled through his phone beside me. The drive took us to the island's far eastern edge, where the roads narrowed to dirt and the vegetation thickened until the ocean disappeared behind a wall of green. The facility sat at the end of a gravel path — low concrete, no signage, built like something designed not to be found. Inside, the air was cooler and carried a strange undercurrent, something organic and faintly mineral, like wet stone in a cave. Albert walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a tour guide. "Your schedule will be straightforward — feeding rounds three times a day, health checks once in the morning, and the rest of the time is yours to spend with the residents. Think of it as..." I was trying to listen, I really was, but then we passed a corridor junction and I saw the monitor. A security screen mounted high on the wall, showing a dark chamber in grainy night vision. Something massive was moving inside: too many limbs, too fluid, and a thick muscular appendage uncurling against the reinforced glass, ridged suckers pressing flat against the surface. My vision tilted. The corridor stretched and compressed, fluorescent lights bleeding into long white smears. My knees folded, and the last thing I registered before the dark swallowed everything was the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek. ——————————————————— How far past her limits will she go? 🫣 Read Monstrously Yours Now! 🐙🔥

I signed a 14-page contract without reading the fine print. I should have read the fine print. The listing promised great pay for "working with exotic creatures." What it didn't say was that I wasn't hired to care for the monsters behind those seven doors I was hired to breed with one. On day four they strapped me to a table and the man who hired me pressed a needle to my stomach. "You agreed to all of it when you signed," he smiled. "And I need your womb." They've spent years collecting from every species in this building, preparing for the one part they couldn't manufacture. Me. Every girl before me died, broke, or vanished. The only one trying to keep me alive is the very monster I'm meant to survive. ——————————————————— Chapter 1 — Crystal's POV Position: [not specified]. Location: Saint-Barthélemy, on-site housing provided. Compensation: €4,500/month. Start date: immediate. Requirements: female, single, good health, experience with caregiving preferred. Good fertility. Nature of work: daily care and interaction with exotic creatures. Interested applicants reply to this address only. I'd found it buried in a local forum between an ad for a retired fisherman's boat and someone selling homemade coconut oil, and I'd screenshot it before it could disappear, the way things on that forum tended to do. I read it for the fourth time, and it didn't get any less suspicious. The waiting room was trying hard to impress. White leather chairs, a marble coffee table, and a massive aerial photograph of Saint-Barthélemy's coastline. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Checked my phone, read the listing again. "Weird listing, right?" The woman two chairs over was watching me. Mid-thirties, tanned, the kind of sun-bleached hair that came from actually living near the ocean She nodded at my phone. "No company name, no job title. Just 'exotic creatures' and a salary that's too good to be real." "We might be considered crazy for coming here." "Honey, half the island applied. That money?" She whistled low. "I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. I'd scrub dragon cages for that number." I almost laughed. But before I could open my mouth, the door at the end of the room opened, and a voice cut through. "Crystal Le Grand?" I put my phone away so fast I nearly dropped it. The woman who stepped through was the kind of beautiful that made you immediately aware of every flaw on your own face. Her badge was saying ‘Anaïs’. Tall, dark hair pulled into something effortlessly perfect, sharp cheekbones. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "That's me." I stood and extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. I love your shoes, are those…" "Follow me, please." Anaïs turned on those shoes I wasn't allowed to compliment and walked back through the door. I followed, hand still half-raised, smile dying on my face. She was the assistant to the facility's owner, and she had the interpersonal warmth of a tax audit. She led me to a small office, gestured to a chair, and opened a folder without looking at me once. "I see here you were previously married. Is that correct?" "Correct." I smiled tightly. ‘Best’ decision I never made. I was twenty-one and stupid and in love, and he had a smile that made me forget nobody had ever taken care of me without a price tag. "And your current relationship status?" "And your current relationship status?" "Single. Very, very single. The marriage was annulled, so technically I was never even married. Fun little legal detail." My now ex-husband vanished and left a stack of credit card statements with my name on them. Debts I didn't know existed, signatures I stupidly signed without looking. Now I understood why he'd been in such a rush to walk me down the aisle. Not in the name of love, but because he couldn’t wait to max out credit cards in his wife's name. Anaïs wrote something without looking up. The pen moved in short, precise strokes. Her nails were clean and unpolished, trimmed to exactly the same length. "Your credit history shows some irregularities. Can you explain?" "Student loans. You know how it is." I laughed. Anaïs didn't. Everything about this woman was controlled — posture, breathing, the way she held her face like a mask. Student loans my ass. I've got about four weeks of savings, a mountain of debt, and a disabled brother whose care I help pay for. "Menstrual cycle. Regular or irregular?" I blinked. "Regular, but that's kind of a…" "Clothing size?" "Eight. Sometimes ten if it's European sizing, which, honestly, always feels like a personal attack." "Professional experience?" "Nursing. Two years at Hôpital de Bruyn before I took a break." Before my fiancé convinced me to quit. "I'll take care of us, baby. You deserve better than nightshifts and bedpans." Turns out what he meant was he'd strip away every safety net I had, then vanish. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel — he's disabled. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No one." Anaïs's pen stopped moving. She looked at me and something shifted across her features. Quick, controlled, barely there. Surprise and something sharper underneath it, almost like satisfaction. Then it vanished, and she was writing again. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No. Caleb was my whole social life, which, again, is a red flag. I'm seeing all the red flags now." Anaïs closed the folder, excused herself, and returned two minutes later with him. Albert Bernard, the owner of this company, walked into the room. Tall, obscenely handsome, the kind of man whose jaw looked sculpted rather than grown. He shook my hand with both of his and smiled like we were already old friends. "Crystal! Anaïs tells me you're perfect." "She… Really? She didn't seem…" "Wonderful! Tell me about your sex life." I choked on nothing. "My what?" "Your sex life. Active, dormant, somewhere in between?" He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "I ask because I want you to be comfortable. Some of the work here is intimate in nature: not sexual, but physical, close-contact, and I need to know your boundaries won't make you a liability." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Albert tilted his head like a man watching a fish try to climb a tree. "I'll go first, since you look like you might swallow your own tongue. I'm bisexual, and the last person I was with told me I had the emotional availability of a desk lamp. Your turn." Surprisingly, It worked. Something about his absurd candor cracked the seal. I was still stiff when I found myself talking: "Dormant. Dead, actually. My ex killed any interest I had in men, and honestly, at this point the only physical contact I want is the kind where nobody asks how I'm feeling afterward." Albert listened with his chin on his fist and nodded like everything I said was fascinating. The contract was three pages. I should have read every word. I read the salary line, the housing clause, and the duration — twelve months, renewable — and I signed. Albert clapped his hands together. "Anaïs, transport! We leave now." “H-Hold on, what?” “Why wait? You’re gonna have so much fun there!” Anaïs stood, and as she passed Albert's chair, his hand swung out and slapped her across the ass — casual, proprietary, the sound sharp in the small room. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just kept walking. I stared. My mouth opened, closed. Two attractive adults, I told myself. Clearly a thing between them. Who am I to judge? God knows I wouldn't mind someone who looked like either of them doing that to me. I tried to forget the look on the other candidates' faces when Albert enthusiastically told them to leave because the position was closed. Outside, a black SUV waited with the engine running. Anaïs took the wheel without a word; Albert held the rear door open for me with a little bow that was either gentlemanly or mocking, hard to tell with him. I climbed in, and the leather seats were cool against my thighs. Nobody spoke. Anaïs drove like she'd made this trip a hundred times, eyes fixed ahead, and Albert scrolled through his phone beside me. The drive took us to the island's far eastern edge, where the roads narrowed to dirt and the vegetation thickened until the ocean disappeared behind a wall of green. The facility sat at the end of a gravel path — low concrete, no signage, built like something designed not to be found. Inside, the air was cooler and carried a strange undercurrent, something organic and faintly mineral, like wet stone in a cave. Albert walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a tour guide. "Your schedule will be straightforward — feeding rounds three times a day, health checks once in the morning, and the rest of the time is yours to spend with the residents. Think of it as..." I was trying to listen, I really was, but then we passed a corridor junction and I saw the monitor. A security screen mounted high on the wall, showing a dark chamber in grainy night vision. Something massive was moving inside: too many limbs, too fluid, and a thick muscular appendage uncurling against the reinforced glass, ridged suckers pressing flat against the surface. My vision tilted. The corridor stretched and compressed, fluorescent lights bleeding into long white smears. My knees folded, and the last thing I registered before the dark swallowed everything was the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek. ——————————————————— What did she really sign? Read Monstrously Yours Now!

He hadn't slept in three hundred years. Three centuries of pacing, of cracked concrete where his tentacles hit the walls, of being the one creature in this facility everyone is terrified of. And then one ordinary girl with a feeding tray walked the corridor and the pacing stopped. He's cruel to everyone. Cold to the others, vicious to the boss, the "weak link" no one can control. But the nights I sleep on the other side of his wall, he goes quiet. He sleeps. Because of me. He won't say what I am to him. His kind has a word for it and he refuses to use it. But every night he moves closer to the wall between us and every night I let him. The deadliest thing they ever caged is gentle with exactly one person in the world. ——————————————————— Chapter 1 — Crystal's POV Position: [not specified]. Location: Saint-Barthélemy, on-site housing provided. Compensation: €4,500/month. Start date: immediate. Requirements: female, single, good health, experience with caregiving preferred. Good fertility. Nature of work: daily care and interaction with exotic creatures. Interested applicants reply to this address only. I'd found it buried in a local forum between an ad for a retired fisherman's boat and someone selling homemade coconut oil, and I'd screenshot it before it could disappear, the way things on that forum tended to do. I read it for the fourth time, and it didn't get any less suspicious. The waiting room was trying hard to impress. White leather chairs, a marble coffee table, and a massive aerial photograph of Saint-Barthélemy's coastline. I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Checked my phone, read the listing again. "Weird listing, right?" The woman two chairs over was watching me. Mid-thirties, tanned, the kind of sun-bleached hair that came from actually living near the ocean She nodded at my phone. "No company name, no job title. Just 'exotic creatures' and a salary that's too good to be real." "We might be considered crazy for coming here." "Honey, half the island applied. That money?" She whistled low. "I've got two kids and an ex who thinks child support is optional. I'd scrub dragon cages for that number." I almost laughed. But before I could open my mouth, the door at the end of the room opened, and a voice cut through. "Crystal Le Grand?" I put my phone away so fast I nearly dropped it. The woman who stepped through was the kind of beautiful that made you immediately aware of every flaw on your own face. Her badge was saying ‘Anaïs’. Tall, dark hair pulled into something effortlessly perfect, sharp cheekbones. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue. "That's me." I stood and extended my hand. "Nice to meet you. I love your shoes, are those…" "Follow me, please." Anaïs turned on those shoes I wasn't allowed to compliment and walked back through the door. I followed, hand still half-raised, smile dying on my face. She was the assistant to the facility's owner, and she had the interpersonal warmth of a tax audit. She led me to a small office, gestured to a chair, and opened a folder without looking at me once. "I see here you were previously married. Is that correct?" "Correct." I smiled tightly. ‘Best’ decision I never made. I was twenty-one and stupid and in love, and he had a smile that made me forget nobody had ever taken care of me without a price tag. "And your current relationship status?" "And your current relationship status?" "Single. Very, very single. The marriage was annulled, so technically I was never even married. Fun little legal detail." My now ex-husband vanished and left a stack of credit card statements with my name on them. Debts I didn't know existed, signatures I stupidly signed without looking. Now I understood why he'd been in such a rush to walk me down the aisle. Not in the name of love, but because he couldn’t wait to max out credit cards in his wife's name. Anaïs wrote something without looking up. The pen moved in short, precise strokes. Her nails were clean and unpolished, trimmed to exactly the same length. "Your credit history shows some irregularities. Can you explain?" "Student loans. You know how it is." I laughed. Anaïs didn't. Everything about this woman was controlled — posture, breathing, the way she held her face like a mask. Student loans my ass. I've got about four weeks of savings, a mountain of debt, and a disabled brother whose care I help pay for. "Menstrual cycle. Regular or irregular?" I blinked. "Regular, but that's kind of a…" "Clothing size?" "Eight. Sometimes ten if it's European sizing, which, honestly, always feels like a personal attack." "Professional experience?" "Nursing. Two years at Hôpital de Bruyn before I took a break." Before my fiancé convinced me to quit. "I'll take care of us, baby. You deserve better than nightshifts and bedpans." Turns out what he meant was he'd strip away every safety net I had, then vanish. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel — he's disabled. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No one." Anaïs's pen stopped moving. She looked at me and something shifted across her features. Quick, controlled, barely there. Surprise and something sharper underneath it, almost like satisfaction. Then it vanished, and she was writing again. "Do you have family or close contacts on the island? Anyone you speak with regularly?" "My mother, on the mainland. She takes care of my brother Lionel. I call her every few days, send money when I can. Here on the island? No. Caleb was my whole social life, which, again, is a red flag. I'm seeing all the red flags now." Anaïs closed the folder, excused herself, and returned two minutes later with him. Albert Bernard, the owner of this company, walked into the room. Tall, obscenely handsome, the kind of man whose jaw looked sculpted rather than grown. He shook my hand with both of his and smiled like we were already old friends. "Crystal! Anaïs tells me you're perfect." "She… Really? She didn't seem…" "Wonderful! Tell me about your sex life." I choked on nothing. "My what?" "Your sex life. Active, dormant, somewhere in between?" He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "I ask because I want you to be comfortable. Some of the work here is intimate in nature: not sexual, but physical, close-contact, and I need to know your boundaries won't make you a liability." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Albert tilted his head like a man watching a fish try to climb a tree. "I'll go first, since you look like you might swallow your own tongue. I'm bisexual, and the last person I was with told me I had the emotional availability of a desk lamp. Your turn." Surprisingly, It worked. Something about his absurd candor cracked the seal. I was still stiff when I found myself talking: "Dormant. Dead, actually. My ex killed any interest I had in men, and honestly, at this point the only physical contact I want is the kind where nobody asks how I'm feeling afterward." Albert listened with his chin on his fist and nodded like everything I said was fascinating. The contract was three pages. I should have read every word. I read the salary line, the housing clause, and the duration — twelve months, renewable — and I signed. Albert clapped his hands together. "Anaïs, transport! We leave now." “H-Hold on, what?” “Why wait? You’re gonna have so much fun there!” Anaïs stood, and as she passed Albert's chair, his hand swung out and slapped her across the ass — casual, proprietary, the sound sharp in the small room. She didn't flinch, didn't react at all. Just kept walking. I stared. My mouth opened, closed. Two attractive adults, I told myself. Clearly a thing between them. Who am I to judge? God knows I wouldn't mind someone who looked like either of them doing that to me. I tried to forget the look on the other candidates' faces when Albert enthusiastically told them to leave because the position was closed. Outside, a black SUV waited with the engine running. Anaïs took the wheel without a word; Albert held the rear door open for me with a little bow that was either gentlemanly or mocking, hard to tell with him. I climbed in, and the leather seats were cool against my thighs. Nobody spoke. Anaïs drove like she'd made this trip a hundred times, eyes fixed ahead, and Albert scrolled through his phone beside me. The drive took us to the island's far eastern edge, where the roads narrowed to dirt and the vegetation thickened until the ocean disappeared behind a wall of green. The facility sat at the end of a gravel path — low concrete, no signage, built like something designed not to be found. Inside, the air was cooler and carried a strange undercurrent, something organic and faintly mineral, like wet stone in a cave. Albert walked ahead, hands clasped behind his back like a tour guide. "Your schedule will be straightforward — feeding rounds three times a day, health checks once in the morning, and the rest of the time is yours to spend with the residents. Think of it as..." I was trying to listen, I really was, but then we passed a corridor junction and I saw the monitor. A security screen mounted high on the wall, showing a dark chamber in grainy night vision. Something massive was moving inside: too many limbs, too fluid, and a thick muscular appendage uncurling against the reinforced glass, ridged suckers pressing flat against the surface. My vision tilted. The corridor stretched and compressed, fluorescent lights bleeding into long white smears. My knees folded, and the last thing I registered before the dark swallowed everything was the cold of the concrete floor against my cheek. ——————————————————— What happens when the wall between them finally comes down? Read Monstrously Yours Now!

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