Chapter 2 THE BLACKWOOD ESTATE

The heavy iron gates of the Blackwood estate didn't just open; they groaned, a low, mechanical warning that Elara was leaving the world of the living and entering a kingdom of shadows. The limousine purred up the winding drive, the headlights cutting through a thick, unnatural fog that clung to the ancient oaks lining the path.

Beside her, Julian Blackwood was a silent statue of power. He didn't look at her. He didn't have to. His presence filled the back of the car, a suffocating weight that made the plush leather feel like a cage. He was scrolling through his phone, the blue light reflecting in his steel-gray eyes, making him look more like an advanced machine than a man.

Elara's fingers brushed against the cold silver of the collar still resting in its box on her lap. She hadn't put it on in the room-she couldn't bring herself to do it-and he hadn't forced her. Not yet. But the silence between them was a ticking clock.

The car came to a smooth halt in front of a sprawling gothic manor. It wasn't a home; it was a fortress of glass and black stone.

"Out," Julian commanded. It wasn't loud, but it carried the absolute expectation of a man who had never been disobeyed.

Elara stepped out into the biting night air. Before she could take a breath, Julian was there, his hand firm on the small of her back. The heat of his palm through her thin silk dress felt like a brand. He guided her up the steps, his pace relentless, forcing her to stumble slightly to keep up.

The foyer was a cathedral of cold minimalism. White marble floors, black walls, and a chandelier that looked like a cluster of falling stars. Standing in a perfect row were five servants, their heads bowed so low she couldn't see their faces.

"This is Elara," Julian announced to the room, though his eyes remained fixed on the grand staircase. "She is the new addition to the household. She is to be given anything she needs to remain... healthy. But she is never to leave the grounds. If she reaches the gate, you are all terminated. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Young Master," they chimed in a haunting, singular voice.

Julian finally turned to her, his gaze dropping to the box in her hands. "You haven't put it on."

Elara felt the sting of tears-not of sadness, but of a white-hot rage that was starting to boil beneath her fear. "I am not a dog, Julian."

His reaction was instantaneous. He stepped into her space, his chest brushing hers, forcing her head back. "In this house, Elara, names are a privilege. Dignity is an expensive luxury. I paid fifty million for you. That makes you whatever I say you are."

He reached into the box, his fingers nimble and terrifyingly steady. He took the silver collar and brought it to her throat. Elara tried to pull away, but his other hand snaked around the back of her neck, his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive skin behind her ear.

"Don't fight me," he whispered, his voice dropping to a seductive, lethal silk. "I want to see how the diamonds look against your skin. I want everyone who looks at you to know exactly who you belong to."

The click of the magnetic clasp echoed in the silent foyer like a gunshot.

The silver felt heavy, an anchor around her neck. It was cold, biting into her skin, reminding her with every pulse of her heart that she was no longer her own.

"Beautiful," Julian murmured, his eyes darkening with a flash of something that looked dangerously like hunger. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over her forehead, a gesture that was more possessive than affectionate. "Now, I believe it's time for your first lesson in the rules of the Blackwood Estate."

He led her up the stairs to a wing of the house that felt even more secluded. The walls here were lined with heavy velvet curtains, muffling every sound. He stopped at a set of double doors and pushed them open.

It was a bedroom, but not like any Elara had ever seen. The bed was massive, draped in black silk, and the far wall was entirely glass, overlooking a sheer drop into the crashing waves of the ocean below. On the nightstand sat a single, ornate bell.

"This is your cage, Elara," Julian said, walking toward the window. "You will sleep here. You will eat here. And when I ring this bell from my study, you have exactly three minutes to appear before me. If you are late, the collar gets tighter."

"You're a monster," she breathed, her voice shaking.

Julian turned, the moonlight catching the sharp, cruel lines of his face. He walked back to her, stopping so close she could smell the dark spice of his cologne. He reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of the collar, his touch feather-light and devastating.

"I am exactly what your father made me," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "He sold you to settle a debt. I simply bought the most beautiful thing he had left. Do you know why I chose this specific room for you?"

Elara shook her head, unable to speak.

"Because from here, you can see the gates," he said, pointing to the distant, glowing lights at the end of the long drive. "I want you to watch them every night. I want you to see exactly how far away your freedom is. And I want you to know that as long as you wear my mark, you will never reach them."

He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle.

"There is a dress on the bed. Put it on. We have a guest arriving for a late supper, and I expect my pet to be perfectly presented. You have thirty minutes."

He stepped out and closed the door. Elara heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy electronic lock engaging.

She was alone.

She turned to the bed, seeing the "dress" he had mentioned. It wasn't a dress at all; it was a slip of sheer, crimson lace that left nothing to the imagination. Beside it lay a pair of silk ribbons.

Elara slumped onto the floor, her back against the cold door. She clutched the silver collar at her throat, the diamonds digging into her palms. She wanted to scream, to break every glass wall in this cursed house, but she knew that would only play into his hands.

She stood up, walking to the massive glass wall. The ocean below was a churning abyss, much like her future. She looked at the crimson lace on the bed, then back at the door.

She realized then that Julian hadn't just bought her body. He was trying to dismantle her soul, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but a hollow shell that obeyed his every whim.

I won't let you, she whispered to her reflection in the glass. I will find the crack in your armor, Julian Blackwood. And when I do, I will shatter you.

She picked up the crimson lace, her fingers trembling. She began to dress, the fabric feeling like a second skin of shame. As she tied the silk ribbons, she heard a faint sound coming from the vent in the ceiling.

It was the sound of a violin playing-a sad, haunting melody that she recognized from her childhood.

She froze. That song... her mother used to play it.

How did Julian know?

The door suddenly buzzed, and Julian's voice came through the intercom, cold and impatient.

"Ten minutes, Elara. Our guest is here. And he's someone you know very well."

Elara's heart stopped. She rushed to the door as it clicked open, her mind racing. Someone she knew? Her father? Or someone worse?

She stepped out into the hallway, her legs feeling like lead. She made her way back down to the grand dining room, where the table was set for three. Julian was already there, standing at the head of the table, a glass of dark wine in his hand.

In the chair opposite him sat a man with silver hair and a face lined with greed and desperation.

"Father?" Elara gasped, her hand flying to the collar at her throat.

Her father didn't look up. He looked at Julian, his eyes wide with fear. "I did what you asked, Blackwood. I brought the documents. Now give me the money."

Julian didn't look at the older man. He looked only at Elara, his gaze raking over her in the crimson lace, settling on the silver collar he had forced her to wear.

"Tell me, Arthur," Julian said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Does it hurt to see your only daughter wearing a price tag? Or are you too busy counting the zeros on the check?"

Elara's father finally looked at her, and the shame in his eyes was eclipsed by something much worse: relief. "She looks well, Julian. You're taking care of her."

"I'm taking care of my investment," Julian corrected. He turned to Elara, gesturing to the empty chair between them. "Sit, Elara. Your father and I were just discussing the final terms of your... permanent transfer."

Elara felt the room spin. Permanent? She sat down, her eyes locked on her father. "How could you? You told me it was just for a few months. You told me you'd win the money back!"

"The debt was larger than I told you, Elara," her father whimpered, refusing to meet her gaze. "Julian offered me a way out. A way for us both to survive."

"You didn't survive," Elara spat, the fire finally breaking through her shock. "You died the second you handed me over to him."

Julian set his glass down with a sharp clink. "Enough drama. Arthur, the money has been wired. You have one hour to leave the country. If I ever see you on this continent again, I will personally ensure the rest of your debts are collected in blood."

Her father scrambled to his feet, not even glancing at Elara as he rushed toward the exit.

"Father! Wait!" Elara cried, starting to rise.

"Sit down," Julian commanded.

Elara ignored him, running toward her father, but before she could reach the door, Julian was there. He moved with the speed of a strike, his arm barring her path. He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her off her feet and pinning her against the wall.

"He doesn't want you, Elara!" Julian roared, his composure finally breaking into raw, jagged emotion. "He never did! I am the only one who truly knows what you're worth!"

Elara struggled against him, her fists hitting his chest, her tears finally spilling over. "I hate you! I hate you both!"

Julian caught her wrists, pinning them above her head against the cold stone wall. His face was inches from hers, his breath ragged. The intensity in his eyes was terrifying-a mix of ancient pain and obsessive need.

"Hate me then," he growled. "Fuel yourself with it. Use it to survive. Because I'm never letting you go."

He leaned in, his lips hovering just a hair's breadth from hers. For a moment, the world stopped. The anger, the betrayal, the silver collar-everything faded into the magnetic pull between them.

But then, the front door slammed shut. Her father was gone.

Julian pulled back, his mask of ice sliding back into place. He released her wrists, leaving red marks on her pale skin.

"Go to your room," he said, his voice flat. "Tomorrow, your training begins. And Elara?"

She looked at him, her chest heaving.

"The violin music?" he said, a cruel glint in his eyes. "That was just to remind you that I know everything about you. Every memory, every weakness. You have no secrets from me."

He turned and walked back to the table, picking up his wine as if nothing had happened.

Elara fled. She ran back up the stairs, through the velvet-lined halls, and slammed her bedroom door. She threw herself onto the bed, sobbing into the black silk.

But as the hours passed and the moon rose high over the ocean, her tears dried. She sat up, touching the cold silver collar.

Julian thought he had won. He thought he had broken her by showing her her father's betrayal. But he had actually given her the one thing she needed: a reason to fight back.

She walked to the nightstand and picked up the bell. She looked at it for a long time, then set it back down.

Suddenly, a soft light flickered from under the closet door.

Elara frowned. She walked over and pushed the door open. Inside, hidden behind the rows of expensive clothes Julian had bought for her, was a small, keypad-locked safe.

But the door was slightly ajar.

Inside was a single, handwritten note on yellowed paper.

He thinks he's the master, but the pet always knows where the keys are hidden. Look under the third floorboard in the library. - M.

Elara's heart thundered. M? Who was M?

Before she could think, a loud, piercing ring echoed through the room.

The bell. Julian was calling her.

She looked at the clock. She had three minutes.

She looked at the note, then at the door. If she went to him now, she was his pet. If she stayed to find the floorboard, she was a rebel.

The bell rang again, longer and more insistent this time.

Elara reached up, her fingers grazing the magnetic clasp of the collar.

Three minutes.