Chapter 3 The Estate of Shadows

The knock barely faded before Morwen's shadow filled the doorway.

"Get up," she barked, voice sharp enough to cut.

Amara clutched the cloth bundle to her chest. Her legs trembled.

"I... I need to change," she whispered, stalling without meaning to.

Morwen's mouth twisted into that familiar, cruel scowl.

"Change? Into what?" She swept her gaze over Amara's torn dress as if it offended her eyes. "You own nothing worth changing into. Move."

Amara lowered her gaze. "Yes... Aunt."

Morwen stepped aside, arms crossed, foot tapping. The little brass key shifted inside the bundle, pressing faintly through the cloth, but Amara didn't dare open it.

"Stop dragging your feet. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

A cold shiver crawled up Amara's spine. Everyone knew what it meant when a girl was sent to Hargrove's estate.

Her stomach twisted as Morwen turned, skirts brushing the doorframe harshly.

"Don't cry, not in front of them. Tears won't help you where you're going. They'll only make it worse," Morwen said over her shoulder, mock-gentle.

Amara hugged the bundle tighter. Her fingers pressed into the cloth, hoping to squeeze out some courage.

A memory flickered-her father's warm hand on her back, shielding her from Morwen's hatred.

"She's still my child," he used to say. The only shield she ever had.

But he wasn't here. And without him, Morwen didn't bother hiding the hate twisting her face.

Her bare feet brushed the cold stone floor, sending jolts through her ankles. Every step felt heavier than the last.

At the bottom of the main staircase, Sabrina lounged on a cushioned bench, smirk ready.

"Finally," she drawled, tilting her head. "I thought you'd hide forever."

"I... I can't go there," Amara choked, clutching her bundle. "Please... don't make me."

Morwen's hand pressed onto her shoulder, hard enough to keep her from turning back.

"Do you think your pleas will matter? Today, you leave this house. Master Hargrove paid for you. You will obey."

Amara's breath hitched. Her toes curled against the cold floor.

"I've heard things, please... I'm begging-"

"Listen to her. She really thinks begging works on anyone," Sabrina said, laughing softly.

Morwen leaned closer, her breath cold against Amara's ear.

"Whatever happens at Hargrove's estate, you'll endure it. Don't think you'll ever return. We will forget you ever existed."

Amara dropped to her knees, shaking, almost letting the bundle slip.

"Have mercy... I don't want to go..."

Sabrina rose, smoothing her dress as if Amara's misery was an irritation under her fingertips.

"You're property now. Act like it."

A guard stepped forward. Silent. Powerful. Menacing.

Morwen yanked Amara upright by the arm.

"If you can't walk, he'll carry you. Trust me-you don't want that."

Amara shuddered. Her bare feet scraped against the floor.

"Please... Aunt... Sabrina... I-"

Sabrina rolled her eyes.

"Take her."

The guard lifted Amara effortlessly. Her feet dangled helplessly. One last trembling glance toward Morwen and Sabrina. A silent plea swallowed by fear.

"Survive if you can," Morwen said, her voice like ice, skirts swishing as she turned away.

Amara's lips trembled. "I... I'll try..."

Sabrina waved her hand dismissively.

The guard pushed her toward the door. Cold wind hit her bare feet. Gravel bit at her skin. She shivered. A tremor ran up her legs.

The carriage jolted to a stop. Her chest tightened. The dark outline of the estate loomed like silent sentinels. She'd never set foot here. She'd only heard whispers of girls who never left.

The door creaked open. The guard, expressionless, gestured.

"Out."

Her legs wobbled. Bare against the chill of marble. She nearly stumbled.

"Balance yourself," the guard said, pressing a firm hand against her back.

The carriage rolled away, leaving her alone with him, the gates, and the looming estate.

This... this was it.

She bit her lip, stifling a sob. Her trembling legs betrayed her.

The guard didn't wait. He grabbed her arm hard, guiding her through massive doors. Inside, muffled voices, soft giggles, and hushed sobs made her stomach twist.

Shadows of movement flitted across the hall: girls folding laundry, carrying trays, silent with sidelong glances.

The guard yanked her toward a side corridor. She stumbled, letting out a sharp breath.

At the end, a large set of double doors waited.

"Through here. No dawdling," he said flatly.

Her knees shook. Teeth gritted. Nails dug into her palms. Every footfall a drumbeat of helplessness.

A woman stepped from the shadows-older, severe, hair tightly pinned, robe smelling faintly of lavender and something acrid. She regarded Amara as if she were already property.

"You," the guard said, "she's yours."

The woman's gaze flicked from the bundle to Amara's bare feet, torn sleeves, faint bruises.

"Follow me," she said sharply.

Amara's throat went dry. She wanted to scream, plead, run-but strength had abandoned her.

Along the corridor, other girls worked in silence: sweeping, polishing, scrubbing. Eyes hollow. Bodies tense. This was no home. This was a cage.

The woman led her to a small, dim room with a single bench and table. Another girl huddled there, head bowed, shoulders shaking. A prayer or sob-it was impossible to tell.

"Out!" the woman barked. The girl fled, stumbling.

Amara hugged the bundle instinctively.

"Leave that," the woman snapped. "You'll be prepared before he sees you."

Her stomach sank. She set the bundle down, fingers curling around it again.

"Step inside. Now," the woman pressed forward.

Amara's heart thudded painfully. One trembling foot, then another. She crossed the threshold.

The woman pushed her gently but forcefully inside.

"Don't waste a second. He'll not wait. Do as I say-or you'll regret it."

The door slammed behind her.

Amara flinched. Heart hammering. Breath shallow.

He would see her soon... and she wasn't ready.