I'm the Young Master's New Pet

The air in the Underground Cathedral smelled of damp earth, expensive cologne, and the metallic tang of fear. It was a place where morality came to die, a literal basement of the elite where human lives were traded like vintage wine.

Elara Vance stood on the raised mahogany platform, the harsh spotlight blinding her, making the sweat on her neck feel like ice. Her wrists were bound by a silk cord-red, for the "virgin" category. It was a cruel irony. She wasn't a virgin to the world's cruelty, only to this specific brand of hell.

"Lot 402," the auctioneer's voice boomed, smooth as velvet and sharp as a razor. "The daughter of a fallen house. High pedigree, untouched, and utterly desperate. Do I hear five million?"

Elara stared into the void of the audience. She couldn't see their faces, only the glint of their diamond watches and the glowing tips of their cigars. She was a ghost being sold to monsters. Her father's gambling debts had finally come due, and since he had no more gold, he had offered her skin.

"Six million," a voice drawled from the left.

"Seven," barked another from the back.

The bidding climbed with a sickening rhythm. Each number was a year of her life she would never get back. She felt her knees tremble, her breath hitching in her chest. Someone, please, let it be quick, she prayed. Let it be someone who just wants a maid.

But she knew better. In this room, men didn't buy maids. They bought "pets."

"Ten million," the auctioneer shouted, his excitement mounting. "Going once, going twice-"

"Fifty million."

The room went deathly silent. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. The voice didn't come from a bidder in the front row. It came from the darkness of the VIP balcony, a deep, resonant baritone that vibrated in Elara's very marrow. It wasn't an opening bid; it was an execution.

The auctioneer cleared his throat, his bravado momentarily failing. "Fifty... fifty million from the Blackwood suite. Going once... twice... Sold."

The gavel slammed down like a guillotine.

Elara was led off the stage by two silent men in black suits. They didn't speak to her. They didn't even look at her. She was cargo. They moved her through a labyrinth of cold stone hallways until they reached a heavy, reinforced steel door.

"Wait here," one of them commanded.

She was left alone in a small, dim room. The only furniture was a single velvet chair. Elara didn't sit. She stood in the center of the room, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Minutes bled into an eternity. Every sound-the hum of the air conditioning, the distant thud of a door-made her flinch.

Then, the door opened.

A man walked in, and the small room suddenly felt microscopic. He was tall, dressed in a charcoal suit that cost more than her father's house. His hair was black as a raven's wing, and his features were carved from cold marble. But it was his eyes that froze her-steel gray, intelligent, and utterly devoid of warmth.

Julian Blackwood. The "Young Master" of the Blackwood empire. The man the city whispered about in hushed, terrified tones. They called him the Ice King, a man who had dismantled his own rivals before he was twenty-five.

He didn't speak at first. He simply walked around her, his footsteps silent on the rug. He was a predator circling a wounded deer. He stopped behind her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. The scent of sandalwood and expensive bourbon clouded her senses.

"Fifty million is a lot of money for a girl whose father is a coward," he said, his voice a low vibration near her ear.

Elara found her voice, though it was thin and brittle. "I didn't ask you to spend it."

Julian moved in front of her, his hand reaching out. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look up at him. His grip wasn't painful, but it was absolute.

"You don't understand your position yet, Elara," he murmured. His eyes traveled over her face, lingering on her lips. "In the world outside, you are a Vance. In this house, you are a possession. You have no name, no rights, and no will but mine."

"I am not a slave," she hissed, her eyes flashing with a spark of the fire he hadn't yet extinguished.

A small, dark smile touched Julian's lips-a predatory expression that sent a shiver of pure terror down her spine.

"A slave is for labor," he corrected softly. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, his breath hot against her cold skin. "A pet is for pleasure. For discipline. For whatever whim I decide to indulge when the world bores me."

He released her chin and stepped back, looking at her with a terrifyingly clinical gaze.

"You will learn the rules soon enough. But for now, remember the price I paid." He took a step toward the door, then paused, looking back over his shoulder. The light caught the sharp angle of his jaw.

"Don't try to run, Elara. The gates are high, the dogs are hungry, and I have spent far too much on you to let you go so easily."

He turned to leave, but Elara took a desperate step forward. "Why me? There were dozens of girls there. Why did you pay fifty million for me?"

Julian stopped. He didn't turn around, but his shoulders went rigid. For a second, the cold professionalism of his aura flickered, revealing something darker, something ancient.

"You think this is the first time we've met, don't you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Elara frowned, her mind racing. "I... I don't know what you mean."

Julian turned his head just enough for her to see the icy glint of his eye.

"You belong to me now, Elara. And I never forget what belongs to me."

He walked out, and the door locked with a heavy, electronic click. Elara rushed to the door, pulling at the handle, but it wouldn't budge. She was trapped. She looked around the room, desperate for a way out, when her eyes caught a small, black velvet box sitting on the table that hadn't been there before.

With trembling hands, she opened it.

Inside was a delicate, silver collar. It was beautiful, encrusted with small, brilliant diamonds. But as she lifted it, she saw the engraving on the inside of the band.

Property of J.B.

Suddenly, the lights in the room flickered and died, plunging her into total darkness. In the silence, she heard the faint sound of a speaker activating in the corner of the ceiling.

"Lesson one," Julian's voice echoed through the dark, sounding closer than it should. "In the dark, you have nothing but my voice to guide you. Put it on, Elara. Put on your collar, or I'll come back in there and put it on you myself. And I promise, I won't be gentle."

Elara clutched the silver band to her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She looked toward the door, then at the box. She could hear footsteps approaching outside-slow, heavy, and deliberate.

The handle began to turn.

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.

The ringing of the bell wasn't just a sound; it was a physical assault, a vibration that seemed to pulse through the silver collar and straight into Elara's bone marrow. Each chime felt like a lash of a whip, a reminder of the fifty million dollars that sat between her and the life she once knew.

She had two minutes left.

Elara stared at the handwritten note in her hand-the mysterious message from "M." Her mind screamed at her to stay, to tear up the floorboards and find whatever secret was hidden there. But then she pictured Julian's face-the way his eyes turned to shards of ice when he was denied. If she was late, the "punishment" wouldn't just be a tighter collar. It would be a dismantling of the tiny shred of hope she had left.

With a shaking hand, she shoved the note into the waistband of her crimson lace slip and bolted for the door.

The hallways of the Blackwood estate were a labyrinth of shadows at this hour. The velvet curtains drank the light, making the distance between her room and Julian's study feel like miles. She ran, her bare feet silent on the cold marble, the silk of her dress fluttering against her thighs like the wings of a trapped moth.

Two minutes.

She reached the grand staircase, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The silver collar felt like it was heating up, a phantom sensation born of her own panic. She reached the heavy oak doors of the study just as the final echo of the third bell faded into the silence.

She didn't knock. She couldn't afford to. She pushed the doors open and stumbled inside.

The study was bathed in the amber glow of a dying fire. The walls were lined with thousands of leather-bound books, their gold-leaf spines gleaming like teeth in the dark. Julian was sitting behind a massive desk of petrified wood, a crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand. He didn't look up. He was staring at a stopwatch on his desk.

"Two minutes and fifty-eight seconds," he murmured. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "You're learning, Elara. Barely."

He finally looked at her, and Elara felt the air leave her lungs. He had removed his jacket and tie. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and dusted with dark hair. He looked less like a businessman and more like a predator who had finally cornered his prey.

His gaze raked over her, from the messy tangle of her hair down to her bare, trembling feet, and finally settling on the crimson lace that barely covered her curves. A slow, dark heat flickered in his eyes-a look of pure, unadulterated possession.

"Come here," he commanded.

Elara took a step forward, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I'm here, Julian. What do you want?"

"Closer."

She moved until she was standing directly in front of his desk. The scent of him-sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and something primal-swirled around her, making her head swim.

Julian stood up, moving with a fluid grace that made him seem even larger than he was. He walked around the desk, stopping so close that she had to tilt her head back to look at him. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of the silver collar, his touch feather-light yet heavy with intent.

"Lesson one was about time," he said, his voice dropping to a seductive silk. "Lesson two is about focus. In this house, there is only one sun, Elara. Only one source of light, heat, and life. Do you know who that is?"

Elara clenched her teeth, her pride fighting against the magnetic pull of his presence. "You want me to say it's you."

"I want you to know it's me," he corrected. He moved his hand from the collar to her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. "You spent your whole life looking at your father for approval. You looked at the world for your identity. That ends tonight. From now on, your world begins and ends with me."

He leaned down, his lips inches from hers. Elara could feel the heat of his breath. Every instinct she had told her to run, but her body felt rooted to the floor. The intensity of his gaze was a drug, a dizzying mix of terror and a dark, forbidden attraction she refused to name.

"Tell me," he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. "Who do you belong to?"

"I belong to myself," she breathed, her voice a fragile defiance.

Julian's eyes darkened, a flash of something ancient and hungry crossing his features. He didn't pull away. Instead, he moved his hand to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, forcing her closer until their lips were almost touching.

"Incorrect," he murmured. "But I admire the fire. It will be so much more satisfying when I finally put it out."

He didn't kiss her. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at her with a terrifyingly clinical gaze. "You think you can hate me and survive. But hate is just another form of obsession, Elara. And obsession is exactly what I want from you."

He turned away, walking back to the fire. "There is a guest arriving tomorrow. A woman named Isabella Rossi. She is the daughter of my father's greatest rival, and she believes she has a claim to this house-and to me."

Elara felt a strange, sharp pang in her chest. Isabella. The woman from the auction rumors.

"She will try to provoke you," Julian continued, staring into the flames. "She will try to remind you of what you used to be. Your job is to show her exactly what you are now. You will wear the collar. You will sit at my feet. You will be the perfect, silent pet."

"I won't do it," Elara snapped. "I won't let you humiliate me in front of her."

Julian turned, his face a mask of cold iron. "You will do exactly as you are told, or I will send the bailiffs back to your father's hiding spot in Marseille. Do you think he'll last a day without the money I gave him?"

The threat hit her like a physical blow. Her father was a coward, but he was all the family she had left. Julian knew exactly where to twist the knife.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "What did I ever do to you before tonight?"

Julian's expression shifted for a fraction of a second-a flicker of pain, of something raw and wounded-before the ice slammed back into place. He walked back to her, his hand reaching out to grip her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body.

"You think this is about hate?" he growled, his voice thick with emotion. "You think I spent fifty million dollars because I hate you? You have no idea what you've cost me, Elara. You have no idea how long I've waited to have you exactly where you are right now."

He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers. The tension between them was a physical thing, a wire stretched to the breaking point. Elara's breath hitched. For a moment, she saw a different man behind the mask-a man who was just as trapped as she was.

But then, the fire in the hearth hissed and died, plunging the room into shadow.

Julian released her, stepping back into the darkness. "Go. Prepare yourself. Isabella arrives at noon. If you fail me, Elara, the gilded cage will become a very cold place."

Elara fled the room, her heart racing so fast she thought it might burst. She didn't stop until she was back in her bedroom, the door locked and the lights turned up to their highest setting.

She stripped off the crimson lace, throwing it across the room as if it were poisoned. She stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at her reflection. The silver collar caught the light, a brilliant, mocking circle of diamonds.

Property of J.B.

She reached into her waistband and pulled out the note from "M."

Look under the third floorboard in the library.

The library was on the third floor, a place she hadn't yet explored. If she could find whatever "M" had hidden, maybe she could find a way to break Julian's hold on her. Maybe she could find the leverage she needed to win her freedom.

But as she looked at the collar in the mirror, she realized something that terrified her more than Julian's threats.

When he had held her, when his breath had been on her lips and his hands had been on her waist... she hadn't wanted to pull away.

She wasn't just his pet. She was becoming his victim in a way that had nothing to do with money or contracts. She was falling for the monster.

Elara sat on the edge of the bed, the black silk cold against her skin. She looked at the clock. It was 3:00 AM. The house was silent, save for the distant, rhythmic crashing of the waves against the cliffs.

She had nine hours until Isabella arrived. Nine hours to find the secret in the library.

She stood up, her jaw set with a new, dangerous resolve. She wouldn't be the perfect pet. She wouldn't sit at his feet and let Isabella Rossi mock her.

She was going to find the keys to the cage.

Elara dressed in a simple black robe and slipped out into the hallway. The estate felt different at night-the shadows seemed to move, the air thick with the weight of a hundred years of Blackwood secrets.

She made her way to the third floor, her heart in her throat. The library doors were even larger than the ones in the study, carved with intricate scenes of hunt and harvest. She pushed them open, the hinges silent.

The library was a forest of books, the scent of old paper and cedar overwhelming. She moved to the center of the room, counting the floorboards from the edge of the great mahogany reading table.

One... two... three.

She knelt, her fingers searching for a gap in the wood. It took her several minutes of frantic clawing before her nail caught on a small, recessed latch. She pulled, and a section of the floorboard popped up with a soft creak.

Inside the small, velvet-lined compartment was a leather-bound journal and a small, silver key.

Elara grabbed them both, her hands shaking. She opened the journal to the first page. The handwriting was elegant, feminine, and hauntingly familiar.

My name is Madeline Blackwood. If you are reading this, then my son has finally done it. He has finally brought you home. But you must understand the truth, Elara. Julian isn't protecting you from the world. He's protecting you from himself.

The sound of a heavy footstep echoed from the hallway outside.

Elara froze. The light of a flashlight swept across the library doors.

"Who's there?" a voice called out. It wasn't Julian. It was the head of security.

Elara shoved the journal and the key into her robe and scrambled behind a tall bookshelf. She held her breath, her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it.

The footsteps came closer. The beam of the flashlight danced over the rows of books, inches from where she was hiding.

"I know I heard something," the guard muttered.

Just as he was about to turn the corner into her row, a loud crash echoed from the foyer downstairs-the sound of glass shattering.

The guard swore and ran back toward the stairs.

Elara didn't wait. She bolted from the library, her feet flying over the carpet. She reached her room and locked the door, leaning against it as her lungs burned.

She pulled the journal out, her eyes scanning the pages. It was filled with entries about a "blood debt," an ancient agreement between the Vances and the Blackwoods that had started long before her father's gambling.

But it was the last entry that made her blood run cold.

He thinks the auction was the beginning. He doesn't know that I saw him in the garden that night ten years ago. He doesn't know that he was the one who started the fire.

The fire. The fire that had killed her mother.

Elara dropped the journal as if it had turned into a snake. Julian? Julian had killed her mother?

Before she could process the thought, the intercom on her wall buzzed.

"Elara," Julian's voice said, sounding strangely strained. "Change of plans. Isabella is here early. And she's brought company. Get to the drawing room. Now."

Elara looked at the journal on the floor, then at the silver collar in the mirror.

The game had just changed. It wasn't about survival anymore. It was about revenge.

She picked up the journal, hid it deep within her mattress, and reached for the crimson lace. As she fastened the silver collar around her neck, her eyes were no longer filled with fear. They were filled with a cold, glittering promise.

She walked out of the room, her head held high.

The Young Master wanted a pet? Fine. She would give him exactly what he wanted.

And then, she would burn his world to the ground.