---
The car ride was silent.
Camila's hands trembled in her lap, shackled by delicate silver cuffs that bit into her skin. She didn't ask where they were taking her—what would be the point? No one had spoken to her since they'd forced her out of the basement where she'd been kept like cargo.
The black SUV stopped outside a towering estate surrounded by iron gates and silence. It was night, but the house glowed like a palace—grand, intimidating, cruel. The door opened, and the man who'd bought her stood at the top of the marble steps, a silhouette cut from sin and shadow.
Lucien Valentini.
He didn't smile. Didn't blink. He simply stared, eyes unreadable beneath the soft glow of the overhead chandelier. His suit was black, his hair darker. And the presence he carried… it suffocated.
Camila stepped out, resisting the urge to recoil. She'd heard whispers about him in the auction house. Devil. Killer. Untouchable.
And now… hers.
Lucien's voice was low and cold. "You're late."
The guard beside her stiffened. "There was traffic."
Lucien didn't even look at him. His eyes stayed on her. Piercing. Measuring. Devouring.
He stepped down until they were face-to-face. Camila felt the weight of him immediately—like gravity had shifted to orbit around this man.
"You belong to me now," he said. "Don't forget that."
She raised her chin, defiance flickering in her gaze. "I'm not a thing."
His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. "Then I suppose I'll enjoy breaking you."
---
Three Days Earlier
Camila was scrubbing dishes in the back of the diner, hands raw, apron stained, when her cousin burst through the back door.
"They found us," Rosa whispered. "They're here."
Camila didn't ask who they were. She knew. Her uncle's debts had caught up to them.
She ran—but not fast enough.
By nightfall, she'd been dragged to a warehouse, chained to a wall, and informed that she was now a "debt repayment."
She'd screamed. Begged. Fought.
But in the end, the highest bidder always wins.
---
Now
Lucien's mansion swallowed her whole. Guards stood at every corner. Cameras watched. There would be no escape.
Camila turned to him, shaking but furious. "What are you going to do with me?"
He leaned in, voice a whisper that sent shivers down her spine.
"Whatever I want."L
The mansion was silent, but tension hung in the air like a loaded gun. Camila Reyes sat on the edge of a leather couch, her eyes darting toward the grand hallway that led deeper into Lucien Valentini's world. Marble floors. Gilded railings. A view meant for queens—but she felt like a prisoner dressed in satin.
Lucien leaned back in his chair, cold whiskey in hand, eyes sharper than blades.
"You will follow my rules, Camila," he said, voice low but commanding. "There are only three."
Camila didn't respond. She stared at him with defiance stitched into every inch of her.
"One," he began, raising a finger. "You don't leave this house without my permission. Ever."
She crossed her arms.
"Two. You don't lie to me. I will always find out."
Her heart beat a little faster.
"And three," he said, standing slowly and approaching her, "you don't test me."
He stopped in front of her, towering. "Because I don't break rules. I break people."
She clenched her jaw, holding back the retort burning on her tongue. He was pushing her—testing her—and she refused to break this early.
"Anything else, boss?" she spat the title like venom.
Lucien's lips curled slightly. Amused. Dangerous.
"Just this," he said. He turned and nodded toward the doorway. A woman entered—elegant, flawless, and smug. Her stilettos clicked like gunshots across the marble.
Nicola.
Camila had seen her once on a billboard in the city, half-naked in diamonds. And now, the woman stood before her like a queen returning to her throne.
"Oh," Nicola said, eyes raking over Camila with disdain. "She's... plain."
Camila shot to her feet, fists clenched. "Excuse me?"
Lucien didn't even flinch. "Nicola," he said coolly, "Camila is not here to please you. And Camila—don't mistake her for competition. She's irrelevant."
Nicola's smile faltered.
Camila's throat tightened, but she refused to show it.
Lucien looked between them. "You'll both behave," he said simply, as if that solved everything.
Then he walked away—like a god who dropped a match and left the room to burn.
Camila sat on the edge of the velvet-upholstered bed, her wrists still red from the ropes. The silence in the room was heavy, almost mocking. She had been sold like an object, bought by a stranger with cold eyes and a deeper wallet.
Lucien. That was his name. She had heard it whispered by the handlers after the auction. She didn't know who he was or why he paid that much for her.
But she knew one thing—he wasn't the one who took her.
No... those men at the diner had come out of nowhere. She remembered the way they looked at her, like she was nothing but a quick paycheck. They hadn't mentioned Lucien. They hadn't mentioned anyone. Just talked about her uncle's debt and how they were collecting her instead of his signature.
Camila clenched her fists, heart racing.
Isabell.
Her sister had been at home. Alone. What if the men had gone back to the house after taking her? What if they thought one girl wasn't enough?
Her stomach twisted with fear. Isabell was just a child.
She hoped—desperately—that Rosa had come by. That maybe, by some miracle, her cousin would step in. That her uncle, useless as he was, would at least make sure Isabell was safe.
But deep down, Camila knew better.
Her uncle wouldn't lift a finger.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she swallowed them. She had to survive—for Isabell. She had to find a way out of this nightmare. If she escaped, maybe she could get back. Maybe she could protect her.
Because no one else would.
Camila lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was luxurious, suffocating, and cold. She had no phone. No contact with the outside world. Just her thoughts... and his rules.
She got up, walked to the window, and pushed it open.
Cold night air swept over her face, reminding her of freedom.
She didn't care about his rules.
Tomorrow, she would try to run.