The rain had been falling all day. It soaked the sidewalks of Chicago, turning the city into a watercolor painting of flashing lights and endless grey. Inside a dimly lit diner near Gateway University, Annah stood behind the counter, wiping down tables with a tired sigh. Her shift was supposed to end two hours ago, but with the manager short-staffed again, she didn't complain.
Annah never complained. She had learned early that life didn't care for your tears.
At twenty-five, she was juggling two part-time jobs, full-time classes, and a mother in the hospital whose bills piled up like bricks. Her dreams of becoming a nurse had not faded, only hardened with time. But dreams, she'd come to learn, were fragile things in a world like this.
Still, she smiled at every customer. Her dark curls were pulled into a neat bun, and her warm brown eyes held a quiet strength that people noticed. She had this way of making others feel safe, even when her own world was anything but.
"Annah," the manager called from the kitchen, "you've got someone outside asking for you."
She frowned, drying her hands. "At this hour?"
"Big guy in a suit. Fancy car. Says it's urgent."
Her stomach tightened. She walked outside, heart pounding. A black SUV idled at the curb. The man standing beside it wore all black, earpiece in, arms crossed. He looked more like security detail than a messenger.
"You're Annah Johnson?"
"Yes…"
Before she could ask anything else, a cloth was pressed against her mouth. The world spun.
Then nothing.
She woke up disoriented, her head throbbing. The room was large, too bright. White silk sheets. Gilded mirrors. Windows without handles. No clock. No phone.
Panic crawled up her throat.
She scrambled to the door, it didn't open. There was no sound beyond the walls. Only silence. Cold, terrifying silence.
She wasn't the only one.
A few hours later, she was led into another room, where nine other women were gathered different backgrounds, different fears, all dressed in silk robes like dolls in a twisted fantasy.
No one spoke at first. Some sat trembling. Others stood, defiant.
A tall, commanding woman in a dark uniform paced before them.
"You belong to the Valentino Estate now," she said without emotion. "No questions. No noise. No defiance. You will serve until told otherwise. Disobedience is punished. Loyalty is noticed."
"Who the hell is Valentino?" one of the girls blurted out.
The woman's mouth curled. "You'll find out soon enough."
They did.
That evening, the air shifted.
Footsteps echoed down the marbled corridor like thunder.
Then he appeared.
Valentino.
His presence hit like a wave tall, sharp-featured, with eyes like frozen silver. He wore a tailored suit, black-on-black, no tie. His face was unreadable, carved like a statue of power and death.
He didn't need to speak to be feared. He walked with the kind of calm that only monsters wore.
The girls stood frozen.
"I won't repeat myself," he began, voice low, measured. "This is not a game. You are here because you were chosen or forgotten. In this house, loyalty earns you life. Lies… cost more than you can afford."
Annah stared at him not in awe, not in fear. Just… curiosity.
Valentino's gaze swept the room, stopping on her.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She didn't stutter. "Annah Johnson."
Something flickered in his eyes. Interest? Recognition? No one could tell.
"You," he said slowly, "will work in my wing."
Gasps. Side glances. A girl with fiery red hair Arik , gritted her teeth. The others said nothing, but envy filled the room like thick perfume.
Annah just nodded. Her heart pounded, but she held her chin up.
She didn't know yet but that look had already sealed her fate.
Valentino's wing was unlike the rest of the mansion silent, eerie, perfectly clean. The guards didn't speak. Cameras watched every corner. She was given a schedule: prepare his morning coffee at 6 a.m., sort files, clean his office, run errands inside the estate.
He never touched her.
Not once.
But he noticed her.
She could feel it in the way he paused when she spoke. The way his eyes lingered when she wasn't looking. The way he corrected her gently, unlike the sharp commands he gave others.
She began to hear things ,whispers between guards, stories from the kitchen.
They said Valentino ran most of the East Coast's underground trade. That he killed without blinking. That he had never, ever loved anyone.
So why did he look at her like that?
One afternoon, she found herself alone in the garden. It was the only place that didn't feel like a prison. Roses bloomed in soft colors. For a moment, she almost felt free.
She plucked a single white rose.
That night, she placed it beside his dinner tray.
He said nothing at first.
But the next day, she found a small silver chain left on her nightstand. No note.
Only she knew it was from him.
"You really think you're special, don't you?" Arik whispered one night in the hallway, her voice like venom.
Annah didn't reply.
"You don't belong here. And when you're gone, he'll forget you like the rest."
Annah kept walking.
But Arik wasn't done.
It happened two nights later.
Valentino had a private dinner. Annah delivered his food ,soup, wine, and another white rose.
Two hours later, chaos erupted.
Alarms blared. Guards scrambled.
Valentino had collapsed. Seizing. Paralyzed.
The doctors said it was poison rare, hard to trace.
And Arik cried in front of them all.
"I tried to stop her! I saw Annah near the cellar… I told her this was madness!"
The room went quiet.
Annah stood alone as guards seized her.
She looked straight at Valentino, trembling but steady. "I didn't do this. Please…"
He stared at her.
And for the first time, his eyes were cold.
"Leave," he said.
It wasn't a scream. It was worse.
It was the voice of a man shutting every door.
She was blindfolded and dumped in a dusty, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. No food. No water. Just her thoughts and the echo of a man's voice who had once made her feel seen.
She curled into herself, sobbing for the first time in years.
Not because she was abandoned.
But because she trusted him.
Two days later, headlights cut through the dark.
An SUV pulled up. The doors opened.
A man stepped out. Tall. Tan. Sunglasses in the dark. Diamond rings. Snake tattoo on his neck.
Alex.
Valentino's rival.
He lit a cigar and smirked down at her.
"So you're the famous Annah," he said. "The girl who melted the Ice King."
She flinched.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," he grinned. "You're coming with me. I'll show you what real power feels like."
Behind him, his men laughed.
Annah didn't fight.
Not because she was weak…
…but because something inside her had already shattered.