THE BLUE-EYED FAMILY
The blindfold came off with a sharp tug.
"Let us go!" her neighbor screamed.
The sound ended in a gunshot.
Runa didn't realize she'd stopped breathing until her chest burned. Her ears rang as her vision swam, slowly sharpening into focus.
The room was enormous—dark wood-paneled walls, polished marble floors, a chandelier glowing gold above them. Heavy curtains muted the daylight, sealing the space in controlled, suffocating luxury.
Cedar. Leather. Money.
Two men stood on either side of her, their grips firm on her arms—not cruel, but absolute. There was no mistaking it. These were not guards.
They were handlers.
And then she saw them.
Six figures.
Four stood against the far wall like carved statues. Two lingered near the edges of the room. Every single one of them—without exception—had piercing blue eyes.
Eyes that didn't blink.
Didn't soften.
Didn't care.
"Idiots," a sharp male voice snapped. "We said bring the girl. Who is this?"
Before Runa could turn her head, a gun was raised.
The shot echoed through the room.
Her neighbor crumpled to the floor.
"There," the blonde woman said calmly. "Problem solved."
"Jason. Althea." A man's voice cut in—controlled, displeased.
He lifted a hand slightly. Men moved at once. The body was dragged away with mechanical efficiency. Someone knelt, wiped the floor clean, and stood again as if nothing had happened.
Runa's knees nearly gave out. Her scream died in her throat, swallowed by terror.
The man in the center stepped forward.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Blonde hair slicked neatly back. His presence alone seemed to bend the air around him.
"Runa Winters," he said calmly. "I am Roman Vale. Your father's debts are… considerable."
"My father…" Her voice shook despite her effort to steady it. "Owes what?"
A woman emerged from the shadows.
Fiery red curls framed her face, her beauty sharpened into something dangerous. Her blue eyes—lighter than Roman's—studied Runa as though weighing her worth.
"This is Aurora Vale," Roman said. "My wife. And before you ask—we know everything."
"Everything about what?" Runa demanded, forcing herself to straighten.
Roman's gaze never wavered. "Your father owes us a great deal of money."
"Then go after him," Runa said. "I don't owe you anything."
Aurora smiled.
Slow. Knowing.
"Because, my dear," she said softly, "you're all that's left of him that matters to us."
A blonde woman stepped forward, posture rigid, eyes cold with authority.
"If your father doesn't show himself in a week," Althea Vale said coolly, "you'll bear the consequences."
"Althea," a man drawled, leaning against a marble column, his gaze crawling over Runa's body. "You're scaring the lovely lady."
His lips curved. "Nice figure, too."
Runa shuddered.
The resemblance between them was unmistakable—blonde hair, blue eyes—but where Althea was steel, Jason was rot wrapped in charm.
"You'll learn quickly," Althea said, her voice clipped, "that resistance is pointless."
Two younger girls stood slightly apart.
One—bright-eyed, red-haired like Aurora—offered Runa a nervous smile. Toni.
The other didn't smile at all.
Elizabeth Vale.
Eli.
Her gaze was sharp, assessing—but not predatory. And somehow, that made it worse.
"Your father gambled with the wrong people," Roman said. "You're the collateral."
Collateral.
The word struck like a blade.
Althea turned slightly toward Runa. "Your father signed a contract," she said coolly. "It bears your signature."
Runa's breath caught. "What?"
Her vision blurred—
And the memory clawed its way back.
FLASHBACK
The kitchen lights had been too bright for that hour.
Her father sat hunched at the table, elbows pressed into the wood as if it were the only thing holding him upright. The clock ticked loudly—too loudly—each second scraping at her nerves.
"Dad?" Runa asked. "Why are you up so early?"
He looked up like he'd been waiting.
"Oh—hey," he said quickly, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Couldn't sleep."
Papers were spread neatly in front of him. Too neatly. His fingers worried the edge of the top page, rubbing it raw.
He slid the stack toward her.
"Can you sign something for me?"
She frowned. "What is it?"
"Delivery confirmation," he said immediately—too immediately. "Routine stuff. They need it signed today."
She picked them up. The words swam—dense, legal, heavy.
"Dad," she said slowly, "this doesn't look like a delivery slip."
For a moment—just a moment—his mask slipped.
Fear flashed across his face.
Then he laughed. Soft. Broken.
"It's also the membership renewal for the bakeshop," he said quickly. "You always overthink. It's nothing. I promise."
She hesitated, pen hovering. "Why can't you sign it?"
His gaze dropped to her hands. To the pen. To the line waiting for her name.
"They asked for you," he said quietly.
That should have stopped her.
"Why?" she asked.
Silence stretched.
Outside, a car passed. Somewhere, a dog barked. The world kept moving.
He stood abruptly, pacing once, dragging a hand through his hair. When he faced her again, his eyes were glassy.
"Runa your owner of the shop" he said softly, "So your the one needed to sign this. You know that."
She searched his face.
Missed the guilt.
Missed the trembling hands.
Missed the way he couldn't meet her eyes.
The pen felt heavier than it should have.
She signed.
The moment the ink dried, he exhaled shakily—like a man spared execution.
He gathered the papers too fast, stuffing them into an envelope.
"Runa, this will protect you" he murmured. "Im sorry"
She looked up. "What?"
But he was already turning away.
"I love you," he said, without looking back.
And for the first time in her life—
She wondered if that was supposed to be enough.
"I was tricked," Runa said hoarsely. "I didn't sign that willingly."
Jason shrugged. "That's not our problem."
"You'll stay with us until the debt is settled."
As Runa turned to follow them, Jason leaned in close—too close.
"You'll get used to us," he murmured.
Then Roman spoke. "Jason. Enough."
Jason straightened, all charm again. "Of course."
As they disappeared deeper into the
estate, one truth settled in Runa's chest:
The truth settled in her chest, heavy and inescapable.
Her father had sold her.
As she followed them deeper into the estate, one thought echoed in her mind:
These were not people to bargain with.
These were people to obey—
Or die trying.