Another set of attendants rushed into the chamber, skirts brushing against the tile as if the blood pooled on the floor didn’t exist. They barely glanced at Selene. To them, she wasn’t a girl—just another body to scrub clean.

They bathed her quickly, hands rough, the water cold. Selene didn’t fight. She sat still, jaw tight, listening.

“She’ll be the twelfth this month,” the short one with the pixie cut whispered.

Selene’s head tilted, but she said nothing. “Twelfth?”

The taller one snorted softly. “I heard he kills them. Eats them when he’s bored.”

The words sank like a blade.

Selene’s lips twitched. “Really? Cannibalism?” She rolled her eyes inwardly. “These girls loved their ghost stories. No man eats flesh.”

But the pixie-haired girl muttered, “Don’t be stupid. He doesn’t eat them. He just kills them. Depends on his mood.”

That silenced Selene. Somehow, that was worse.

She shivered, forcing herself not to show it. What did she expect from the man who murdered her parents?

They finished dressing her in silence. A thin slip, a collar at her throat. No undergarments. She tugged the hem uselessly, fury crawling under her skin.

Before she could speak, they shoved her toward the corridor. The air stank of oil and cement. Outside, engines purred.

Black cars lined the drive. Guards everywhere. No Lucien.

Selene opened her mouth—

A black sack dropped over her head.

She gasped. “What the hell?! Let me go!”

The tattooed enforcer’s voice came from behind her, calm as stone. “For your benefit. Stay still.”

Cold metal clamped around her wrists. Her arms were yanked behind her, then shoved forward until leather slammed against her hip. She was pushed inside a car. The door slammed shut.

Engines roared, pulling the convoy into the night.

⸻

Selene sat bound and blinded, her breath ragged inside the sack. She tried to count seconds, measure the ride, but every bump blurred into the next.

Her wrists burned against the cuffs. Her chest ached from shallow breaths.

Twelfth this month. He kills them. Eats them.

She clenched her jaw. No. Fear wouldn’t save her. Resolve would.

But exhaustion crept in. Her body sagged against the seat, her head heavy. She fought it—then lost. Darkness swallowed her whole. After what felt like eternity, her eyes fluttered open.

A bed. Dark sheets swallowing her body. Not the compound. Somewhere else.

Groaning, she sat up, clutching her head, “uhh. Where am I?” The air smelled faintly of polish and smoke. Her feet hit polished stone—cold enough to bite.

She staggered to the door and pushed it open.

Her breath caught, “Whoa…”

A long corridor stretched before her, lanterns flickering, walls carved with arches that seemed to reach the sky. A castle. Victorian, massive, endless. “Don’t admire. Don’t get distracted. Find him.”

Voices carried down the hall. Male, low, in Italian. She followed, bare feet soundless against the floor.

At the end, an arched doorway opened into a chamber as vast as a ballroom.

And there he was.

Lucien Vale.

Black trousers. Bare chest. A glass of whiskey in hand. Three men leaned close, speaking quietly.

The instant Selene stepped in, Lucien looked at her. Not a glance—he locked on, like he’d been waiting.

He spoke in Italian, smooth and final. “Ne parleremo più tardi.”

The men obeyed immediately, leaving her alone with him.

Her steps carried her forward before she could stop them. Her pulse pounded, but her voice came sharp. “Why did you buy me?”

Lucien swirled the whiskey, eyes on the glass. “Good thing you woke. I thought you’d slipped into a coma.”

Her teeth ground. “Screw you.”

For the first time, his lips twitched. He set the glass down and stood, towering, moving with a predator’s ease.

“Oh, you will,” he murmured. “Soon.”

Rage flared. Selene spat the words like venom. “Fuck you! Answer me!”

Lucien shrugged. “Because I was amused by the fire in your eyes.” His gaze dropped—slow, deliberate.

Selene’s voice cut sharp. “My eyes are up here, you pervert.”

A low chuckle rumbled from him. He stepped closer. She stepped back without meaning to.

“It isn’t my fault,” he said calmly, “that I like what I see.”

Confusion flickered—until she glanced down.

Her stomach dropped.

The slip. Sheer. Transparent. Her chest, bare beneath the lamplight.

Color drained from her face. A scream tore out as her hands flew to cover herself.

“You bastard!” She spun to run.

Lucien caught her easily, yanking her against him, shoving her down onto the velvet couch. Her back hit cushions—her skin pressed flush to his bare chest.

Heat radiated through her. Her chest heaved in ragged bursts, fury and shame twisting together.

His breath brushed her neck. A low chuckle. “I bought you. That means I own you. Every fucking thing about you.”

Her nails dug into his arms. “You don’t own me! Let me go! I need to find my brother!”

Lucien’s laugh vibrated against her skin, mocking. “You sound desperate. Desperate to fuck me.”

His hand slid up her thigh. She froze, horror flooding her veins.

Who undressed me? Who left me like this?

His palm closed over her rear. She jerked violently.

“Don’t worry,” he said smoothly. “You’ll beg soon enough.”

She stared at him with burning hatred.

He leaned in, voice low. “I’ve been looking for you for years. Now that I’ve found you, not even death will take you away.”

Selene’s body went still. Her breath hitched.

“Looking for me?” Her voice cracked. “Why the hell would you look for the daughter of the couple you murdered?!”

Silence. He didn’t deny it.

Her rage snapped. She shoved him hard, tears stinging her eyes. “For years, I hated my parents! I thought they abandoned me and my brother! And it was you—you killed them! And now you dare to claim me?!”

Lucien’s eyes darkened. He caught her wrist, lifted her hand to his lips, and sucked her thumb.

Selene froze, shock ripping the air from her lungs.

“If you wanted me dead,” he said softly, eyes burning into hers, “you would have tried already.”

He let go, smirking. “I’ll give you plenty of chances. As many as you like.”

Her chest rose and fell in rapid fury. “You’re a fucking jerk.”

She spun to run—but he was faster. He caught her, dragged her back, and crashed his mouth against hers.

Whiskey. Smoke. Heat. Brutal and consuming.

She thrashed, kicking, nails clawing at his shoulders, but his grip was iron. He pinned her wrists behind her, body trapping hers against the couch.

Her pulse roared in her ears. She hated him. She hated herself for the way her body betrayed her—shivering, weak beneath his touch.

Then—

A phone rang.

Lucien exhaled against her lips. Slowly, deliberately, he let her wrists go.

He stood, jaw tight, his voice calm and mocking.

“We’ll continue later… princess.”