Alina

"Has he touched you yet?"

Atlas's breath was warm against my ear, his hands still gripping my shoulders. I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. The servant's entrance was locked behind me, and he blocked the only way forward.

"Let me go," I whispered.

"That wasn't an answer, little dove." His thumb traced my collarbone through the thin fabric of my wet clothes. "My brother collects broken things. I'm wondering how broken you are."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you don't." He stepped back, that devil's grin still playing on his lips. "Patricia's coming. We'll finish this conversation later."

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. By the time the head housekeeper appeared, Atlas looked like an innocent gentleman helping a lost girl.

"Mr. Atlas," Patricia said, her voice tight. "Your brother wants to see you."

"Naturally." He straightened his expensive jacket. "Take care of our new addition, Patricia. She looks like she might break if handled too roughly."

He walked away whistling, leaving me shaking by the door.

"Come," Patricia said once he was gone. "You need proper clothes and a hot meal. And girl?" She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly gentle. "Stay away from that one. Atlas Sterling is poison wrapped in silk."

The servant's quarters felt like a different world. Plain walls, simple furniture, everything clean but worn. Patricia gave me a room barely bigger than a closet with a narrow bed and a small window that looked out onto the gardens.

"You'll start in the kitchens tomorrow at five," she said, handing me a starched black uniform. "Keep your head down, do your work, and maybe you'll survive this place."

"What do you mean survive?"

Patricia's weathered face softened slightly. "The Sterling family destroys everything they touch, child. The smart ones learn to stay invisible."

But staying invisible proved impossible in a house where I was constantly watched.

The other staff treated me like a disease from day one. Sarah, a senior maid with sharp features and sharper words, seemed to take personal pleasure in making my life hell.

"You missed a spot," she'd say, pointing to floors I'd scrubbed until my knees bled. "Mr. Sterling demands perfection from his property."

Property. That's all I was here.

"Maybe she's too stupid to understand instructions," laughed Maria, another maid. "Street trash usually is."

I kept my mouth shut and cleaned the spot again. And again. And again, until Sarah finally got bored and moved on to torment someone else.

The work was backbreaking. Fourteen-hour days spent scrubbing, polishing, serving. My hands cracked and bled from the harsh cleaning chemicals. My feet swelled in the uncomfortable shoes. But I endured it all because the alternative was going back to the streets.

Or worse, back to Mrs. Henderson.

Ares barely acknowledged my existence those first two weeks, which should have been a relief. But I felt his eyes on me constantly, watching from doorways and shadows. Cold gray eyes that missed nothing.

The one time Sarah got too physical, shoving me hard enough to send a tray of dishes crashing to the marble floor, he appeared like smoke.

"Sarah."

Just her name, spoken in that quiet, controlled voice. But something in his tone made the blood drain from her face.

"Sir, I was just trying to teach her proper handling techniques.."

"Pack your things. You're dismissed."

"Mr. Sterling, please. I need this job. I have children.."

"Should have considered that before damaging my property."

Sarah left that same day, tears streaming down her face as security escorted her out. The other staff gave me a wider berth after that, but their fear of Ares only made them more creative in their cruelty.

Atlas was a different kind of problem. Where his brother was ice, Atlas was fire that burned everything he touched. He seemed to appear whenever I was alone, cornering me in empty hallways and unused rooms.

"You look tired, little dove," he said one afternoon, trapping me between his body and a supply closet. "Not sleeping well?"

"I'm fine."

"Such a pretty liar." His fingers played with a strand of my hair that had escaped my bun. "Tell me, what do you dream about in that tiny room of yours?"

I tried to duck under his arm, but he was too quick.

"I dream about many things," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Soft skin. Frightened eyes. The way certain sounds echo in empty rooms."

"Your brother wouldn't like you talking to me like this."

Atlas laughed, rich and warm and completely terrifying. "My brother has his secrets, little dove. And I have mine."

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Atlas stepped back immediately. By the time another servant appeared, he was the picture of innocence, straightening his tie like we'd been discussing the weather.

It became a pattern. Atlas would corner me, say something that made my skin crawl, then disappear the moment someone else appeared. Like a game only he knew the rules to.

One night, unable to sleep, I crept downstairs for water. Voices drifted from Ares's study, sharp and angry.

"This is insane, even for you," Atlas was saying.

"It's necessary," Ares replied, his voice cold as winter.

"Keeping her here won't change what happened before. Elena.."

"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Don't say her name."

"She's dead, brother. Hiding this girl won't bring her back."

"This girl stays hidden. End of discussion."

"And when Father finds out? When he realizes you're repeating the same mistakes.."

"Father won't find out. Neither will anyone else. She's mine now."

I pressed myself against the wall, heart pounding. Who was Elena? What mistakes were they talking about?

"You can't keep her locked away forever," Atlas said.

"Watch me."

Footsteps moved toward the door. I ran back upstairs, their words echoing in my head. Hidden. Locked away. Just like before.

Just like the closet.

The memory hit me like a physical blow. Small, dark space. The smell of mothballs and dust. Hours passing like years while I waited in the blackness, listening to Mrs. Henderson's boyfriend stumble around drunk outside.

"Please," I'd whispered to the darkness. "Please let me out."

But no one ever came. No one ever cared.

The breaking point came during a dinner party three days later. Important men in expensive suits filled the dining room, their voices loud with wine and arrogance. I moved between them like a ghost, pouring drinks and clearing plates.

"The girl's pretty enough," one man said, gesturing toward me with his crystal glass. "Young. Scared. Some clients pay extra for that look."

"Sterling always did have good taste in merchandise," another agreed. "Think he's planning to auction this one?"

The room started spinning. The words hit me like physical blows. Merchandise. Auction. Just like the things Mrs. Henderson used to whisper about when she thought I was asleep.

The wine glass slipped from my trembling hands.

Everything moved in slow motion. The crystal tumbling through the air. The red wine arcing like blood. Ares's white shirt blooming crimson as the glass shattered against his chest.

The room went dead silent.

Ares stood slowly, wine dripping onto the Persian rug. His gray eyes found mine across the table, and I saw something in them that made the world tilt sideways.

"Gentlemen," he said without looking away from me. "I believe we'll need to reschedule."

"Sterling, it's just a shirt.."

"Reschedule." The word was spoken quietly, but every man in the room began gathering their things.

I stood frozen, watching wine pool at my feet like evidence of my crime. When the last guest left, Ares walked around the table with predatory grace.

He stopped inches away, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with wine. My chest tightened, breath coming in short gasps. The walls seemed to be closing in.

The closet. Always the closet.

"Please," I whispered, the word ripped from my throat. "Please don't lock me away."

Something flickered across his face, too quick to read.

"Look at me," he said softly.

I raised my eyes to his, expecting fury. Instead, I saw cold calculation.

"You're afraid of small spaces."

It wasn't a question.

"I'm sorry about the wine. I'll pay for it, I'll work extra hours.."

"You want attention so badly?" His fingers caught my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Then I'll give you mine. Starting tonight.”