YES! MASTER

The key stuck again.

Crystal jiggled the handle with one hand and twisted the key hard with the other, muttering under her breath. The old lock gave with a dry metallic groan that echoed through the narrow hallway as she stepped inside.

It smelled the same. A little dusty. A little warm. Familiar in a way that made her stomach knot.

The door closed behind her with a dull thud.

Home.

But something was off.

The house was too quiet. Not peaceful quiet — but that deep, unnatural kind of silence that makes your skin pull tight across your back. There was no clatter from the kitchen. No hum of the fan. No music playing from the ancient radio her father refused to replace. And no voice calling out, surprised and excited, “You’re early!”

She dropped her bag by the stairs, trying not to overthink it.

Maybe he was napping. Or working in the garden. Or ran out for groceries.

But she knew her father. He’d been waiting all week for her to come home from university. He’d texted the night before:

“Don’t worry about a thing, I’ve got dinner covered. Come hungry. Love you.”

And he meant things when he said them. That was the kind of man he was.

“Dad?” she called.

Her voice bounced around the hallway like it didn’t belong there.

She kicked off her shoes, went to the kitchen, then the living room, even the office where he scribbled on receipts like trophies. Everything was neat. Too neat. The coffee pot hadn’t been used. The garage was empty. The tools hung in perfect order. There was a half-drunk cup of coffee on the patio, stone-cold.

Finally, she noticed his bedroom door, slightly ajar. A white envelope lay on the bed beside an orange sweet — the kind he used to give her when she had nightmares.

She remembered the first one vividly: the day her mother died in that horrific crash, her father had cradled her for hours, unwrapping a single orange sweet and telling her, “This one’s magic. It protects you from pain.”

That taste never left her memory — neither did the warmth of his arms or the promise in his voice. It wasn’t just the sweets. It was the way he always left notes in her lunchbox. The way he’d whisper, “Be brave, little lion,” before she went into school.

Her name was on the envelope in bold, familiar handwriting.

She opened it.

The Letter:

Crystal,

If you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you all this in person, but I couldn’t look you in the eyes and say it. I failed you.

There are things I’ve done. People I owe. Mistakes I never stopped paying for. And now, those debts have reached our doorstep.

You were the only good part of my life. The only thing I didn’t ruin. But I didn’t want this world touching you. So I kept it hidden. I kept you safe.

I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. But I left a letter addressed to a man named Lorein De Rossi. Deliver it. Do not open it. Do not question it. Just go.

I know you’re scared. But I need you to be strong one more time.

And Crystal — I’m so sorry. For dragging you into this. For not being stronger. For not being the father you deserved.

Love always, Dad

She collapsed to the floor, the letter crumpling in her shaking hands. Who was Lorein De Rossi? What kind of man did her simple, hardworking father owe something to?

She tried calling his phone. Once. Twice. A dozen times. No answer.

Call the police? Her aunt? Her best friend? File a missing person report?

But his words echoed in her head — Don’t panic. Just go.

So she did.

She boarded the first bus to Eastbridge. The letter gripped tightly in her hand. Finding the mansion wasn’t difficult — it was the biggest one in the estate. Black gates loomed over her, guarded by men in dark suits. Their eyes tracked her every move.

She rang the bell.

“State your business,” a voice crackled through the speaker.

“My name is Crystal. I… I have a letter for Mr. De Rossi. From my father. Hayes.”

Silence. Then a harsh laugh.

“Another Hayes? Great. Just what we needed. Wait there, princess.”

The gates groaned open like they resented her presence. She stepped inside, swallowed by the sheer scale of the estate. It wasn’t a house. It was a fortress — all black marble, jagged fountains, cold statues, and vines curling like nooses along the walls.

A group of men eyed her as she passed. None smiled.

Bobby met her at the door. Cold eyes. Machine gun slung across his chest like it belonged there.

“You the debt package? Cute. Don’t touch anything. Don’t speak unless spoken to. And for God’s sake, don’t cry. Boss hates tears.”

He led her through the main hall, into a vast study that smelled like leather and danger. At the far end, a man stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, dark suit pristine.

Menacing silence hung in the air.

He turned.

Lorein De Rossi.

This was no man. This was judgment personified.

Tall. Cold. Dangerous. The kind of beauty that could ruin lives.

Crystal’s breath caught. Her legs trembled.

She stepped forward, holding out the letter with both trembling hands.

He didn’t move. Only nodded once.

Bobby took it. Handed it over. Lorein read it in silence.

Then his lip curled.

He tossed the letter at her feet. “Read it.”

She bent down, picked it up with shaking fingers, and read aloud the second letter from her father. This one not meant for her. This one sold her soul.

Mr. De Rossi,

This girl is my daughter. Crystal. I owe you more than I can repay. Take her. Use her. Keep her alive. When I can, I’ll come for her. I just need more time.

—Mason Hayes

Her heart shattered.

Lorein stepped closer. So close she could smell his cologne — all dark musk and something lethal.

He bent down slowly, lifting her chin with two fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes. “So, this is what a father’s love looks like.”

Then louder, to Bobby: “Find her father. Alive. I want his eyes looking at me when I kill him.”

He turned to her again, cruel and calm. “As for her… throw her in the river. Make sure she doesn’t float.”

Tears welled up.

“Please! I… I can be useful! I can cook! I can clean!”

He paused. One brow arched.

“Clean?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes. I’m meticulous. I can make your entire estate shine.”

He took a step forward, leaned in close, and said coldly, “I despise filth. You have one week. No dirt. No mistakes. Or I’ll bury you myself. Understand, bella?”

She nodded.

He let go.

Bobby laughed as he pulled her away. “You’d have been better off dead.”

The old maid at the hallway corner turned away quickly, whispering something under her breath to the group of servants watching. Crystal didn’t understand. Not yet.

That night, she cried herself to sleep in a cold room that smelled like bleach and regret, asking the stars how her father could betray her like this.

And why her heart had skipped when Lorien De Rossi said her name.