Chapter 1
Amara Vance trembled as she knelt on the frigid tiles, the ropes biting deeply into her wrists. She was trapped inside a cavernous, windowless room. It was suffocatingly dark, save for a single, naked bulb hanging directly above her, casting harsh shadows against the concrete.
A phalanx of men in black tactical uniforms surrounded her. They were massive, imposing figures, their silence amplifying the terror in the room. Each of them had a gun holstered at their hip.
Her mind raced back to earlier that afternoon. She was supposed to head home after class, simply waiting for the family driver at the school gates. Without warning, a black van screeched to a halt, and before she could scream, she was dragged forcibly inside.
She had no idea why they had brought her here. She hadn’t wronged anyone. She had no enemies. While her family was wealthy, her father had been comatose in the hospital since his accident.
Her stepmother, Valerie, and her stepsister, Bianca—who was the same age as Amara—held no love or affection for her. If these kidnappers thought they could ransom her for a fortune, they had made a grave miscalculation. Amara was certain Valerie wouldn’t spend a single cent to save her life.
Is this it? she thought desperately. Am I just going to accept my death? There was no way out, except perhaps in the black body bag they would undoubtedly shove her into when they were finished.
Amara was so paralyzed by fear that she hadn’t spoken a word in the thirty minutes since they shoved her into this cold room. They hadn’t physically harmed her yet, aside from binding her hands and forcing her to kneel after one of the men—the one they called the “Underboss”—received a phone call.
Less than a minute later, the heavy iron door creaked open. Heavy footsteps echoed on the floor. Amara couldn’t even bring herself to look back; her entire body was convulsing with tremors. She kept her head bowed, unable to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks, born of pure, unadulterated terror.
Her face was flushed red, and her lower lip twitched uncontrollably.
“Is this her?”
The voice was deep, resonating with a terrifyingly low timbre. Amara slowly lifted her gaze. The newcomer settled into the solitary chair in the room, flanked by four guards. He sat with an arrogant ease, legs crossed, and even from a distance, she could feel the heat of his intense stare piercing through her.
“Positive, Boss,” the Underboss confirmed.
So, he’s the Boss, she thought, shivering. Is he the one who will decide when I die?
"Amara Vance,” he said, rolling the syllables of her name on his tongue with a natural, gravelly rasp.
What did they want from her? She had hoped it was a case of mistaken identity, but the way he claimed her name told her she was exactly who they wanted.
“P-please... let me go home,” she begged, her sobbing relentless.
“Ah, your tears are so appealing. They almost make me want to see you cry even more.” His tone was cold—cruel—as if he would happily watch her hang from the gallows until her tears ran dry.
She was petrified of him.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Instead of obeying, she bowed her head lower.
“Hmm. Stubborn, aren’t we?”
At his signal, the Underboss stepped forward and forcibly tilted her chin up. The man was too strong for her to resist, especially bound as she was. She had no choice but to stare at the man before her.
He wore a mask. A sleek, black mask that concealed his entire face, leaving only his lips exposed. On the right side of the mask was a white emblem of an Ouroboros—the serpent eating its own tail. The serpent didn’t look harmless; it looked predatory. He wore a black dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing intricate tattoos that only made her heart hammer faster against her ribs.
Would he torture her before ending her life?
She flinched violently when he suddenly stood up. Instinctively, she recoiled. He towered over everyone in the room. He was massive, and an invisible, dark aura seemed to hover around him, screaming that every inch of him was lethal.
He hauled her to her feet, gripping her chin. “You are indeed very beautiful.” His thumb brushed her lower lip lightly, a touch as soft as a feather, contrasting with his terrifying presence.
She looked into his eyes. They were cold-blooded. His irises were obsidian black, like deep tunnels threatening to suck her into the darkness.
“How old are you?”
“S-seventeen.”
His pupils constricted. He pulled away abruptly. “Hmm. Seventeen.”
He raised a hand, and one of the uniformed men stepped forward, handing him a long envelope. “Sign this,” he ordered, handing it to her. He turned to his second-in-command. ”Dante, untie her hands.”
Dante obeyed immediately. Despite her trembling hands, Amara managed to grip the envelope and check the contents. They were legal documents stating that, upon her signature, she would become the sole property of Lucian Thorne, the Mafia Boss. She didn’t even know if that was his real name.
“W-why do I have to sign these?”
Lucian clicked his tongue. “Interesting. You can still ask questions in your situation?”
She swallowed hard, momentarily forgetting that her life hung by a thread held in his hands.
“To satisfy your curiosity: You were sold to me. Your stepmother used you to pay off her massive debt to me.”
Amara clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. She loathed the woman her father had replaced her late mother with. Valerie wanted nothing but Amara’s ruin. She had no right to sell her! Surely, her stepsister Bianca was celebrating right now. Bianca had hated her from the day they met, an unexplained rage Amara never understood.
“S-she has no right to sell me! She isn’t my real—”
His lips curled into a sardonic smile. “I don’t care if you share blood or not. I came to collect payment. She offered you. I had to see for myself if you were worth the five million pesos she borrowed. And... I like what I see.”
Five million pesos! It was a fortune. Where had Valerie spent such a colossal amount?
“Please, just let me go. You won’t get anything out of me. There is nothing I can do for you,” she pleaded desperately.
“Maybe not right now. But there is something you can do for me when you turn eighteen.” He turned his back and sat on the chair again. “Sign the papers.”
He shifted his weight arrogantly, leaning his elbow on the armrest, fingers pressing against his temple as he stared her down.
Amara looked at the papers again. Why should she sign? Just so Valerie could be happy? Valerie and Bianca had enjoyed the five million, so why should Amara pay the price?
“You refuse?” he asked.
Dante stepped forward, looking ready to strike her, but Lucian stopped him with a casual raise of his hand. “Relax, Dante. Let her answer.”
Amara gritted her teeth. “W-what if I don’t want to?”
“Simple. I will order the hospital to discontinue all forms of life support for your unconscious father.” He tilted his head, challenging her, before smiling wickedly. “Don’t worry. His death will be painless.”
“You can’t do that!” she screamed. Fresh tears poured from her eyes. How did he know about her father? He was her only weakness. Her father had been a loving man before her mother’s death broke him. He loved his late wife so much that he drowned his grief in alcohol. Amara wasn’t sure if he married Valerie for companionship or to give Amara a mother, but she knew he always thought of her welfare.
She couldn’t let him die. She still hoped he would wake up, and she wanted to be there, smiling, when he did. Until then, she would do anything to protect him. Because right now, he was defenseless.
“You decide. His safety is in your hands. Sign the papers, and we’re good.”
Trembling, she signed the papers.
“Good girl, Amara. I will wait until you turn eighteen. Then, I will come and find you. Don’t even think of running away. I always collect what is rightfully mine. And you are mine.”
She didn’t know why his words felt like a branding iron on her skin.
She couldn’t believe this was happening.
She had been sold to a heartless Mafia Boss.
