Save me

Five years earlier.

Lilian walked beside her father, Killian, and her mother, Elena, moving slowly so everyone in the room could witness their daughter making her debut at her first official gathering. An emerald dress swallowed her whole from head to toe, leaving only her face exposed. It was carefully painted with a “makeup-no-makeup” routine—just enough to look pristine, not enough to conceal the reality that the lamb was being led to the slaughterhouse.

Having just turned twenty, she was now primed to become the expensive, high-yield investment her parents had always planned for her to be.

She smiled politely, dipping her head to acknowledge the crowd. Everyone knew she didn’t speak. She wasn’t technically mute—she had selective mutism—and she always carried her small black notebook with her, a detail her parents constantly tried to mask to hide what they viewed as an embarrassing flaw.

Her amber almond eyes swept the massive room, taking in the golden chandeliers, the round tables lining the dance floor, and the expensive art pieces and statues hanging on the walls that made the space feel far more like a museum than a home.

“Stop hovering and get in line. You aren’t coming from the stables; you’ve seen gold and art before. You are my daughter, act like it,” Killian snapped under his breath.

She pressed a hand to her sternum and nodded, a silent acknowledgment. Elena guided her to the exact spot where she was supposed to stand, because tonight, she wasn’t meant to sit. She was meant to be put on display and admired like a doll—though she didn’t possess the fragile, stick-thin frame of a size-zero model. Lilian had sharp edges, her form was fuller, softly rounded. She wasn’t heavy, but she wasn’t petite either; she had natural curves that her mother worked desperately to conceal beneath loose, unhugging dresses.

She really tried not to draw any more attention. She tried not to take up so much space, but every time she tried to hide from the hungriest eyes you have ever seen, her mother always spotted her.

“It’s your duty,” she whispered again and again.

Many men—men far too old for her—came through to meet her. They all asked the exact same question: “Is she disciplined?” And Killian always answered with the same practiced word: “She is a soldier. She knows how to do what to do. You will be pleased with her; she hasn’t stepped outside the house, homeschooled all the way through. She knows how to read in five different languages, and she knows how to speak—maybe with your… care, she’ll manage to speak out loud.”

They circled her like vultures, treating her as if she were the main course on the menu.

She was profoundly relieved when her father finally signaled her to follow him to the dance floor. It wasn’t because she wanted to dance with him, but because the movement finally forced the predators to stop staring.

They swirled across the floor, performing for the room—the picture of a proud father and his obedient, silent daughter. The act reached its climax in the final seconds of the song when her father pressed a cold kiss to her forehead.

“Let’s hope that by midnight, you’ll be married off,” he murmured.

She smiled.

She stood, once again, in the same designated spot. But this time, the men didn’t approach. In fact, no one came near her. After the dance, it was as if she had become invisible; no one looked at her again.

Maybe they changed their minds, she thought.

She couldn’t decide whether she should feel relief or dread. Yet, despite the indifference of the crowd, she could feel the weight of a single pair of eyes burning into her—one man watching her intently, though she couldn’t spot him in the shadows.

A young man approached her father, his expression entirely devoid of warmth.

“I am bringing a message from Mr. Zotov,” the messenger said.

Her father’s eyes widened. Everyone knew who Zotov was. No one dared say no to him—not even Killian.

“He will marry her five years from now. You stop parading her. She has to study; arrange college classes for her. Then he will collect what is his.”

“We should sign, where is he?” her father stammered, eager and panicked.

“He will come to you. Remember, if you don’t do what he says, you don’t get a dime.”

“Yes, of course,” her father said quickly.

The messenger left without another word. Killian turned his gaze to Elena, his jaw tight. “Let her sit. She will get married in five years.”

Lilian was finally allowed to sit. She didn’t eat; her stomach was tied in too many knots.

When they returned to the estate, her parents informed her of the forthcoming wedding and the mandate for college classes. They didn’t care what she studied; either way, she wouldn’t be their problem in five years.

Lilian didn’t sleep that night, either. Instead, she spent the dark hours searching university programs. She wasn’t going to squander this unexpected lifeline—even if she had no idea who she was supposed to thank.