Trevor drove toward the manor, the city blurring past his windows. He couldn't stop thinking about Celia. The way she had looked at him. The tremor in her hands and the raw, unpolished quality of her apology. She had been a monster. But monsters weren't born. They were made. And maybe, just maybe, they could be unmade. His phone buzzed again. A text from Ethan: "Amelia's attempting risotto. Sable looks terrified. Send help." Trevor laughed despite himself. Whatever was happening with Celia, whatever complicated feelings were swirling in his chest, this was what mattered. His friends and family. The people who had stood by him when he had no one else. He started typing a reply. And then a girl ran into the street. She came from nowhere, a blur of motion between parked cars, a flash of dark hair and wide eyes. Trevor saw her a split second before his headlights illuminated her face. She young, terrified and frozen in the middle of the road like a deer caught in the crosshairs. S

The morning light streamed through the windows of Trevor's apartment, casting long golden rectangles across the hardwood floors. It was a modest space by the standards of his wealth, two bedrooms, an open-concept living area, a kitchen with appliances that cost more than most people's cars. But it had always felt like home. Now, with a traumatized trafficking victim sleeping in his guest bedroom, it felt like something else entirely. Trevor hadn't slept. He'd spent the night on the couch, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the previous evening on an endless loop. The girl, the alley and the men in masks. The stranger named Ken who had appeared like a phantom and vanished just as quickly. And the moment he'd carried her limp body into his apartment, her torn dress and scarred skin, her weight in his arms like something precious and terribly fragile. Ethan and Amelia had arrived within the hour. The Silvercrest physician had arrived shortly after, a discreet, silver-haire

The echo of the slap still hung in the air when Trevor rounded the corner. He saw Yuki first, crumpled on the marble floor, her dark hair spilled around her like a shroud, her cheek blazing crimson where Cady's palm had connected. Then he saw Cady Winter standing over her, still wearing the remnants of her torn bridal gown, her face twisted with the particular cruelty of someone who had never been held accountable for anything in her life. Trevor's vision went red. "Yuki!" He was at her side in an instant, dropping to his knees, his hands gentle as they cupped her face. "Yuki, look at me. Are you hurt? Can you hear me?" Yuki's eyes fluttered open. There were tears streaming down her cheeks, but she wasn't sobbing. She was frozen, the rigid stillness of someone who had learned, through brutal experience, that fighting back only made things worse. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to. I didn't see her. I'm sorry." "Don't apologize." Trevor's voice was rough with barely c

That night, Yuki dreamed. In the dream, she was not the trembling girl in Trevor's spare bedroom, clinging to a stranger's jacket like a lifeline. She was someone else, who had existed before the traffickers, before the dark rooms and the rough hands, before the memory of her own name had become a fragile thread she could barely hold. But she was still Yuki. Just... a different Yuki. One she didn't recognize. "Harder! Harder!! Please go harder!!!" The clapping sound of flesh on flesh echoed through the bedroom, accompanying the desperate cries of pleasure that spilled from her lips. She was bent over her reading table, her reflection watching her from the mirror on the wall as the hot, white hunk behind her drove into her with mechanical precision. She watched herself being taken, her face flushed, her mouth open, and for a few fleeting moments, the emptiness inside her was drowned out by sensation. She was one of the many illegitimate children that a powerful Chinese billionaire

The warmth drained from the room. Lord Marcus walked in like he owned the place. In his mind, he still did. His suit was immaculate, his posture perfect, his smile the cold, practiced expression of a predator who had been momentarily caged but never truly tamed. His house arrest had been relaxed in recent week, a concession from the Board, pressure from the Elders who still quietly supported him, but his presence here, in the family dining room, was a deliberate provocation. "Good morning, nephew." Marcus's voice was smooth as polished marble. "I trust I'm not interrupting." Ethan set down his coffee. His expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened. "Uncle. What an unexpected visit." "The Board has granted me limited dining privileges. Something about maintaining family unity." Marcus's gaze swept across the table, pausing on Yuki with something between curiosity and disdain. "Though I must say, the company has declined since my confinement. I see we're inviting strays now."