BLACK DRAGON'S REVENGE: FROM SERVANT TO NIGHTMARE

CHAPTER THREE

The Ashcroft mansion was a world of impossible luxury. Polished marble floors gleamed beneath towering crystal chandeliers. Priceless paintings adorned the walls. Dante had never stepped foot in such wealth before.

A servant led him down a quiet hallway. “Miss Ashcroft wants to see you,” the man said coldly. They stopped before a pair of ornate double doors. “This is her room.” The servant turned and left without another word.

Dante hesitated for a moment, then pushed the door open.

The bedroom was breathtaking. Tall windows overlooked manicured gardens. Silk curtains swayed gently in the evening breeze. Everything whispered elegance and power.

So this is how the other half lives.

The door clicked shut behind him. A second later, it opened again. Camilla stepped in, her hair damp from a bath, wrapped in a white silk robe loosely tied at the waist. She froze at the sight of him.

Then her eyes turned to ice. “What the hell are you doing in my room?”

Dante turned quickly. “You asked for me—”

SLAP!

The sound cracked through the air. Dante’s head snapped sideways as fire spread across his cheek. Camilla glared at him with pure contempt. “Who gave you permission to enter my bedroom?”

“I thought—”

“You thought?” Her laugh was sharp and cruel. “You actually believed you could walk into my private quarters?”

The door hadn’t closed fully. Two maids had stopped in the hallway, watching. Camilla grabbed Dante by the collar and shoved him backward into the corridor. “Get out!”

He stumbled. More servants gathered, drawn by the commotion. Camilla followed him out, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “You really are shameless.”

Dante clenched his fists. “I only came because you—”

SLAP!

Harder this time. His cheek burned.

“Know your place,” she hissed. “You are not my equal. You never will be.”

She snatched a folded document from a nearby table and hurled it at his chest. The pages scattered across the floor. Dante bent down and gathered them silently.

Rules of the Marriage:

1. You will never enter my private spaces.

2. You will not speak unless spoken to.

3. This marriage exists only for my convenience.

At the bottom was her elegant signature: Camilla Ashcroft.

She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper. “Let me be perfectly clear. You may carry the Ashcroft name now… but you are still nothing more than a servant.”

Quiet chuckles rippled through the watching staff. Dante’s face burned with humiliation.

Camilla turned to a nearby maid. “Prepare a room for him. The old storage room near the servant quarters.”

The maid hesitated. “Miss Ashcroft, that room is—”

“I know exactly what it is,” Camilla snapped. “If he wants to live here, he’ll live like what he is.”

She looked Dante dead in the eyes. “A servant.”

---

An hour later, Dante stood inside his new “room.” Cracked walls. A narrow, worn bed. It was worse than the shared quarters he’d once had as a worker. Camilla stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

“This is where you’ll stay.” She stepped closer, her voice like winter frost. “And if you ever forget your place again… I’ll make sure the entire city reminds you of it.”

She slammed the door shut.

From the hallway came mocking laughter. “So the great Ashcroft husband lives here now?” another servant sneered. “Nothing’s changed after the wedding.”

Dante sat on the edge of the hard bed in silence.

---

Morning arrived too soon. He had barely slept, the night filled with restless turning and quiet dread. Just as exhaustion began to pull him under, his phone vibrated.

City Hospital.

Dante’s heart sank. He answered with trembling fingers. “Hello?”

“Mr. Morrell,” a nurse said urgently, “you need to come right away.”

His chest tightened. “What happened?”

“Your mother’s condition has worsened.”

---

He reached the hospital in under twenty minutes, running through the sliding doors. The sharp smell of antiseptic hit him like a wave. A nurse quickly led him to the doctor’s office.

Inside, a middle-aged doctor sat behind his desk, typing without looking up. Dante sat anxiously, hands clenched in his lap.

The doctor finally glanced at him, expression cold. “Mr. Morrell.” He adjusted his glasses. “Your mother needs surgery immediately. The total cost, including outstanding balance and post-op care, comes to one hundred thirty-five thousand seven hundred and eighty dollars. Payment must be settled today.”

Dante felt the room spin. “Today…?”

The doctor leaned back. “If we don’t operate soon, she may not survive the night.”

Dante’s vision blurred. The number was crushing. He dropped to his knees before the desk, tears streaming down his face.

“Please… she’s all I have left. Perform the surgery first. I swear I’ll pay every cent. I’ve been working so hard—”

The doctor’s face twisted in irritation. “I don’t appreciate this behavior, Mr. Morrell. We’ve already shown your family far too much leniency.” He pointed at the door. “Get out. Come back with the money or your mother will be discharged. The debt will be sent to collections—and you may face arrest.”

Dante’s voice cracked. “Doctor, please…”

The man sneered. “You’re married to Camilla Ashcroft, aren’t you? Her family is worth billions. Stop wasting my time and go beg your wife.”

Humiliation burned through Dante like acid. He stood slowly, bowed repeatedly, and left the office.

Camilla promised.

---

Three hours later, Dante stood outside Camilla’s study like a lowly servant awaiting judgment. He hadn’t sat down once. The door finally creaked open.

Camilla stepped out in an elegant fitted dress, high heels clicking against the marble. The moment she saw him, her brows furrowed in clear annoyance.

“Why are you still here?” she demanded. “Haven’t you finished your duties? Or has the steward become too soft with the servants?”

The words struck Dante like another slap.