Celia Prescott stared at the degrading garment laid out on the dressing room couch, her entire body trembling with a mixture of overwhelming shame and burning indignation. It was not a wedding dress. It was a flimsy, humiliating maid outfit, and resting horribly on top of the thin fabric was a thick leather dog collar attached to a heavy metal leash. Her fingernails dug into her palms as she glared at the man standing beside the door.
She gritted her teeth and spoke, her voice thick with suppressed fury, "Sebastian Whitaker, you are going too far."
She pointed a shaking finger at the collar, her chest heaving with every breath. "If I go out there and make a fool of myself, are you not just throwing away the dignity of the Whitaker family as well?"
A sharp, deafening crack echoed through the suffocating confines of the small dressing room.
Sebastian Whitaker had not hesitated for even a fraction of a second. He stepped forward and swung his hand, delivering a brutal, stinging slap directly across her face. The force of the blow threw her off balance, snapping her head to the side and leaving a burning red welt on her pale cheek.
He sneered down at her, his eyes entirely devoid of warmth. "I told you to wear it, so you will wear it. I do not want to hear another word of your useless garbage. I will admit that I used to have genuine feelings for you, Celia, but the only reason I am marrying you today is to satisfy an old, lingering obsession."
He took another step closer, his voice dropping into a venomous hiss. "I chased you like a madman back then, pouring my heart out, and what did I get in return? Nothing but your endless rejection and humiliation."
His gaze darkened with a twisted sense of triumph. "You used to act so high and mighty, completely untouchable. Your eyes were only ever set on that pathetic loser who went completely insane, the precious young master of the Crane family. It is a real shame for you, but you ended up in my hands anyway. I am marrying you today for one simple reason. I want every single person in Diverton to know that standing in front of me, the great Celia Prescott is only fit to be treated like an animal."
A sick, malicious smile slowly crept across his face as a new thought struck him. "Oh, actually, I have suddenly changed my mind. You are not just going to wear this outfit. When the ceremony begins and we walk out there, I am going to hold that leash tight. You are going to wear that collar around your neck, and you are going to crawl on your hands and knees behind me down the entire length of the red carpet."
Another loud smack rang out, but this time, it was not from him.
Driven entirely by pure, uncontrollable anger, Celia lunged forward and slapped him back with everything she had. Her eyes were blazing with a defiant fire as she screamed at him. "You are an absolute monster, Sebastian Whitaker. You are not even human. I would rather die right here and now than satisfy your sick, twisted desires."
Instead of flying into a rage, Sebastian simply reached up to touch his cheek, throwing his head back in a loud, maniacal fit of laughter. The sound was deeply unsettling, dripping with a terrifying, pathological amusement.
"Is that so?" he asked, his smile widening into something genuinely monstrous. "Alright then. Do whatever you want. You can refuse to wear the dress. You can even call off the wedding right this very second, and I promise you that I will not lift a single finger to stop you."
He leaned in close, his voice a quiet, deadly whisper. "But you must remember one thing. All it takes is a single word from the Whitaker family, and the Prescott family will be completely wiped off the face of the earth by tomorrow morning. You can decide what to do next."
The desperate, fighting spirit drained out of Celia in an instant. The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating.
It felt as though she had been struck by a massive, invisible hammer. Her heart turned to absolute ash in her chest. Sebastian was using the very survival of her entire family as a bargaining chip, ruthlessly forcing her into this marriage. Now, he was pushing her into an abyss of ultimate degradation, demanding she host her own wedding in the most humiliating way conceivable. She felt a hatred for this man so profound it made her physically sick.
Yet, there was absolutely nothing she could do to change her reality.
Years ago, the Whitaker family and the Prescott family had been on equal footing, both respectable but ordinary second-tier families within the sprawling city of Diverton. Everything shifted after the Crane family was violently wiped out. The Whitakers had swooped in like vultures, swallowing up massive portions of the fallen family's vast assets. In just a few short years, they had skyrocketed to the absolute pinnacle of the city's elite circle.
If Sebastian said he could destroy her family with a single sentence, it was not an empty threat. He possessed the absolute power to do exactly that. If she chose to fight back and preserve her own dignity, the price would be the total ruination of her loved ones. Her parents and relatives would be thrown out into the streets, left destitute and broken. She would become the greatest sinner in the history of her lineage, and that was a burden she simply could not bear.
"Well? Have you thought it through?" Sebastian asked, watching the devastating shift in her expression with immense satisfaction.
Her eyes lost their fiery light, turning dull and completely lifeless. She spoke with a frightening, hollow calmness. "Fine. I will do whatever you say. Please leave the room so I can change."
"We are about to be husband and wife, so there is really no need to be so modest," he mocked, letting his greedy gaze sweep over her trembling form one last time. Knowing he had already won the ultimate victory, he decided not to push his luck right this second, turning around and strolling casually out of the dressing room.
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The girl watched Nick Crane ignore her, and that only made her more determined."Hey, hey, hey, you're really no fun at all, you know that?"She pressed herself against the glass, craning her neck to stick her head as far inside as she could manage. The jewelry piled in her hair tumbled loose and clattered onto the seats, but she didn't even glance at it. Her expression was nothing short of gleeful, her delicate features lit by the car's interior light in a way that made her look almost disarmingly sweet.She grinned at him. "I can tell you what you want to know." Nick raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. But he knew better than to think she was offering out of the goodness of her heart. There had to be a catch."All right. What do you want in return?"There was no such thing as a free lunch. If she named too high a price, he'd walk away without a second thought. Seeing that he understood the game, the girl pulled her head back out just as smoothly. Her voic
186
The name "Aurelia Goldwyn" had barely left his mouth. A flicker of darkness passed through the girl's eyes. She looked at Nick Crane and shook her head."Never heard of her.""Twenty-some years ago, I wasn't even born yet. How would I know who you're talking about?"Nick felt a stir of surprise."Aurelia Goldwyn is a well-known figure in the Miresong Marches," he said. "You're telling me you don't know anything about her?"The girl wrinkled her nose, her expression growing slightly unnatural. "The Miresong Marches has always bred remarkable people.""Just some woman? Why would I know her?""Besides, with so many talented people in the Marches, do you really expect me to remember every single one of them?"Nick frowned slightly. Hearing her response, disappointment crept through him. He'd hoped this young woman might have some useful information. Turned out she knew nothing either.He let out a slow sigh, resigned to the fact that tomorrow
185
Nick Crane's words sent the Miresong folk who'd seized the girl into a fury."Today you'll learn what happens when you stick your nose where it doesn't belong!""Get him!"The men snatched up whatever they had at hand and swung at Nick. The middle-aged proprietor of the stilt-house inn shrieked in panic."If you're going to fight, take it outside! Don't wreck my place!"Every patron in the inn settled in to watch the show. No matter how frantically the innkeeper protested, the Miresong folk had no intention of leaving. The crowd made no move to intervene either.The Black Miresong men wore expressions of keen interest. This fool was asking for death, daring to start trouble in the Miresong Marches. By tomorrow they'd be looking at his corpse.Beside the Warlock, the corpse-child's face lit up with delight."Master, if he dies, can I eat him?"The corpse-child's question drew a contemptuous wave from the Warlock."Once he's dead, he's
184
Nick Crane had just pushed open the inn's door when a shadow slammed hard into his chest."Oof!" A bright, crisp voice rang out as the impact sent a jolt of pain through his chest. The figure stumbled backward and hit the floor with a thud."Can't you watch where you're going?" the shadowy form muttered.Nick took two steps back. The dim lamplight fell across the figure, revealing a young woman dressed in Miresong garb. She looked nothing like the White Miresong or Black Miresong people he'd just seen moments ago. Her outfit was far more elaborate, layered with intricate patterns and designs. Her head was adorned with an array of silver jewelry, each piece crafted with such meticulous artistry that it was clear she was no ordinary person.The girl slowly got to her feet, dusting off her clothes. The tinkling of her ornaments drew every eye in the inn toward the doorway. The moment the patrons caught sight of her, they froze, unable to look away.She was brea
183
Nick Crane pulled his car to a stop in front of the inn. The building had been converted from a stilt-house, though it still retained its original form. The area around the foot of Thundercrest was utterly silent, wrapped in a stillness that felt unnatural. Stranger still, the mountain forest held no trace of insect chirping, not even the faintest buzz or hum. Nick glanced around, scanning the shadows between the trees and the dark outline of the inn. Once he was satisfied there was no immediate danger, he stepped toward the entrance.The moment he pushed the door open, the aging floorboards groaned beneath his weight, each creak echoing through the dim interior. Every head in the room turned toward him. The gazes that met him carried a mixture of surprise and something sharper, something hostile.Seated near the far wall was an ashen-faced old man, his hair streaked with gray like frost clinging to dead branches. His entire face looked withered, sunken, and his eyes held
182
They hadn't slept all night. By the time dawn broke, Iris Ashbourne lay utterly exhausted across the bed. Her skin was marked everywhere, traces of the night they'd shared scattered across her body like a map of their passion. Nick Crane, by contrast, looked thoroughly satisfied.Last night had been impulsive, no question about it. But what was done was done, and he wasn't one to shirk responsibility. Iris gazed at him with reluctance heavy in her eyes, as though memorizing every detail of his face."You're leaving today. Can't you stay just a few more days?"Nick reached out and brushed his fingers gently along her cheek. His touch was warm, almost tender."I still have things I need to take care of."He paused, his voice dropping lower. "But you're my woman now. If you ever run into trouble, you can always come to me." Iris nodded firmly, though her throat tightened. She forced herself to sound light. "Who would be foolish enough to cause trouble for the A
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