Beneath the crystal chandelier of a lavish dinner party, Anna saw Julian Kingsley’s eyes for the first time—frozen lakes, deep and bottomless.
She wore an emerald gown he’d chosen himself. “You’re like the most poisonous flower in spring,” he’d said.
But no one knew that night, as he ushered her into the stretched Lincoln, the stiletto heels on her feet had already shredded her skin.
“Take off the dress.” His command from the back seat.
“No.”
“Then watch your father’s dialysis records go live online tomorrow.”
I never imagined bunny ears could be streaked with blood.
That night, the car windows fogged over. I bit down hard on his shoulder—sharp, desperate—and he laughed: “Finally reacting? I thought you were dead.”
Three months later, I slapped my ex-boyfriend across the face—in broad daylight, inside the university library.
“You called me poor back then. Now I’m sleeping with men to survive. Does that thrill you?”
Before the words fully left my lips, applause erupted.
Julian emerged from the shadows—impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, holding a contract in his hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he smiled, “this young woman is the seventeenth I’ve taken under my patronage. But she’s the first who sold herself to save her father.”
The room exploded in murmurs.
I stood frozen, my heartbeat pounding like war drums—each thud threatening to tear my chest apart.
The day my father’s condition turned critical, we were short $800,000 for surgery.
Julian placed a check against my lips. “Sign it—and you’ll be in my bed tonight.”
I signed.
The next morning, he walked into the hospital room—and pulled the breathing tube from my father’s throat.
“You thought it was over?” He leaned close, voice a whisper against my ear. “The game has only just begun.”
Then he drew out a silver scalpel and traced it lightly along my wrist.
“This blade? It’s the same one used when your mother died.”
I jerked my head up.
“What… did you say?”
His smile was tender, chilling. “You vanished at three. I found you. Raised you until seven—then placed you in the orphanage. You didn’t know, did you? Your real father died long ago. The man you’ve called ‘Dad’ your whole life? An actor I hired.”
Blood seeped across the floor, blooming like a rose.
I knelt there, fingers clenched around the scalpel.
He slowly loosened his tie.
“Go on, Anna. Kill me. Or… keep being my pet.”
In that moment, I understood—
I wasn’t prey.
I was the wild thing he’d raised, trained, honed.
And now—the cage door was open.
