Kate's POV:

The gray morning light seeped through the threadbare curtains, painting the walls of my tiny bedroom in a dull haze. The faint scent of mildew mixed with the stale aroma of cheap perfume—the remnants of my mother's presence. Her shrill voice tore through the silence like nails on a chalkboard, piercing the fragile peace I clung to.

"Kate! Get down here right now!"

I groaned, every muscle in my body protesting as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. A sharp pain radiated from my ribs, and I winced, my fingers brushing over the fresh bruises. Last night's encounter with my stepfather had left its mark—a cruel reminder of the fragile thread I clung to in this house.

I caught my reflection in the cracked mirror. Dark circles framed my eyes, and my face was pale, save for the angry purple blotches dotting my cheek and jaw. No amount of makeup could mask this. Not that it mattered. The world around me had stopped caring long ago.

The staircase creaked under my weight as I descended, each step accompanied by the growing dread pooling in my stomach. The kitchen greeted me with chaos: dirty dishes stacked high in the sink, empty beer bottles rolling lazily across the counter, and the sour stench of my stepfather's binge drinking.

My mother stood by the counter, cigarette in hand, her lips pursed into a permanent sneer. Her hollow eyes flicked toward me, and for a brief moment, something cold and sharp flashed in them. Disdain. Resentment.

"About time," she snapped, tossing a crumpled grocery list onto the grimy table. "We're out of food. Go to the store."

I crossed my arms, defiance flickering in my chest. "Why not ask Michael?" I countered, my voice steady despite the fear bubbling under the surface. "He's perfectly capable."

Her expression darkened, and she took a threatening step toward me. "What did you just say?" Her voice was low, dangerous, like the calm before a storm.

"I said, why doesn't Michael ever do anything? Or is the golden boy too precious to be burdened with errands?"

The slap came hard and fast, the sting blooming across my cheek before I could react. Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

"You don't get to question me, stupid girl. Now take the damn list and get out of my sight," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

I grabbed the list and the crumpled bills she shoved at me, my hands trembling with rage. My eyes burned as I turned on my heel, slamming the door behind me.

The supermarket was a gauntlet of stares and whispered gossip. The owner's eyes followed me as I moved through the aisles, his gaze lingering on the bruises that marked my skin. I gritted my teeth and kept my head down, grabbing what I needed as quickly as possible.

At the counter, he leered at me, his grin making my skin crawl. "Rough night, Kate?" he asked, his voice oily and mocking.

I didn't respond, shoving the crumpled bills at him and snatching the bags from the counter. His laughter followed me out the door, a reminder of just how little power I had in this place.

The walk home was short but felt like an eternity. The weight of the groceries paled in comparison to the heaviness in my chest. Each step brought me closer to the house, to the nightmare waiting for me inside.

When I opened the door, the silence was unsettling. The usual chaos was replaced by an eerie stillness. I walked cautiously into the kitchen, my heart pounding.

"Sweetie, you're home," my mother said, her tone unnaturally sweet.

My stomach dropped. She only used that tone when something terrible was about to happen.

The men sitting at the table were strangers, their sharp suits and cold expressions setting off every alarm in my head. They regarded me with a mix of curiosity and calculation, like predators sizing up their prey.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

My mother's smile widened, sickly sweet. "Well, Kate, we've been in a bit of a financial bind. These gentlemen have been kind enough to help us out."

Her next words shattered the fragile world I had tried so hard to hold together.

"We sold you."

The room spun, my vision blurring as her words sank in. Sold. The word echoed in my mind, each repetition a knife to my chest.

"Why?" I managed to choke out. My voice trembled, but I refused to break. Not in front of them.

My mother's smile faded, replaced by the cold indifference I had grown accustomed to. "Because you're worthless. Do you really think you have any right to question us? This house, this life—it's not yours. You're nothing but a burden, Kate."

The men shifted in their seats, clearly growing impatient. One of them, a tall man with piercing eyes, leaned forward. "We didn't come here for a family argument. You got your money. Now hand her over."

I turned and bolted, my feet barely touching the ground as I raced up the stairs. Each step creaked under my weight, the sound loud and frantic against the silence of my panic. My heart pounded in my chest, every beat echoing in my ears like a war drum.

The hallway blurred as I sprinted toward my bedroom, the door slamming shut behind me with a deafening crack. My hands fumbled with the lock, my trembling fingers struggling to twist it into place. Once the lock clicked, I backed away, my breaths shallow and ragged.

The window.

I spun around and ran to it, yanking it open with desperate force. The cool night air rushed in, biting against my flushed skin. The ground below was a solid ten feet down—hard concrete with patches of unkempt grass lining the edges of the yard. My chest tightened as I realized the jump could leave me injured, but it was my only option.

The sounds of boots pounding up the stairs made my decision for me.

I climbed onto the ledge, my heart leaping into my throat as I looked down. "You can do this," I whispered to myself, forcing down the rising tide of fear. Taking a deep breath, I pushed off.

The impact jolted through my body like an electric shock, and pain exploded in my side as I hit the ground. My knees buckled, and for a moment, I thought I wouldn't be able to stand. But the adrenaline surging through my veins kept me moving. I scrambled to my feet, clutching my ribs as I stumbled toward the street.

"There she is! Get her!"

The shout rang out from above, cutting through the night air like a blade. My heart skipped a beat, but I didn't look back. Their voices were a blur, drowned out by the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.

"Don't stop," I muttered to myself, forcing my legs to move faster. The dark, narrow street stretched out before me, lined with towering brick buildings and dimly flickering streetlights. Shadows loomed everywhere, twisting and shifting with my every step.

A gunshot cracked through the air, sharp and deafening. I froze, the sound paralyzing me in an instant.

"Stop, or we'll shoot!"

My body betrayed me, my feet rooted to the ground as fear wrapped around me like a vice. Slowly, I turned, my hands raised in mock surrender. My breath came in shallow gasps as I faced them.

The man leading the group stepped forward, his figure illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights. He was tall and broad, his dark eyes glinting with cold authority. His expression was hard, unyielding, like stone carved with precision.

"Don't think you can outrun us, little girl," he said, his voice low and deliberate. Each word was a dagger, cutting through the false bravado I tried to muster.

I glared at him, forcing myself to stand tall despite the fear coursing through me. "You can't keep me here," I spat, my voice shaking but defiant.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "We don't need to keep you. We just need you to obey."

Before I could reply, one of the men lunged forward. His arms wrapped around mine like iron chains, pinning me in place. Panic surged through me, and I thrashed violently, kicking and screaming as I tried to break free.

"Let me go!" I shouted, my voice hoarse and desperate.

The man holding me grunted in pain as I drove my elbow into his ribs with all the force I could muster. He stumbled back, clutching his side, but before I could make a run for it, another man stepped in.

This one was faster, his grip unrelenting as he grabbed me from behind. His hands were rough and calloused, digging into my arms as he pulled me back.

"Enough!" The leader's voice cut through the chaos like a whip, sharp and commanding.

The man holding me tightened his grip, and I could feel the heat of his breath against my neck as he struggled to keep me still. My heart raced, the fight or flight instinct clawing at my senses.

"You're making this harder than it has to be," the leader said, stepping closer. His boots clicked against the pavement, each step deliberate and measured. The faint light cast shadows across his angular features, making him look more like a predator than a man.

I glared at him, defiance flaring in my chest. "Let me go, or I swear—"

"You'll what?" he interrupted, his tone dripping with mockery. "Fight us? Run again? You're outnumbered, outmatched, and cornered. Face it, girl—you've lost."

Tears stung the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Instead, I spat at his feet, the only act of defiance I had left.

His expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he wiped his boot against the ground. "You've got guts. I'll give you that. But don't mistake courage for intelligence."

"She's a handful," one of the other men muttered, his grip on me loosening slightly.

"She's more than that," the leader replied, his gaze fixed on me. "She's trouble."

"And yet here you are, wasting your time on me," I shot back, my voice laced with venom.

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound that sent chills down my spine. "Oh, we're not wasting time. You're an investment. And trust me, we always get what we pay for."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. I swallowed hard, my mind racing as I searched for an escape. The man holding me shifted his weight, and I felt the smallest give in his grip.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

I twisted suddenly, throwing all my weight into the movement. The man cursed, his hold slipping just enough for me to break free. My victory was short-lived, though, as another pair of hands grabbed me almost immediately.

"Enough of this," the leader growled, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Hold her still."

The man who grabbed me tightened his grip, his arms locking around me like steel bands. My struggles grew weaker as exhaustion set in, my body aching from the effort.

The leader stepped closer, his expression unreadable as he studied me. "You've got fire. I'll give you that," he said, his tone almost amused. "But you need to learn when to surrender."

I met his gaze, my eyes burning with defiance. "I don't surrender."

He smirked, a dangerous glint in his eye. "You will."

With that, he motioned to the others, and I felt the cold press of a needle against my skin. My heart leapt in panic, but before I could react, the sting of the injection stole my breath.

The world slipped away.

When I woke, my eyelids felt heavy, my body sluggish and uncooperative. The world around me was blurry, shapes and colors blending together in a disorienting haze. Blinking hard, I forced my vision to clear, and the first thing I saw made my stomach drop.

The room was massive, its sheer size making me feel small and insignificant. Polished marble floors gleamed under the soft light of a crystal chandelier that hung high above. The walls were lined with intricate crown molding and painted in a muted, elegant gray, offset by gold accents that screamed wealth and power. A four-poster bed with rich, dark wood and velvet drapes dominated the center of the room, its pristine white sheets and fluffy pillows untouched except for where I lay.

It looked like the kind of place you'd see in a magazine spread for the ultra-rich. But the heavy iron bars on the windows and the reinforced steel door turned this luxurious space into a prison.

A gilded cage.

I sat up, every muscle in my body protesting the movement. Pain flared in my ribs and neck, a cruel reminder of the night before. The events played out in my mind like a bad movie—my mother's betrayal, the strangers, the injection.

I screamed, the frustration and helplessness bubbling over. My voice echoed off the walls, bouncing back at me in the oppressive silence.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall with a force that made me flinch. Standing in the doorway was Michen, his broad frame filling the space like a looming shadow. His gun was drawn, the cold metal glinting under the light as his sharp brown eyes scanned the room for threats.

"Why the fuck are you screaming?" he demanded, his voice sharp and impatient.

I stared at him for a moment, taking in the scratches on his face—my handiwork from earlier. Despite the anger in his tone, I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. The sound was sharp and hollow, carrying none of the amusement it should have.

"Have you seen your face?" I said, my voice dripping with mockery. "You look like you lost a fight with a feral cat."

His jaw tightened, and I caught the way his hand twitched toward his gun. His knuckles turned white as he gripped it, his restraint hanging by a thread. "Watch your mouth, girl."

"Or what?" I shot back, leaning forward slightly. "You'll shoot me? Go ahead. Do it. But I wonder—what would your boss say about you ruining his goods?"

The words were out before I could think better of them, and for a moment, the air between us was thick with tension. His eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he weighed his options.

His hand hovered over the gun for a moment, the room pregnant with the possibility of violence. Then, slowly, he let it drop to his side. "You've got a big mouth for someone in your position," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"And you've got a big ego for someone who can't even shoot me," I replied, my defiance burning bright despite the fear crawling under my skin.

His lips twitched, and for a brief moment, I thought he might smile. But the hardness returned, his face a mask of cold authority. Without warning, he strode across the room, his movements quick and purposeful. Before I could react, his hand clamped around my arm, his grip firm and unyielding.

"Let's go," he said, pulling me off the bed.

I stumbled, the sudden movement making my head spin. "Where are you taking me?" I demanded, trying to twist out of his grip.

"You'll find out soon enough," he replied, his tone offering no room for argument.

The hallway outside the room was just as grand as the space I'd woken up in. The same polished marble floors stretched endlessly, their pristine surface reflecting the warm glow of the recessed lighting. Ornate mirrors lined the walls, their gilded frames adding to the opulence. Everything about this place screamed wealth, but there was a coldness to it, an underlying sense of control that made my skin crawl.

"Is this King's house?" I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

Michen didn't answer. He kept his grip on my arm as he guided me down the hall, his silence more unnerving than any response he could have given.

"You can't just keep me here," I said, my voice rising with frustration. "You think just because you have money and power, you can do whatever you want?"

He stopped abruptly, turning to face me. His brown eyes bore into mine, and for the first time, I saw the full extent of his frustration. "Let me explain something to you," he said, his voice low and controlled. "This isn't about money. It's about control. And right now, you're in no position to make demands."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling heavily on my chest.

The house was nothing short of a palace, each corner a testament to wealth and power. As Michen dragged me through its pristine halls, I couldn't help but notice the cold perfection of my surroundings. Marble floors gleamed under ornate chandeliers that cast soft, golden light across the space. Expensive artwork hung on the walls, each piece framed in gold and radiating an aura of untouchable sophistication.

This wasn't a house; it was a fortress—a symbol of dominance, where every detail whispered control. I felt small, out of place, and utterly vulnerable as Michen's grip on my arm tightened, his silence doing little to ease the pounding of my heart.

When we entered the kitchen, I was expecting a chaotic mess, maybe even signs of neglect, but it was as immaculate as the rest of the house. Sleek black countertops stretched across the room, perfectly polished and free of even the faintest smudge. Stainless steel appliances gleamed under the recessed lighting, their modernity clashing with the ancient, intimidating presence of the men standing inside.

Leaning against the counter was a tall man with blonde hair and a cocky grin. He didn't move as we entered, his piercing blue eyes assessing me like I was a piece of meat.

"Well, well, so this is the girl," he said, his grin widening as his gaze swept over me.

"Shut up, Joseph," Michen muttered, clearly irritated.

Joseph ignored him, stepping closer with a predatory gleam in his eye. "Feisty one, huh? King's going to love her." His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it that made my skin crawl.

I rolled my eyes and pushed past them, trying to mask my fear with indifference. "Where's the food? If I'm stuck here, I'm not starving," I said, making a beeline for the stove.

The room fell silent, the kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Then Joseph laughed, a low, mocking sound that echoed in the pristine kitchen. "I like her," he said, shaking his head as if I were some amusing joke.

"Don't get used to it," I muttered, grabbing a pan from the perfectly organized rack hanging over the island. My hands shook slightly, but I hoped they wouldn't notice.

I could feel their eyes on me as I moved around the kitchen, their scrutiny like a physical weight. Every step I took, every utensil I grabbed, seemed to amplify the tension. They weren't just watching me—they were assessing me, waiting for me to make a mistake.

"Do you even know how to cook?" Joseph asked, his tone laced with mockery as he leaned against the counter.

I didn't answer, focusing instead on lighting the stove. The flames flared to life, their sudden brightness making me flinch.

"She's shaking," a deep voice said from behind me. I turned to see another man, his dark eyes fixed on me with a mix of curiosity and amusement. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his posture relaxed but somehow threatening.

"Of course she's shaking," Joseph replied with a smirk. "She's probably scared out of her mind. Aren't you, sweetheart?"

I gritted my teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cower. "No," I lied, keeping my back to them as I opened the fridge. The contents were as extravagant as the house—premium cuts of meat, imported cheeses, and an array of fresh produce that looked like it had been picked that morning.

"Liar," Joseph said, his voice closer now. I turned to find him standing just a few feet away, his grin still firmly in place. "I can see it in your eyes. You're terrified."

"Leave her alone, Joseph," Michen said, though there was no real force behind his words.

Joseph chuckled. "Relax, I'm just having a little fun."

"Fun?" I snapped, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. "Is that what this is to you? Some sick game?"

The room went still again, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Joseph's grin faded, replaced by something colder, darker. He stepped closer, his height and build dwarfing me.

"You've got quite the mouth on you," he said softly, his voice dripping with menace. "But let me make one thing clear. You're here because King allowed it. You don't speak unless spoken to, and you sure as hell don't talk back."

I swallowed hard, but I held his gaze, refusing to back down. "I didn't ask to be here."

"No, but you are," he said, his grin returning. "And you're going to learn your place. One way or another."

Michen sighed loudly, clearly tired of the exchange. "Just let her cook, Joseph. King doesn't want her dead. Yet."

The "yet" hung in the air like a loaded gun, and I turned back to the stove, my hands trembling as I started chopping vegetables.

They continued to watch me, their conversation a low murmur that I couldn't fully make out. Every now and then, their laughter would break through, sharp and mocking. I felt like a zoo animal on display, every move I made scrutinized and judged.

"Look at her," Joseph said after a while, his tone light but cruel. "She's trying so hard to act tough. It's adorable."

"She won't last," the dark-eyed man said, his voice flat and matter-of-fact.

"I don't know," Joseph replied. "She's got some fight in her. Maybe King will keep her around for a while."

I clenched the knife in my hand, the urge to lash out almost overpowering. But I knew better. These men were dangerous, and any sign of rebellion would only make things worse.

By the time I finished cooking, my nerves were frayed, and my hands ached from gripping the utensils too tightly. I plated the food with precision, placing the dishes on the island before stepping back.

"There," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "Eat."

Joseph raised an eyebrow, his grin returning. "You're bossy. I like that."

Michen ignored him, grabbing a plate and digging in. "Not bad," he said after a few bites.

Joseph took a forkful, his expression thoughtful as he chewed. "I'll give you this—you can cook. At least you're not completely useless."

I didn't respond, crossing my arms as I leaned against the counter.

As they ate, I allowed myself a moment to breathe, the gears in my mind turning. I had to find a way out of this. These men weren't just cruel—they were calculating, and I had no doubt that their boss, this mysterious "King," would be even worse.

But as I watched them, their laughter echoing through the pristine kitchen, one thing became clear: If they thought I was just another pawn in their game, they were sorely mistaken.