Morning light seeped into the room in pale streaks, brushing against Amara's eyelids and coaxing her awake. Her body felt heavy, exhausted in a way that suggested she hadn't simply fallen asleep—she had collapsed. For a long moment, she didn't move. She stayed still, letting her mind catch up with her surroundings.
Her cheek wasn't pressed against the cold floor anymore.Her knees weren't folded painfully beneath the desk.She wasn't curled under the wooden table where she had last been crying.
She was… in the bed.
Her breath caught.
Her fingers tangled in the smooth black silk sheets as she slowly lifted her head. She blinked at the room, confused. Her robe had been adjusted more neatly around her. A light blanket covered her legs. Someone had moved her. Someone had taken her out from where she was hiding and gently placed her on the bed.
But she didn't remember it.She didn't hear anything.She didn't feel anyone lifting her.
The silence in the room was thick, almost suffocating.
Amara pushed herself upright slowly, wincing as her arm throbbed. She instinctively looked down—and froze. The bruises that had been dark and angry last night were now faded in color, speckled with ointment, the skin less swollen.
Her eyes slid to the bedside table.
There it was.
A small tube of medical ointment, lid loosely closed, placed exactly where she would see it.
Her heart skipped.
She refused to let the thought settle.She refused to imagine Lucas tending to her while she was unconscious.She refused to picture his expression as he applied the ointment to her bruised skin.
No.No… thinking like that was dangerous.
She exhaled shakily and stood. She needed air.
Amara walked toward the balcony and pushed the sheer curtains aside. The glass doors opened with a soft click. A wave of salty wind hit her, cool and refreshing. The sea stretched infinitely, waves crashing against the shore in steady rhythm. The horizon glowed with muted gold, the sky softening from night into morning.
For a moment, everything felt quiet.
Still.
Almost peaceful.
She wrapped her arms around herself and stepped closer to the railing, inhaling the crisp sea breeze. The view was breathtaking. The mansion stood high on the cliffs, the waves far below roaring as if whispering stories only nature understood. The vastness of the ocean made her feel small—and strangely calm.
She stayed like that for a long time, letting the wind brush through her hair.Trying to feel something other than fear.Something other than confusion.Something other than the sting of Lucas's words.
"The girl whose parents sold her."
The sentence cut through her chest like a blade every time she remembered it.
Her throat tightened, but she forced the emotion back. Not now. Not again. She lifted her gaze as if the ocean could erase memories.
But she couldn't ignore everything.
Her hand throbbed gently.Her chest tightened with each breath.And the mansion… the mansion was too quiet.
Something was wrong.
She stepped inside again and moved toward the hallway. She kept expecting to hear footsteps—guards, maids, cooks, someone. Anything. But the corridor was empty. Silent. Not even Elena's soft humming or Marco's footsteps echoed around.
She frowned.A house this big was never quiet.Not unless—
Her pulse quickened.
She walked slowly, as if afraid of disturbing the silence.
The dining room was empty.The kitchen was spotless, no breakfast being prepared.The hallways held no chatter.Even the guards stationed near the staircases were fewer in number, standing stiff and tense.
They didn't look at her.
Not directly.
They kept their gazes forward, rigid, as if afraid to even acknowledge her presence.
A chill ran down her spine.
What happened here?
She swallowed and turned back toward her room, suddenly uneasy. She could feel it in the air—thick tension, lingering fear, something sharp and unspoken.
The mansion had the atmosphere of a battlefield after the soldiers were already dead.
Amara stepped back inside her room and closed the door quietly. Her heart thudded unevenly. She understood nothing, yet every instinct screamed that something had changed dramatically.
Someone knocked on her door.
She jumped.
Her breath caught in her throat.
It was Marco. But he didn't meet her eyes either. His face was pale, stiff, as if he were standing in front of a firing squad instead of her door.
"Miss Amara," he said in a low, formal tone she had never heard from him before. "Breakfast will be brought to your room today. You are not required to come downstairs."
Her brows knitted."Why? What happened?"
Marco's throat moved in a hard swallow."Mr. Dragovich's orders."
She felt her chest tighten again."Is… is something wrong?"
Marco hesitated. For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—fear. Not of her. Not of an intruder.
Fear of Lucas.
"No, miss," he said finally, voice rigid. "Everything is under control."
But the tremor in his hands gave him away. He lowered his head and stepped back before she could question him further.
Amara closed the door slowly, her mind swirling. Her heart hammered.
Something had definitely happened.
*************************************************
(The staff's nightmare — Lucas's wrath unleashed)
The mansion was silent now, but last night…
It was a storm.
A violent one.
Right after Amara ran to her room and broke down crying, Lucas had stood frozen in the hallway. His chest heaved with leftover anger. But as he replayed what he had just said—the words he had thrown at her—his expression shifted.
Confusion first.Then realization.Then guilt.Then… rage.
Not at her.
At himself.And at everyone who had witnessed it.
Marco had been the closest.And Lucas turned on him sharply.
"What the hell were you all doing here?" Lucas snapped, his voice like a whip slicing through the air. "Are you paid to stare? To eavesdrop? Or to mind your own business?"
Elena flinched visibly.
"Sir, we only—"
"You only what?" Lucas stepped dangerously close. "You think her breakdown is entertainment?"
"N-no, sir—"
"Then why the **** were you watching?"
Marco shook, opening and closing his mouth helplessly.
Lucas's voice cracked like thunder."Answer me!"
Marco stammered, "We… we heard your voice, sir. We came to make sure… nothing escalated."
Lucas's eyes burned with fury."Escalated? YOU THINK I AM A MAN WHO CANNOT CONTROL HIMSELF?"
No one dared to breathe.
No one moved.
Lucas dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before he turned again. His eyes were cold steel now.
"From this moment," he said, voice deadly calm, "every guard who was standing here is reassigned to perimeter duty."
Marco blinked. "Sir—that's—"
"Quiet." Lucas's voice turned lethal. "Perimeter duty this week means the cliffs. No rotations. No rest."
The guards paled. That assignment was brutal. Dangerous.
Punishment disguised as duty.
"And Elena," he continued, snapping his head toward her, "if I ever see you hovering outside her room again, I will send you back to the slums where I found you."
Tears welled in her eyes but she nodded quickly, trembling.
Lucas wasn't finished.
"All staff are forbidden from approaching the east wing unless commanded."
Everyone froze.
No one dared question it.
"No one looks at her. No one speaks to her. No one interferes."
He stepped closer, voice dropping even lower."She is off limits."
A murmur of confusion swept through them, but one look at his face silenced every thought.
Lucas's chest rose and fell heavily.His jaw clenched.His hands were shaking—not with fear but with something far more dangerous.
Possessiveness.
"She is not to be touched," he said finally. "Not to be judged. And not to be disturbed."
Then he dismissed them with a glare so deadly that no one even dared breathe as they scattered like terrified shadows.
********************************************
Amara had no idea.
No idea about the punishments.No idea about the fear Lucas had instilled.No idea that everyone had been forbidden to even look at her.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her reflection in the mirror across the room.
Her eyes were still swollen.Her hair messy.Her skin blotchy.Her arm bruised.
She looked broken.
And she hated that she looked broken.
A soft breeze drifted in from the balcony. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The silence was still suffocating, but at least the sea felt like it understood her.
She whispered to herself, "Today will be better."
But she had no idea what the day would bring.