Daughter of a Rose

They took me. They sold me. And now they fear me.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

They told us the doors of St. Sabinian Institution only opened one way.

In.

Never out.

The building stood like a cathedral for the forgotten, its stone walls rising from the fog like something ancient and cursed. Girls arrived here screaming, crying, begging.

Most of them stopped screaming after the first week.

I learned quickly that silence kept you alive.

They took our names first. Then our phones. Then our dignity. They told the world we were unstable daughters of powerful families-girls who needed to disappear quietly.

But that was a lie.

We weren't patients.

We were inventory.

Somewhere beyond these walls, men with power and money waited for the auction.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

My name is Kailea Devereaux.

Once, that name meant something.

Aristocratic blood.

Perfect upbringing.

A family that dined with ministers and made deals with men powerful enough to shape countries.

Including the Blackwoods.

But those were my parents' connections.

Not mine.

I had never met the sons.

Not the heir.

Not the men who would inherit the empire.

And certainly not the one who would one day stand across from me in a room full of buyers-Alaric Blackwood-and decide I belonged to him.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚