I spent the next two hours exploring my cage.

The bathroom was ridiculous. Marble everything, a tub big enough to drown in, a shower with more settings than my father's car had. Luxury soap and shampoo lined the shelves, brands I'd only seen in magazines. There was even a vanity with lights around the mirror, drawers full of makeup and brushes and things I didn't know the names for.

The closet was worse.

Elena had unpacked my pathetic bag, and my few belongings looked lost among the empty hangers and shelves. A note sat on the center island, written in sharp, elegant handwriting.

These will be replaced. K.

I crumpled it and threw it in the corner.

The desk drawers were empty except for expensive stationary and pens. I opened the bedside table and found it stocked with things that made my face burn. Condoms. Lubricant. Other things I recognized from health class and really didn't want to think about.

So that's what he expected.

I slammed the drawer shut and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to steady my breathing.

Think, Cassia. Think like you planned.

Killian wanted me. Obsessed over me. That was my leverage. But the other wives were the real danger. Five women who knew this game better than I did, who'd survived here longer, who saw me as either a threat or entertainment.

I needed to figure out which ones were which.

Isla was the obvious enemy. Smart, calculating, probably ran things among the wives. She'd see me as competition.

Nessa was angry, rebellious. Possible ally if I played it right, but also unpredictable.

Vera had given up. Might be useful, might be dead weight.

The quiet one, the schemer whose name I hadn't caught, was dangerous in a different way. She watched. Waited. Probably knew everyone's secrets.

And Thalia, offering friendship with that warm smile. The most dangerous of all, maybe, because I wanted to believe her.

A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.

"Miss Cassia?" A young maid, maybe my age, peeked in nervously. "It's time to dress for dinner. I'm here to help."

"I don't need help."

"Mr. Thorne insists." She stepped inside, carrying a garment bag. "He sent this for you to wear."

Of course he did.

She unzipped the bag and pulled out a dress that made my stomach drop. Deep red, the color of wine or blood, with a neckline that plunged and fabric that would cling to every curve. Beautiful. Expensive. Completely transparent in its purpose.

He wanted to show me off. Stake his claim in front of the others.

"I'm not wearing that."

The maid's face went pale. "But Mr. Thorne..."

"Can kiss my ass," I finished. I walked to my pathetic pile of clothes and pulled out the only dress I owned. Simple, black, modest. I'd worn it to my high school graduation. "I'm wearing this."

"He'll be angry," she whispered.

"Good."

I changed in the bathroom, ignoring the red dress like it didn't exist. The black one fit differently than I remembered, tighter in places I'd filled out since graduation. Not scandalous, but not invisible either.

When I emerged, the maid looked like she might cry.

"It's fine," I told her. "If he's mad, tell him it was my choice."

"He'll know that anyway," she muttered.

Fair point.

She did my hair and makeup despite my protests, keeping it simple like I asked. Natural. When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. I looked older. Harder.

Ready for war.

The dining room was exactly as obscene as I'd expected.

A table that could seat twenty, set with china and crystal that probably cost more than my college tuition would have. Candles everywhere, casting flickering shadows on walls covered in paintings of dead people.

The wives were already seated, arranged along one side of the table like they'd done this a thousand times. They'd all changed for dinner too, each one dressed to kill in their own way.

Isla wore emerald green that matched her calculating eyes. Nessa was in black leather pants and a silk top, somehow making evening wear look rebellious. Vera had chosen something flowing and pale that made her look like a ghost. The quiet schemer wore deep purple that highlighted her dark skin, and Thalia was in soft blue, looking innocent and kind.

They all stopped talking when I entered.

"Oh," Isla said, her eyes raking over my simple dress. "How... quaint."

"I call it 'not trying too hard,'" I replied, taking the empty seat across from her.

Nessa snorted into her wine glass.

"Where's Killian?" I asked, looking at the empty chair at the head of the table.

"He likes to make an entrance," Thalia said gently. "He'll be here soon."

"Must be nice," I said. "Making everyone wait."

"You'll learn," Vera said, her voice hollow. "Everything here is about waiting. Waiting for his attention. Waiting for his mood to shift. Waiting to see which one of us he wants that night."

The temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees.

"Vera," Thalia said softly. "Don't."

"Why not? She should know what she signed up for." Vera lifted her wine glass, and I noticed her hand was shaking slightly. "Welcome to hell, sweetie. The sheets are expensive but they don't make it hurt less."

"That's enough." The quiet woman spoke for the first time, her voice surprisingly strong. "You're scaring her."

"Good," Vera muttered.

"I'm Mira, by the way," the woman continued, turning to me with a small smile. "Since no one properly introduced us."

Mira. The schemer. I nodded acknowledgment.

"So," Isla leaned forward, candlelight making her look even more predatory. "Tell us about yourself, Cassia. What makes you so special that Killian brought you here?"

"My father's debt," I said flatly.

That surprised them. Even Isla's mask slipped for a second.

"You know?" Nessa asked.

"Of course I know. I'm not an idiot."

"Most of the girls he brings home are," Isla said. "They think he loves them. That they're different. Special."

"I know exactly what I am," I said. "Payment. Property. His sixth attempt at whatever sick game he's playing."

"Oh, I really do like her," Nessa said, grinning.

"Don't," Isla warned, her eyes never leaving mine. "She won't last a month."

"Want to bet on it?"

The challenge hung in the air between us, sharp and dangerous.

Then the doors opened, and Killian walked in.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, dark and expensive, and his eyes went straight to me. I watched his gaze travel over my simple black dress, saw his jaw tighten slightly.

So he'd noticed the rebellion.

"Ladies," he said smoothly, taking his seat at the head of the table. "I see you've all met Cassia."

"We've been getting acquainted," Isla said sweetly. "She's... refreshing."

Killian's eyes were still on me. "She's perfect."

"She's not wearing the dress you sent," Mira observed quietly.

Silence.

Killian's fingers drummed once against the table. "No," he said slowly. "She's not."

Everyone was watching now, waiting to see how this played out. I could feel the tension, thick enough to cut.

I met his gaze steadily. "Red's not my color."

"Everything's your color," he said. "Stand up."

"Excuse me?"

"Stand. Up." Not a request.

I considered refusing. Considered making a scene on my first night. But something in his expression told me that's exactly what he wanted. A reason to punish me in front of the others, establish dominance, show them all who was in control.

So I stood slowly, kept my chin up, my expression bored.

Killian rose too, walked around the table until he was standing in front of me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne again, feel the heat radiating off him.

"Turn around."

I did, slowly, letting him look. Let them all look.

"You're right," he finally said. "Red isn't your color. Black is better. It matches that fire in your eyes." His hand came up, fingers trailing along my shoulder, down my arm. Possessive. "But next time I send you something to wear, you'll wear it. Understood?"

"Or what?" The words were out before I could stop them.

His fingers tightened slightly on my arm. Not painful, but firm. A warning.

Then he leaned in close, his lips nearly brushing my ear. "Or I'll dress you myself. And I promise you won't enjoy it."

He released me and returned to his seat like nothing had happened.

"Sit," he said. "Eat. I want to look at you while I do."

I sat.

Staff appeared from nowhere, placing plates in front of us with practiced efficiency. Something fancy with sauce drizzled artistically across the plate. It probably had a French name I couldn't pronounce.

I picked up my fork and ate because I was starving, not because I cared about the food.

Killian watched me the entire time.

"So," he said casually, cutting into his meal. "How do you find your room, Cassia?"

"Big," I said. "Wasteful. The roses are overkill."

Nessa choked on her wine. Again.

"Overkill," Killian repeated, like he was tasting the word. "Most women appreciate romantic gestures."

"I'm not most women."

"No," he agreed, and something dark and pleased flickered in his eyes. "You're certainly not."

Isla cleared her throat delicately. "Killian, darling, I was hoping we could discuss the charity gala next month. I'll need a new dress, and..."

"Not now, Isla."

Her smile didn't falter, but I saw her grip tighten on her fork. Point to me, apparently.

"The gardens are beautiful this time of year," Thalia offered, trying to ease the tension. "Perhaps Cassia would enjoy a tour tomorrow?"

"Perhaps Cassia can speak for herself," I said.

Thalia blinked, her kind expression faltering slightly. "Of course. I was just..."

"Being helpful. I know." I softened my tone slightly. Not much, but enough. "Thank you. But I can manage."

"The gardens are off limits," Killian said suddenly. "For now."

I looked at him. "Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not a reason."

"It's the only reason you need."

We stared at each other across the table, and I could feel everyone else holding their breath, watching this play out like spectators at a tennis match.

"Fine," I said finally. "I wouldn't want to enjoy myself anyway."

"Careful, Cassia," Killian said softly, dangerously. "There's a difference between spirited and suicidal."

"Is there? Feels the same from where I'm sitting."

Mira made a small noise that might have been a laugh quickly disguised as a cough.

Killian set down his fork carefully, precisely. "Tell me something. Do you have a death wish, or are you just testing me?"

"Maybe both."

"Wrong answer." He stood abruptly, and everyone at the table went rigid. "Come with me. Now."

My heart kicked into overdrive, but I kept my expression neutral. "We're in the middle of dinner."

"Now, Cassia."

I stood slowly, meeting the eyes of each wife as I did. Isla looked triumphant. Nessa looked worried. Vera looked dead inside. Mira was unreadable. Thalia looked genuinely concerned.

I followed Killian out of the dining room, down a hallway, into a study I hadn't seen before. Dark wood, leather chairs, a massive desk covered in papers. He shut the door behind us with a controlled click.

Then he turned on me.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice was low, controlled, but I could hear the anger underneath.

"Eating dinner. You invited me."

"Don't play games with me."

"Why not? You've been playing games since the moment you saw me." I crossed my arms. "Or was threatening my fifteen-year-old sister just casual conversation?"

His jaw clenched. "That was business."

"That was sick."

"That was necessary." He moved closer, and I refused to back up. "You think I don't know what you're doing? Pushing boundaries, testing limits, seeing how far you can go before I break?"

"Are you going to? Break?"

"No. But you might."

He was close enough now that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that I could see the gold flecks in his dark irises, the slight stubble on his jaw, the tension in his shoulders.

"Let me make something very clear," he said quietly. "Out there, with them, you can have your little rebellions. Wear what you want. Say what you want. Give Isla a run for her money. But in here, alone with me, you will show respect."

"Respect is earned."

"Respect is given when someone holds your sister's life in their hands."

The reminder was like ice water.

"You see?" His hand came up, fingers catching my chin like they had in my living room a lifetime ago. "There she is. The scared little girl underneath all that bravado."

I jerked away from his touch. "I'm not scared of you."

"You should be."

"Why? You going to hurt me? Lock me up? I'm already locked up, Killian. I signed your contract. I'm here. What more do you want?"

"Everything." The word came out raw, honest, and it startled both of us. "I want everything, Cassia. Your obedience. Your body. Your thoughts. Your fire. All of it."

"You can't have my fire and my obedience. They don't coexist."

"They will." He stepped back, ran a hand through his hair, and for just a second he looked almost uncertain. Almost human. "You're not like them. The others. They broke too easily or fought too stupidly. But you..." He laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "You're going to drive me insane, aren't you?"

"That's the plan."

"I should send you back. Right now. Give your father his debt and be done with it."

My heart stopped. "Then do it."

We both knew he wouldn't.

"Go back to dinner," he said finally. "Try not to start a war on your first night."

"No promises."

I turned to leave, got my hand on the doorknob when his voice stopped me.

"Cassia."

I looked back.

"The gardens really are off limits. Stay away from them." Something in his expression shifted. "Please."

Please. The word sounded foreign in his mouth.

"Why?"

"Because I'm asking."

It wasn't an answer, but it was more than I'd gotten so far. I nodded once and left, my mind already turning over this new information.

The gardens were important. Forbidden. 

Which meant I absolutely had to find out why.

When I returned to the dining room, all five wives stopped their conversation mid-sentence.

"Well," Isla said, examining her nails. "You survived."

"Disappointed?" I asked, sliding back into my seat.

"Intrigued."

Dessert had been served in my absence. Something chocolate and elaborate. I picked up my spoon.

"He's never brought someone into his study before," Mira said quietly. "Not on the first night."

"Is that good or bad?" I asked.

"Depends on what happened in there," Nessa said, leaning forward with interest. "Did he yell? Threaten? Try to seduce you?"

"All of the above."

Vera laughed, actually laughed, a sound so unexpected that everyone turned to look at her. "Oh, you're going to be fun to watch. One month. I give you one month before you either run or break."

"I'll take that bet," Nessa said immediately. "I say three months minimum. Girl's got spine."

"Two months," Mira offered. "And she'll try to run."

"I say she lasts," Thalia said softly. "I think she's stronger than you're all giving her credit for."

"I say," Isla cut in, her voice sharp as a blade, "that it doesn't matter. Because at the end of the day, we're all the same here. We're all his. And no amount of rebellion changes that fact."

The table fell silent.

I set down my spoon carefully. "You know what the difference between you and me is, Isla?"

"Do tell."

"You're trying to survive here. I'm trying to win."

Her eyes flashed. "Win what, exactly?"

"Everything."

I stood, pushing back my chair. "Thank you for dinner. It was illuminating."

I walked out before anyone could respond, before Killian could return, before I had to see the looks on their faces.

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.

Back in my room, I locked the door and leaned against it, finally letting myself shake.

What the hell had I just done?

Declared war on five women who knew how to survive here. Challenged a man who could destroy me and my sister with a phone call. Promised things I had no idea how to deliver.

I was either brilliant or completely insane.

Maybe both.

I walked to the window, looked out at the gardens below. The moon was rising, casting silver light across the paths and hedges.

And there, moving between the trees like a ghost, was that figure again.

Young. Male. Moving with purpose toward something I couldn't see.

Who was he? Staff? Security?

Or something else?

I pressed my hand against the glass and made another promise to myself.

I would find out.

I would figure out why the gardens were forbidden.

I would learn every secret this mansion held.

And I would use them all to get what I wanted.

Freedom. For me and for Lila.

No matter what it cost.

I couldn't sleep.

The bed was too soft, the room too quiet, my mind too loud. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Killian's face, heard his voice promising he wanted everything, felt his fingers on my chin.

At two in the morning, I gave up.

I pulled on the cotton robe I'd found in the bathroom and stepped into the hallway. The mansion was different at night. Shadows stretched longer, sounds echoed differently. Somewhere in the distance I could hear water running, the creak of old wood settling.

I told myself I was just exploring. Learning the layout of my prison. Definitely not looking for the gardens or that mysterious figure I'd seen.

Definitely not.

The hallways twisted and turned, each one looking exactly like the last. I passed closed doors, wondering which ones belonged to the other wives, which one was Killian's. Oil paintings watched me from the walls, dead eyes following my movement.

I was about to turn back when I heard it.

A sound. Soft, muffled. Coming from behind a door slightly ajar at the end of the hall.

I should have kept walking. Should have gone back to my room and pretended I heard nothing.

Instead, I moved closer.

The sound came again. A gasp. Feminine. Followed by a low male voice, words I couldn't make out but the tone was unmistakable.

My pulse quickened.

I knew I shouldn't look. Knew it was an invasion of privacy, that I'd be mortified if someone did this to me.

I looked anyway.

The door was open just enough. The room beyond was dimly lit, maybe a single lamp, casting everything in amber shadows. And there, pressed against the wall, was Vera.

But she wasn't alone.

A man had her pinned there, one hand tangled in her pale hair, the other gripping her thigh as he hitched her leg around his waist. He was young, younger than Killian by at least a decade, with dark hair and broad shoulders. He wore what looked like staff clothing, the plain uniform of house workers.

Vera's head was thrown back, her eyes closed, mouth open in silent pleasure as he kissed down her throat, his hips moving against hers in a rhythm that made my face burn.

"Please," she whispered, and there was something desperate in it. Something broken and hungry and alive. "Please, Marcus, I need..."

"I know what you need." His voice was rough, accent I couldn't place. He pulled back slightly, looked at her face with something that might have been tenderness. "I've got you, V. I've got you."

Then he kissed her, hard and deep, and she made a sound that was half sob, half moan.

I should have left. Should have given them their privacy.

But I couldn't move.

Because Vera, who'd looked dead inside at dinner, who'd seemed hollowed out and empty, was alive right now. Her hands clawed at his back, her body arching into his, desperate and real and feeling.

This was how she survived. This was her rebellion.

Marcus's hand slid up under her nightgown, and Vera gasped, breaking the kiss.

"Not here," she breathed. "If he finds out..."

"Let him." Marcus's jaw clenched. "I'm tired of sneaking around. Tired of watching him parade you and the others around like possessions."

"Marcus..."

"Leave with me. Tonight. We'll disappear. I've got money saved, we can..."

"Stop." Vera's voice cracked. "You know I can't."

"Because you're scared of him."

"Because he'll find us. He always finds them." She touched his face, and the tenderness in the gesture made my chest ache. "And then he'll kill you, and I'll have to watch, and I can't. I can't lose you too."

Too. Who else had she lost?

Marcus pressed his forehead against hers, breathing hard. "This isn't living, V."

"No," she agreed. "But it's surviving. And sometimes that's enough."

He kissed her again, softer this time, sadder, and I finally found the strength to step back.

I'd seen enough. Understood enough.

I turned to leave as quietly as I'd come...

And walked straight into a solid chest.

Strong hands caught my arms before I could fall, steadying me, and I looked up into unfamiliar eyes.

The figure from the gardens.

He was young, maybe twenty-five, with messy dark blonde hair and sharp features. His clothes were casual, worn jeans and a t-shirt, completely different from the formal staff uniforms. And his eyes, grey-blue in the dim light, were staring at me with a mixture of surprise and something else.

"You're the new one," he said quietly. Not a question.

I pulled away from his grip, my heart racing for entirely different reasons now. "Who are you?"

"Someone who shouldn't be here." His eyes flicked to the door behind me, where Vera and Marcus were still wrapped up in each other. "Same as them. Same as you, apparently."

"I was just..."

"Spying?" A hint of amusement colored his voice. "It's okay. Everyone does it eventually. This place turns you into a voyeur whether you want to be or not."

"I wasn't spying. I heard noises and..." I stopped. Why was I explaining myself to a stranger? "Who are you?"

"Dash." He held out his hand like we were at a cocktail party instead of standing in a dark hallway at two in the morning. "Groundskeeper. Sort of."

Dash. The name fit him. Quick. Easy. Dangerous in its simplicity.

I didn't take his hand. "Sort of?"

"It's complicated." He dropped his hand, studying my face with an intensity that made me want to squirm. "You're Cassia. Number six."

"Don't call me that."

"What? Your name?"

"Number six."

"Fair enough." He leaned against the wall, casual, like we had all the time in the world. "How was your first dinner? Did Isla try to poison you yet?"

"Not yet. Give her time."

He smiled, and it transformed his face completely. Made him look younger. Warmer. "I like you already."

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Because it's true. You're different."

"Different how?"

"You're not crying. You're not cowering. You're walking around the mansion at two AM like you own the place." His eyes held mine. "That's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."

"Maybe both."

"Definitely both." His smile faded slightly. "The gardens. You were looking at them earlier, from your window."

It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway.

"Stay away from them," he said, and there was something serious in his voice now. Something almost urgent. "Especially at night. Killian wasn't lying when he said they were off limits."

"Why?"

"Because..." He stopped, glanced down the hallway like he'd heard something. "I have to go. But Cassia?"

"What?"

"Be careful who you trust here. Everyone has an agenda. Even the ones who seem kind." He pushed off the wall, started to walk away. "Especially the ones who seem kind."

"Wait..."

But he was already gone, disappearing around a corner like he'd never been there at all.

I stood alone in the hallway, my mind spinning.

Dash. Groundskeeper. Sort of. Who warned me about trust while appearing out of nowhere like a ghost.

Behind me, Vera gasped again, Marcus murmuring something low and desperate.

Everyone had secrets here. Everyone was surviving in their own way.

And I'd just witnessed one of those ways, met someone who shouldn't exist, and been warned about trusting the very people I needed to navigate.

Perfect.

I made my way back to my room, locked the door, and stared at the ceiling until dawn.

When sleep finally came, I dreamed of grey-blue eyes and forbidden gardens and the sound of Vera crying out someone else's name.