Erik pleaded, "We grew up together. He's my only friend here. I can't watch him die. Why not adopt him instead?"

My parents softened. Ambrose said, "Erik, you're truly our child. Kindness runs in your blood."

Casting a scornful glance at me, he continued, "For Erik's sake, I'll spare you this time."

He waved a hand, and the bodyguards hauled my battered body upright. "We need a guard dog at home. Take him."

Panic surged through me. I'd fought to escape this hell. There was no way I'd return to it.

"No, I'm not going with you!" I screamed. "Kill me!"

But my protests were futile. A fist knocked me unconscious, and they stuffed me into the trunk.

...

I woke up in a damp, shadowy basement. The iron door was locked, the lone window boarded shut.

Erik's compassion was a shame, and my fears were confirmed when he ordered me to climb a ladder to fetch an antique vase from a high shelf.

As I stretched for it, he shook the ladder violently. I crashed down, the vase shattering. The shards sliced into my thigh, and blood instantly soaked my pants.

Erik dodged but got a shallow scratch on his hand.

My parents rushed in, frantic over his minor wound, summoning a doctor to bandage it. My leg bled unchecked, but Flavia didn't care.

She slapped me hard. "Useless! We brought you here to serve Erik, and you can't even do that? If he scars, I'll have your arm removed!"

I lay in a pool of blood, ignored, and was dragged back to the basement.

Catherine, hearing of the incident, hurried over. To cheer up Erik, she arranged a spectacular drone light show, three thousand drones painting his face across the night sky.

From the basement window, I watched her gentle smile. Once it had been for me, now for him. She'd forgotten I was her true fiancé.

They held a grand reunion banquet for Erik. As the center of attention, he ascended the stage, flanked by my parents. As a "family member", I was brought along, but leashed like a dog at the entrance, polishing guests' shoes per Erik's orders.

I had been starved for three days, hunger leaving me dizzy. Disobey, and I'd starve longer.

Hours of kneeling ground my knees raw, blood seeping through my thin pants. The pain was excruciating, and I fainted repeatedly, only to be whipped awake by Erik's men.

Midway, my parents and Erik emerged to see off some guests.

Ambrose frowned at the sight of the bloody welts on my back, and I hoped for a flicker of concern.

Instead, he snapped, "Didn't I say to keep him out of sight? Why is he at the entrance? Hood him. What a disgrace!"

I gave a hollow laugh. They cared only that my Grady-like features might shame them.

Seeing me pale and on the verge of collapse, Flavia waved at a servant. "Take him away and feed him. If he dies here, people will talk."

The servants dragged me to the backyard, forced me to kneel, and tossed a rusty basin of rancid leftovers. Starved, I reached for it, pride cast aside.

"Hold it!" a servant barked, stomping on my hand. "Young Master says you're the guard dog. Eat like one on the ground."

Laughter erupted around me. I closed my eyes, swallowed my humiliation, and licked the sour, spoiled food from the basin, tears mixing with the filth as I choked it down.

With some strength restored, I crept along the wall toward the back gate, searching for an escape, but guards blocked every exit.

Passing the banquet hall, I peered through a door crack. A misstep sent me stumbling inside.

All eyes turned to me, whispers rippling through the crowd. My mind went blank for a moment before my gaze met the guest of honor's.

I instantly recognized Jordan Lynch, a towering figure in the military. As I struggled to stand under the crowd's scrutiny, his deep voice cut through. "Ambrose, is this your boy? Why is he covered in wounds?"

Ambrose faltered, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"It's just a fall, sir," I said, standing tall under Jordan's piercing stare.

His eyes traced the bruises on my neck and trembling legs, his brow furrowing. He stood up, clearing his throat. "Ambrose, this boy is resilient. Send him to me. My unit needs a service soldier, and he is suitable."

The room fell silent. Ambrose's face twisted with discomfort. "General, that's hardly appropriate."

Jordan ignored him, crouching to meet my eyes. "Kid, will you come with me?"

I glanced at his gleaming insignia, then at my parents' sour expressions. This was my only chance to break free from this cage.

"Sir, please take me." I said firmly.