Chapter 1

The Beginning of The End.

"You're bleeding."

Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the chaos like a sharp blade.

"No, you're the one bleeding. Just hold on—damn it, just hold on!" His grip on her tightened, his hands pressing against her wound, but the warmth of her blood seeped through his fingers, relentless, unforgiving.

She blinked slowly, her vision hazy, her body numb. She could hear the panic in his voice—Vaughn Steele, the man known for his cold, calculating nature, was losing control.

She wanted to laugh, but she was too weak.

"You—you're crying," she murmured.

"Shut up," he snapped, but his voice cracked, betraying the storm raging inside him.

Her lips curled into a faint smile.

"I guess... I finally tamed the beast."

The world around her tilted, the edges of her vision darkening, but she fought to stay conscious. Not yet. Not when her children were watching.

She forced her gaze past him, past the lifeless body of the woman who had pulled the trigger, and found them—her babies.

Three little figures stood frozen at the entrance, their wide, terrified eyes locked on her. She wanted to reach for them, to hold them one last time, to whisper that everything would be okay, even if it was a lie.

But her strength was slipping away, dragging her into the abyss.

No.

Not yet.

And just like that, the past came rushing in, swallowing her whole.

---

Fifteen Years Ago

"Run, Sameera!"

She was twelve years old, barefoot, and running for her life.

The streets were dark, the sound of gunshots echoing in the distance. Smoke filled the air, thick and suffocating. People were screaming—some in fear, some in agony—but all she could hear was the desperate pounding of her own heart.

Her father’s grip on her wrist was iron-tight as he dragged her through the narrow alleys. She stumbled, her feet aching from the rough ground, but he didn’t slow down.

"Papa, what’s happening?" she cried, tears streaming down her face.

"Keep running," he ordered, his voice rough, urgent.

She didn’t understand. One moment, they were at home, safe in their tiny apartment, and the next, they were being hunted like animals. She had seen the men—dressed in black, faces hidden behind masks. She had seen the way they shot down her neighbors like it was nothing.

"We have to hide—"

A gunshot.

Then silence.

Her father’s hand slackened.

Sameera froze.

Slowly, she turned her head—her world tilting, breaking, shattering.

Her father stood still, his mouth slightly open, his eyes glassy.

"Run, Sam-eera," he managed to say, his voice barely a whisper.

Then, he fell.

Blood pooled beneath him, dark and endless.

"P-Papa?" Her voice cracked. She dropped to her knees, shaking him, begging him to wake up. But his chest no longer rose and fell.

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't move.

She was alone.

Or so she thought.

"Well, what do we have here?"

A voice slithered into the silence, deep and amused.

Sameera looked up, her body trembling.

A man stood before her, dressed in an expensive suit, his shoes polished to perfection. Unlike the masked killers, his face was visible, and the smirk he wore made her stomach churn.

Rueben.

He crouched to her level, his dark eyes gleaming with something she didn’t understand, something that made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

"Such a pretty little thing," he mused, reaching out to brush a tear from her cheek.

Sameera flinched.

"What’s your name, darling?"

She didn’t answer.

His smile widened.

"No need to be shy. You belong to me now."

Her heart stopped.

"That’s my daughter, Rueben!"

The voice made her stomach tighten.

Her mother stood a few feet away, dressed in all black, her silk dress untouched by the chaos around them.

There was no grief on her face. No panic. No horror at the sight of her husband’s blood soaking the pavement.

"So what?" Rueben replied casually, not even turning to face her. His fingers trailed down Sameera’s arm, slow and deliberate.

"I’m not her father, so I can—"

"No, Rueben." Leah cut him off sharply, her voice holding an edge of irritation rather than concern. "Sameera is twelve years old. Tame your pipe, would you?"

Sameera’s breath hitched.

She didn’t understand everything they were saying, but one thing was clear—her mother didn’t care.

She wasn't crying. She wasn’t screaming for her husband.

She was standing there, watching.

Rueben sighed, pulling back just slightly, but his grip on Sameera’s wrist remained firm.

"Shame," he muttered, before turning his gaze to Leah. "What do you want to do with her then?"

Sameera felt sick.

She tried to run, her instincts screaming at her, but Rueben’s grip tightened like an iron shackle.

"Don’t you dare," he said in a low, threatening voice.

Leah took a step forward, eyes locked onto Rueben’s, something unspoken passing between them. Then, she nodded.

Rueben grinned.

"Good girl," he murmured, his fingers tightening around Sameera’s wrist. "She’ll make a fine investment."

And just like that, Sameera realized the truth.

Her father’s death wasn’t an accident.

Her mother had given her away.

And her nightmare was only just beginning.