SYLVAINE SINCLAIR

Serena.

I kneel before Tristan Sinclair, my fists clenched at my sides, fighting every urge to spit at his feet. His golden eyes glow under the moonlight streaming through the high windows.

"You will show me your utmost submission at all times," he repeats, his voice as cold as the winter winds that once howled through my pack’s mountains.

I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing my head down. I know better than to provoke him, but the silence stretches too long, and I see the flicker of amusement in his gaze, like a challenge.

Before I can break and say something reckless, the doors to his chambers burst open.

"Tristan!" A feminine voice rings through the room. A young woman, no older than me, storms in with wild dark hair bouncing over her shoulders. Then, she stops dead in her tracks, her eyes shifting between me kneeling on the floor and Tristan towering over me.

A smirk tugs at her lips. "So, it's slaves now, huh big brother?" She crosses her arms, tapping a finger against her elbow. "This is new. Should I tell Mother?"

Tristan exhales sharply. "Get out, Sylvaine."

"Not before I meet your new pet," she says, stepping forward and squatting beside me.

“Sylvaine Sinclair, Tristan’s younger sister” she says stretching her hands to me for a handshake. Unlike him, her features are softer, her sharp grey eyes filled with mischief rather than cruelty.

I tense when she reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Hmm, Pretty. What’s your name, darling?"

Tristan runs a hand over his face. "Her name is Serena and she’s not a pet, she’s a slave."

Sylvaine rolls her eyes. "God, you’re unbearable. Give the girl a break." Then, she leans in and whispers, "You'll get used to him. Or maybe he'll get used to you."

I stiffen as she stands, sending me a playful wink.

"Now, brother dearest, Mother wants you at the council meeting," she announces, flipping her curls over her shoulder. "And Serena, was it? follow me."

Before I can reply, she is gone. Tristan lets out an exhausted sigh before turning his glare back to me. "Get up. You can follow her.”

The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the manor grounds as I finish arranging the books in the library with Sylvaine Sinclair. My body is still sore from the punishment earlier, but I keep my expression neutral.

“Serena,” a soft voice calls from the doorway.

I turn to see Sylvaine, dressed in a flowing lavender gown, her blonde curls cascading down her shoulders and unlike a particular Sinclair, she doesn’t look at me with disdain. Instead, she offers a small smile.

“Come with me,” she says, motioning for me to follow.

I hesitate. “Where to?” I love that I get to work freely without anyone looking for a misstep. I just wish I was assigned to serve her and not her evil brother.

Sylvaine rolls her eyes playfully. “Don’t question it. Just follow.”

With no choice, I trail behind her through the winding corridors, past the servants who lower their heads in her presence. Eventually, we stop in front of a grand set of double doors. She pushes them open, revealing a lavish bedroom filled with dresses, jewelry, and a vanity cluttered with perfumes.

“I need help picking a dress,” she says, walking toward her wardrobe. “For the upcoming gathering.”

I blink at her. “You have maids for that.”

She sighs dramatically. “Yes, but they all just agree with whatever I pick. I need honest opinions.”

She starts pulling out dresses, holding each up against her frame. I stand awkwardly, unsure why she’s asking me of all people. But when she tosses a wine red gown my way, I instinctively catch it.

“Well?” she asks, spinning in a deep blue dress. “What do you think?”

I hesitate before answering, my voice careful. “The blue suits you.”

She studies her reflection, then nods approvingly. “Good. I thought so too.”

For the next few minutes, I help her sort through fabrics and jewelry, and for the first time in weeks, I feel almost normal. Like I’m not a slave.

As she fastens a pearl necklace, her expression softens. “You know, I don’t really have anyone to talk to.”

I pause. “What?”

“My brothers are too busy tearing each other apart over the throne,” she says, staring at herself in the mirror. “My mother barely speaks anymore as she’s still grieving.” Her voice falters. “It’s lonely.”

I don’t know what to say. What can I say? I know loneliness too well, but ours isn’t the same.

Still, when she turns to me with a small, genuine smile, I find myself nodding.

“I guess we both could use some company,” I admit quietly.

Sylvaine’s eyes brighten, and for the first time, I wonder if maybe, just maybe, I’ve found an unexpected friend in this cursed place.

That night, I bring Tristan’s evening meal to his chamber. The doors are cracked open, and as I step in, my eyes land on a table covered with maps and documents.

I frown. The map contains markings on places I recognize, the same places the Nythera Pack attacked.

My heart pounds as I step closer to see a report on the attack that destroyed my home. I gasp, so Tristan Sinclair knew. He knows everything.

A single page sticks out, stamped with the royal crest. I need to see it.

I barely breathe as I shuffle through the papers on Tristan’s desk, my fingers shaking. I need something, anything, that can tell me who orchestrated the attack on my pack.

I need to know the targets of my revenge. My hands tighten around a parchment with rough markings, what looks like a battle map. The scent of ink and leather fills my nose as I scan the details, my heart pounding.

Then I hear footsteps which makes me freeze.

Shit. Tristan is supposed to be away from the manor.

I turn slowly, expecting to see Tristan’s cruel smirk, his cold eyes staring straight into mine before he throws me into the dungeons, or worse, orders my death.

There he is, tall and imposing. His silver eyes always seem to want to slice through me. I swallow hard, already bracing for the worst.

“What are you doing?” His voice is smooth.