Chapter 3

Suzan POV

Five years ago

The stench smell of alcohol filled the air before I even heard the door slam. It was thick, suffocating, clinging to the walls like a second skin. My fingers clenched around the frayed dish towel, my knuckles white. My pulse quickened.

He was home.

A loud crash echoed from the living room, followed by the unmistakable shattering of glass. I flinched but didn't turn around. I already knew what I'd see. My father, James Royce, in one of his drunken fits—wild-eyed, fists clenched, looking for something, someone, to break.

"Amelia!" His slurred voice bellowed through the small apartment, vibrating against the thin walls. "Where the hell are you, you stupid woman!"

I squeezed my eyes shut. Not me. Please, not me tonight.

A shuffling sound came from the hallway, and then my mother's soft, trembling voice. "James, please… not again, not tonight."

"Not tonight?" His laugh was sharp, bitter, slicing through the air like a knife. "Then when? When I'm rotting in my grave?"

The clink of empty bottles, the scrape of a chair dragging across the floor—I knew that sound. He was pacing. Hunting. Looking for who to pound on.

I focused on the dishes, scrubbing harder. Maybe if I stayed quiet, if I didn't move, I'd become invisible. Maybe he'd forget I existed, just for tonight.

But James was never one to ignore his favorite punching bag.

Heavy footsteps thundered toward the kitchen, and before I could react, a rough hand yanked me backward. My stomach twisted, my breath stalling in my throat. The plate in my hand slipped, crashing onto the floor, shards flying in every direction.

I didn't have time to move. His grip on my arm tightened like a vice, the pressure enough to bruise. I bit back a cry.

"You." His voice was thick with liquor, his breath hot and foul against my face. "You useless, ungrateful brat. You're just as useless as your mother."

I refused to look at him. Looking only made it worse.

His fingers dug deeper into my wrist. "I work my ass off, and what do I get in return? Where's my damn money?"

I swallowed hard, my voice measured. "I already paid off part of the debt last week. I don't have anything left. I have no money with me."

"Liar!"

His free hand swung before I could move. The slap sent me reeling, my cheek burning from the impact. My head snapped to the side, a metallic tang flooding my mouth. I tasted blood.

"James, stop it!" My mother, Amelia, rushed forward, desperation in her voice. She grabbed his arm, but he shoved her aside like she was nothing.

"You always defend her," he spat. "Like she's some saint. Meanwhile, I'm drowning in debt."

Amelia hit the floor with a gasp, but she didn't cry out. She never did.

A storm raged inside me—anger, helplessness, grief—but I buried it deep. I'd learned long ago that fighting back only made things worse.

"Please, James," Amelia whispered. "Let's just go to bed. You're drunk."

James sneered, staggering. "This little whore thinks she's better than us. Thinks she can run off and escape her family."

I clenched my fists, biting my tongue until I tasted more blood.

A sudden, heavy pounding on the door made my stomach drop.

James stiffened. His drunken bravado cracked for the first time.

The door creaked open.

A group of rough-looking men stepped inside. Their expressions were cold, calculated—predators in human skin.

"Royce." One of them sneered. "Time's up."

A sickening dread settled in my gut.

Another set of debt collectors. It wasn't the first time something like this happened. It became a normal occurrence.

James swayed. "Come on, boys, just a little more time—"

"We gave you time." The man's gaze flickered to me, then Amelia, and something dark gleamed in his eyes. "But I think we'll take a different payment this time."

Ice flooded my veins.

James paled. "Don't you dare—"

But the man had already stepped toward me.

"No." The word left my lips in a whisper.

"Stay away from her!" Amelia's voice was shrill, frantic.

James lunged forward, but he was too drunk, too weak. The man shoved him aside effortlessly, sending him sprawling against the table.

I tried to step back, but a hand shot out, gripping my wrist.

"Let go of me!" I thrashed against his hold, panic surging through me.

The man smirked. "She's young and very pretty. I'm sure she'll fetch a good price—"

I didn't think. I acted.

With all the strength I had, I stomped on his foot and twisted my arm free. He let out a curse, but I was already running.

"Suzan!" Amelia screamed.

I didn't stop.

I tore through the front door, sprinting into the night, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My soaked clothes clung to me as the rain pelted down, but I barely felt it. All I knew was that I had to get away. Far away.

My legs burned. My vision blurred. The world around me was a mess of flickering streetlights and neon signs.

And then—

Blinding headlights.

A deafening screech.

A sharp impact.

Pain.

Then—darkness.

Hours later, my eyes slowly opened and the first thing I felt was warmth. Soft sheets. The faint scent of expensive cologne.

I wasn't in my house.

Panic gripped me as my eyes fluttered open.

The room was nothing like the dingy apartment I had escaped from. A massive bed. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A chandelier that cast a golden glow over everything.

A penthouse.

Movement caught my attention.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stood by the window, his back to me. The crisp white dress shirt he wore was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled, like he had run his hands through it too many times.

His posture was relaxed, but there was an unmistakable air of dominance about him.

As if sensing my stare, he turned.

Dark, piercing eyes locked onto mine.

A smirk curled his lips.

"Good. You're awake."

My breath hitched.

"Who… are you?" My voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

He took a slow step closer, his gaze unreadable.

"Anthony Carter," he said smoothly.

My stomach dropped. The name was unfamiliar but dangerous.

My fingers curled into the silk sheets, a new kind of fear settling in.

His smirk deepened as if he could sense my unease.

"And you, darling," he continued, "just crashed into my car."

I stared at him, my pulse hammering.

I had escaped one nightmare…

Only to fall into another.

A low, amused chuckle rumbled from Anthony's chest.

"You should rest," he said, stepping closer. "We have much to discuss."

My heart pounded as I backed against the headboard, my mind spinning.

What did he mean?

Before I could ask, the bedroom door opened.

A man in a sleek black suit entered, his face expressionless.

"She's awake," Anthony murmured, not taking his eyes off me.

The man nodded, then turned to me.

"Welcome to your new life, Miss Royce."

A chill shot down my spine.

New life?

What did he mean by that?

No.

No, no, no.

And then the thought occurred to me, I wasn't free.

I had just traded one prison for another.

And I had no idea what kind of monster I had just fallen into the hands of.