Chapter 13

• Bellamie fought back hard, thrashing in their grip.
• She’d already taken two, maybe three slaps to the face, but she didn’t stop. Her body refused to go limp. She could hear them cursing at her, their voices filled with venom. One grabbed her hair, yanking it back cruelly. The black uniforms they wore bore a logo on the chest—Vore Club. A mark of the world she’d tried so desperately to escape.
• “You really thought you could run, huh?” one of them spat in her face. “Stupid bitch!”
• She didn’t care. Not if they beat her. Not if they dragged her through hell. She let the rage rise and spat directly in his face, hitting him square in the eye.
• That only made him explode. His hand cracked across her cheek again—harder this time.
• SMACK!
• It echoed like a gunshot.
• Her head snapped to the side, fresh pain blooming where the same hand had struck earlier.
• She bit down on her lower lip until she tasted blood. Her head throbbed, her thoughts swimming in a storm of pain and fury. She had screamed before—cried for help on the public street. But no one came.
• Of course they didn’t.
• The moment they saw who had grabbed her—men with stamped uniforms and the distinctive mark burned into the backs of their hands—they all turned away. Everyone in North Metro knew better than to interfere with those connected to the underworld.
• “Don’t bruise her too badly. The boss will be pissed,” said the other man coolly, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.
• They were in a black sedan now, speeding toward one place: Voil Mansion.
• The home of Alexander Millian. The ruler of North Metro’s darkest corners. He owned nearly every hotel and club in the region—his name whispered like a curse in the streets. No one dared cross him.
• Because those who did… didn’t last long.
• They said he was undefeated in every fight he’d ever faced.
• Bellamie had no idea how long the ride lasted. Her mind drifted in and out. But eventually, the car pulled to a stop, and the man who’d hit her dragged her out again. She said nothing. She didn’t scream this time. She didn’t cry. Her eyes were sharp as knives, icy cold as she stared at each person who dared meet her gaze inside the lavish mansion.
• “Get her cleaned up. I want her looking presentable,” barked the man who’d been in the front seat.
• The one who’d slapped her shoved her forward. She stumbled and collapsed at the feet of a female servant.
• “Yes, sir,” the servant murmured quickly.
• “And make sure this damn woman doesn’t try anything again. If she escapes, you die.”
• Bellamie lifted her head just in time to see the terrified gulp the servant swallowed down.
• The woman helped her up and hurried her away, several guards falling into step behind them.
• Bellamie’s eyes darted across the interior of the mansion. It was massive. Gilded. Sickeningly beautiful. She felt like she was walking into a palace and a prison at once.
• “Miss, please,” the servant whispered as they reached a wide, ornate bedroom. “Just cooperate. Don’t make a scene. If you do, the hounds will be released. They don’t take prisoners.”
• Bellamie ignored the threat. Her voice low and steady, she asked, “Where is this place?”
• The servant hesitated for a moment, then quietly replied, “Voil Mansion. Owned by Mr. Alexander Millian.”
• Bellamie’s eyes flew wide open. Her heart thundered in her chest, cold sweat breaking out across her skin. Her entire body began to tremble.
• “Prepare lunch, Maria. Make sure this woman doesn’t faint before she meets Mr. Alex,” the servant ordered sharply.
• Bellamie barely registered what was happening. Her mind was too overwhelmed by the looming name of Alexander Millian. She hadn’t even noticed that her clothes had already been stripped off.
• That name alone sent a chill racing down her spine.
• He was the master of Vore Club—and the man who ruled over all North Metro. Countless women had fought to be near him, believing proximity would mean protection. But even those chosen barely lasted a day. After that, they vanished. No farewells. No trace. As if sentenced to death, yet no one ever dared speak of it. Not even the Dancers.
• Bellamie had overheard the rumors. Whispers shared in corners when she paused during her exhausting rounds, delivering drinks to the VIP floors. But she’d never paid much attention to them. Her mind had always been focused on one thing: escape.
• She’d calculated every move, every detail. But still, she never found an opening.
• “You planning to soak all day, miss?”
• The sudden voice jolted her. She sat upright, startled, realizing she’d nearly slipped beneath the layer of bubbles. Her hair was soaked now—someone must have washed it while she was lost in her thoughts.
• “Get dressed,” the servant warned. “Unless you want trouble.”