Chapter One: Hostage In A Mansion

Aurelia 

In twenty years of living, I’d learned exactly what my life could and couldn’t throw at me.

But my mother remarrying was never on that list.

Her marrying my bully’s father? That felt less like fate and more like a cruel joke with teeth.

“No, Mum. You can’t do this.” My voice cracked before I could stop it. I stood there, my palms sweating, with my heart racing like it wanted to claw its way out of my chest.

“We’re fine. We’ve always been fine. If this is about me, if you think I need some kind of father figure, then stop. I don’t.”

I hated the way I sounded. Desperate and small.

But the image in my head wouldn’t leave me alone.

Chase Hunter.

Living with him, breathing the same air, sharing walls and one roof with him. The thought lodged between my ribs like a blade.

Chase wasn’t just a bad memory from college, he was my worst one. A senior who had taken one look at me and decided I was his personal stress relief. 

Every hallway, every lecture hall, every chance encounter had come with that same sharp smile, that same predatory calm, like he knew he could do whatever he wanted and get away with it.

Because he could.

Chase Hunter was rich. Untouchably rich. His father was one of the wealthiest men in the state, and money wrapped around that family like armor.

My mother’s eyes hardened, the warmth draining out of them as she crossed her arms. “Who said I’m doing this because of you?”

The words hit harder than I expected.

“I’m doing this because of us,” she continued, her tone sharp, practical and final. “We need stability. We need money. And Darlington Hunter has plenty of it.” She paused, then added, cool and unflinching, “Think about what that kind of access can do for us.”

I stared at her, my chest tight, a sinking feeling spreading through me.

My mother wasn’t choosing love, she was choosing survival.

And in the process, she was tying my life to the one person I’d spent years trying to escape.

“Just because you want to live like the Real Housewives of New York doesn’t mean you get to ruin my life, Mum! You can’t—”

The slap came out of nowhere.

One second I was talking, the next her palm cracked against my cheek with a sharp, hollow sound. I didn’t even see it coming.

My head snapped to the side. Pain bloomed hot and immediate in my cheek, and I tasted blood where my teeth sank into my tongue. 

I swallowed hard, forcing the sob back down, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break.

The room rang with silence.

Her voice was like ice. “You don’t have any say in this, Aurelia.”

I slowly turned my head back, my cheek burning, my chest tight.

“Darlington has already proposed,” she continued, each word precise and merciless. “And tomorrow, we’re moving into his mansion.”

Tomorrow. The word echoed in my skull like a death sentence.

I laughed, a short, hollow and almost hysterical sound. “Then you’ll be moving in alone.”

Her eyes flickered, just for a second.

“I’ll find another apartment,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. I ignored the sting on my skin, the ache in my chest. “I don’t care where. I’ll sleep on a couch if I have to.”

Anything was better than that house. Anything was better than living under the same roof as Chase Hunter.

My mother burst into derisive laughter.

“You won’t be finding anything,” she said.

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She walked past me, calm as ever, and opened the drawer beneath the console table. When she straightened, she was holding a thin brown envelope.

My stomach dropped.

“I paid your tuition deposit this morning,” she said lightly. “I transferred it directly from Darlington’s account.”

The air left my lungs.

“You needed my documents,” she continued. “Your originals, birth certificate, academic records, they’re all in the safe.”

I took a step back. “You can’t do that.”

She tilted her head. “I already did.”

Then she reached into the drawer again. And pulled out my father’s watch.

No. The one thing I never let out of my sight. The leather strap was worn from years of use. 

I could still remember how it felt on his wrist when he lifted me onto his shoulders. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until my lungs started to burn.

My chest tightened painfully.

“You leave,” she said calmly, curling her fingers around it, “and this stays.”

I stared at her, my heart hammering, trapped between rage and panic.

She gave me a thin smile.

“You’ll move into that house tomorrow, Aurelia,” she said. “Or you forget about your education.”

The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in on me.

I couldn’t leave without my education. And I couldn’t leave without the last thing my father ever gave me.

It hurt in a way I wasn’t prepared for, that my own mother could do this to me. She hadn’t always been like this. 

Once, she’d been warm, protective, someone I trusted without thinking twice. Now, her hunger for wealth and recognition had hollowed her out, leaving behind someone I barely recognized.

I forced myself to breathe through the tightness in my chest. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to grab my things and run before she could stop me.

Instead, I swallowed it all.

“Fine,” I said, my voice coming out quieter than I meant it to. “We’ll move in tomorrow.”

Her face lit up instantly, satisfaction smoothing away every trace of tension. She smiled like she’d just won something she’d never doubted was hers.

“Good girl,” she said.

Then her expression sharpened, the warmth vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “Don’t try anything funny.” 

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Chase is going to be your big brother, and Aurelia, if you try to cause trouble, if you try to ruin this for us, I will break you.”

The words were calm. Measured. Terrifying.

“I may be your mother,” she continued, her eyes hard and unwavering, “but don’t mistake that for weakness. I won’t hesitate to teach you a lesson if I have to. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

Not because I was afraid of her. But because I needed her to believe I was compliant.

Because sometimes, survival meant knowing when to bend and when to wait.

She turned away, her heels striking the floor as she walked off, each sharp click echoing through the house like a countdown.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Throughout the night, sleep refused to come. I tossed and turned beneath the sheets, my mind replaying every moment Chase Hunter had made my college life unbearable. 

The next day, a convoy of sleek black cars rolled up to our house.

Men in dark suits stepped out, efficient and silent, and suddenly our small, familiar space felt embarrassingly out of place.

The drive was long and quiet. My mother stared out the window like she was already rehearsing a new life, while I sat stiffly beside her, counting each mile like it was carrying me farther from safety.

When the gates of the Hunters’ villa finally opened, my breath caught.

The place looked less like a home and more like a private resort. Vast white stone stretching beneath the sun, towering glass windows, manicured lawns so perfect they didn’t look real, and fountains that glittered as the car rolled past them.

The vehicle curved along a wide driveway, crunching softly over pale gravel before coming to a smooth stop beneath an arched entrance. The doors opened immediately, as if the house itself had been waiting for us.

The escorts moved quickly, lifting our bags with practiced ease and disappearing inside. My mother followed them, already issuing instructions, already acting like she belonged.

I lingered. Curiosity or maybe dread pulled me away from the entrance. I wandered down a side corridor lined with glass until warm air and the faint scent of chlorine brushed against my skin.

The swimming pool lounge opened up before me, bright and expansive, sunlight dancing across the water’s surface. For a brief second, I let myself forget why I was here.

Then I took one step forward and I slipped, and then I collided with solid, unyielding muscle. I froze. 

A strong arm reached around my waist to steady me, and I froze.

Slowly, painfully, my gaze lifted.

Chase Hunter stood in front of me, shirtless, water trailing down his chest and clinging to his skin like it belonged there. His dark hair was damp, pushed back carelessly, droplets sliding from his jaw to his collarbone.

His eyes met mine and his expression darkened instantly. The faint curve of his mouth disappeared, replaced by a look of pure revulsion, hatredl flaring in his frosty grey eyes like a sudden storm.

“You,” he spat.

My stomach dropped. My worst nightmare had found me. And this time, there was nowhere to run.