His slave 6

Amelia stood rigid before the floor-length mirror, numb disbelief carving hollows beneath her eyes. The white satin gown she wore was like a funereal shroud, the veil a barbed veil obscuring her rapidly crumbling future.

"It's time."

Her mother's tremulous voice barely penetrated the mental fog enveloping Amelia. This was really happening so very fast. They were sacrificing her life, her freedom, at the blood-stained altar of the Rothchild family's avarice.

The Well decorated gigantic mansion of Rothchild ballroom was an opulent vision of vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers. But its beauty was tainted, perverted, as Amelia was led down the aisle in a procession of condemned souls.

Richard waited before the ostentatious archway, resplendent in his tailored tuxedo. But his eyes were those of an apex predator assessing its latest kill as Amelia approached.

On either side of the aisle, Jasmine and Bianca Richard's first cousin and sister looked on with undisguised scorn and contempt.