Chapter 13 – A Sister's Shadow

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Camila's POV

No tests.

No cruel games.

No dance tonight.

Just a quiet walk.

Lucien hadn't said a word when he appeared at her door. He simply looked at her, and she knew to follow.

Now they moved through the garden, the moonlight casting silver webs across the ground. The air was cool. The silence colder.

He walked ahead of her, not once checking if she was keeping up. Of course she was.

But the quiet—it clawed at her.

She hadn't planned to ask. Not tonight. Not like this. But something in her, sharp and buried, pushed its way forward.

"I have a request," she said finally, voice steady but soft.

He didn't turn. "You," he said, amused, still walking, "are not in a position to request anything."

She ignored the warning in his tone. "Can you look into someone for me?"

Lucien paused. Just for a second. Then kept walking.

"My cousin," she lied. "I just want to know if she's okay. I'm not asking for her to be brought here. I just—" Her breath hitched, but she kept going. "I want to know if those people took her too."

The garden's stillness seemed to thicken around them. She could hear his steps slow.

"I believe you have eyes everywhere," she added quietly.

He stopped.

When he turned to face her, there was no emotion in his eyes. Just a mirror of power.

"You are not in a position to ask for favors," he said coldly.

Camila didn't look away.

But then he tilted his head, studying her like she was something new. "Let's just say…" he murmured, "I'm feeling generous tonight."

Her heart skipped.

"But it comes with a price."

"What do you want?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Lucien stepped closer, the shadows bending around him.

"Your loyalty."

They reached the palour doors just as he finished speaking. The heat of the fire inside washed over them, but it didn't melt the ice between them.

Lucien glanced to the side. "Steve," he said flatly.

A tall man stepped forward from the shadows, someone Camila hadn't even noticed was there.

"Look into it," Lucien ordered. "Discreetly."

Steve nodded once and disappeared down the hall.

Lucien didn't say another word.

He left her there, standing in the soft glow of the fireplace.

The warmth meant nothing.

Camila stared at the flames, her hands clenched at her sides.

She wasn't going to cry.

Not now.

Not ever.

She turned away from the fire and walked back to her room in silence—one truth burning in her chest:

If she wanted answers, she would have to pay for them with pieces of herself.

And tonight, she had just given him one.

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Chapter 10 – Break Point

Lucien's POV

The hour was too early for most. But Lucien was not most.

Rain streaked the tall windows of his study, each drop a whisper against the glass. The fire crackled in the hearth behind him, casting gold and amber shadows across the room. It was warm here—still, grounded. A world away from what was to come.

He sat at his desk, gloved fingers tapping against the dark oak as he watched the storm outside, unreadable.

The door opened.

Heavy, fast footsteps echoed across the floor. A man—soaked from the rain, mud on his boots, breath shallow—stepped in without waiting to be called.

Lucien didn't look at him. He simply held out his hand.

A folder was placed there.

The door shut.

Silence returned, except for the fire's low murmur and the rain's steady song.

Lucien opened the file.

A single glance. Then another.

Lines of text. Locations. Surveillance notes. Background verification.

Then—

A photograph.

The girl couldn't be more than sixteen. Maybe seventeen. A worn-out coat too big for her frame. The wall behind her cracked and grey. The air around her was one of survival, not safety.

She was seated by a broken window. But her eyes… they held a storm.

Just like Camila's.

He stared at the photo longer than necessary.

Alive.

Unharmed.

Untouched.

His jaw tightened—not in anger, but in something dangerously close to relief.

He exhaled, then leaned back.

Lucien had already handled the men who dared go behind his back. Those who dared sell Camila, convincing him her uncle's debt remained. Greedy rats. Traitors.

They'd learned what betrayal cost.

But now this—this changed things.

He looked at the girl again. Her resemblance to Camila was undeniable. Same bone structure. Same fire.

She wasn't a cousin.

She was the sister.

Now he understood why Camila had lied.

Why she asked in whispers and swallowed her pride.

Because this… this was the one piece of her not yet chained by this world.

Lucien rose, the file still in his hand. He walked toward the window as if drawn by thought, though he saw nothing through the rain-smeared glass.

The flames behind him hissed and popped. But in his mind, things clicked into place.

Camila didn't need gentleness. That's where others got it wrong.

She didn't respond to softness.

She responded to resistance.

To pressure.

To force.

She needed the kind of control that didn't ask.

The kind that took.

And now…

Now he knew exactly what thread to pull.

He let the file fall shut in his hand, eyes dark and certain.

"Now I know how to break her."

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Chapter 10 – The Second Rule: Loyalty

POV: Camila

She heard the girl's scream before the door even opened.

It was sharp. Young. Raw with fear. The kind of scream you couldn't fake, no matter how good an actress you were.

Camila stood in the center of the hallway, still damp from her shower, hair braided back, muscles tense beneath borrowed black clothes. Two guards flanked her, silent as statues.

The door ahead clicked open.

Lucien waited inside.

She stepped in without hesitation.

The room was stark—metal walls, one chair, one girl, wrists bound to it. Her eyes were wide, wild, a swollen lip blooming purple. She couldn't have been older than seventeen.

"Sit," Lucien said.

Camila obeyed.

He didn't look at her. Not at first. He lit a cigarette, leaned against the far wall, eyes on the girl like she was a puzzle he was solving slowly.

"This one was caught stealing," he said flatly. "From me."

Camila said nothing.

"She's new. Weak. Scared. She ran a message to the wrong man. Nearly cost us a deal."

The girl whimpered.

Lucien's gaze finally slid to Camila. Cold. Calculating.

"Your task," he said, "is to deliver the punishment."

Camila's stomach didn't twist. She'd trained herself not to flinch, not to show hesitation. But inside, something went tight. The girl's eyes met hers—pleading, terrified.

"She didn't know," Camila said evenly.

Lucien raised a brow.

"She's not like the others. She doesn't belong here."

"That's not your call," he replied, tone like ice on skin. "You asked to stay. To earn your place. This is how you earn it."

He tossed a switchblade on the table.

"Arm. Not fatal. Make it hurt."

The girl shrank back, trying to disappear into the chair.

Camila reached for the blade.

But her mind was already working. Not to escape the task—she knew better. He was watching everything: her eyes, her breath, the tilt of her hand. Looking for weakness. Disobedience.

"She's just a girl," Camila thought. Like mine would be, if she were still out there.

She rose slowly, blade in hand, stepping closer to the girl.

"I'm sorry," she whispered under her breath.

Then she cut.

Quick. Clean. Shallow.

Enough to draw blood. Enough to make the girl scream again. But not enough to cause real damage.

She pressed a cloth to the wound, wrapping it tight.

Lucien didn't stop her.

He didn't move.

When it was done, Camila stepped back. Blade returned to the table. Her hands were steady. Her face unreadable.

Lucien exhaled a thin stream of smoke.

"You didn't follow my instructions," he said.

"I didn't disobey them either."

Silence.

Then—something dangerous curled at the edge of his mouth.

"Clever."

He stepped forward, lifted the girl's chin with the tip of his finger. She flinched.

"You'll remember this," he said softly to the girl. "And you'll thank her for going easy."

He turned back to Camila.

"Loyalty," he said, "isn't blind obedience. Not always."

Camila met his gaze.

"But disobedience," he added, voice colder now, "is always remembered—and never forgiven lightly."

He stepped aside.

"You're dismissed."

She walked out without a word.

The door clicked shut behind her, muffling the girl's sobs. Camila leaned briefly against the hallway wall, heart finally catching up to her body.

She hadn't failed.

But she hadn't won either.

Later that night, a knock sounded on her door.

She opened it to find no one—just a single envelope on the ground.

No seal.

No name.

She unfolded the paper inside with slow fingers.

Only five words were written:

She's still alive for now

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