chapter 9

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Jaden let out a cold, mocking laugh. "I'm pushing it?" he echoed, amusement curling at the edge of his lips. But then his face hardened, his voice dropping to a cold, emotionless timbre.

"If you want to see those kids again," he said coldly, "there's a price. You have to please me. Only then... maybe I'll let them go."

Liya stared at him, frozen. Her chest rose and fell in disbelief. The words stung more than a slap, but the look in his eyes—dark, unwavering, and serious—left no room for negotiation. She knew that gaze too well.

Jaden had been infuriatingly stubborn since they were kids—once he set his mind on something, nothing could stop him.

This time was no different.

Her legs felt weak as the weight of his demand settled in her chest like stone. Her pride screamed in defiance, but the fear clawing at her heart—fear for her children—overpowered everything else.

She stepped forward slowly, the tears already blurring her vision.

Jaden watched her without blinking, his jaw clenched tight.

When she reached him, she dropped to her knees before him, her hands trembling as they grasped his pant leg.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm begging you, Jaden… don't do this."

Her voice cracked with desperation, and her eyes—filled with sorrow, anger, and helplessness—looked up at him. That look—so raw, so broken—cut through him like a blade.

And yet, Jaden didn't move.

Something flared in his eyes. Not triumph. Not pleasure. He didn't feel any of them

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"Please… I'm begging you," Liya whispered, clutching his leg with trembling hands. "Could you… could you at least consider the years we shared? The relationship we had? It wasn't all bad, Jaden… please."

Her voice cracked as she spoke, her tears wetting the fabric of his pants. But what she didn't notice—what she was too desperate to see—was the storm brewing in Jaden's eyes. Her words didn't soften him; they only seemed to ignite a deeper fury.

His expression darkened. Before she could react, he grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet, his grip unrelenting as he dragged her toward the door.

"Jaden! What are you doing? Let me go—!" she shouted, struggling against him, but he didn't say a word.

He shoved her into the back seat of a black car and slammed the door shut before taking the wheel. The engine roared to life, and the car sped through the streets like a bullet. Jaden's driving was reckless, wild—each sharp turn and sudden brake making Liya feel like her heart would leap from her chest. She clung to the seat, shaken to the core, but still unable to make sense of what was happening.

They arrived at a vast, cold mansion nestled behind towering gates. The air reeked of wealth and power, but to Liya, it felt like a prison.

She was still catching her breath when he got out, opened her door, and without a shred of gentleness, dragged her out. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but pain jabbed at her neck—a sudden, sharp sting. Her vision blurred. Her knees buckled as the world tilted.

And darkness closed in.

By the time she stirred again, the atmosphere around her had changed. She was no longer in the car. She was standing inside the grand foyer of the mansion, swaying slightly from dizziness. Around her were unfamiliar faces—servants lined up in silence, heads bowed.

Jaden's voice cut through the fog. "She will be the new servant. She'll handle all the household chores from now on. Dismiss the rest."

There was a stunned silence among the staff. No one dared to question him. The butler gave a stiff nod and motioned for Liya to follow.

She was too disoriented to resist, her limbs heavy and her mind numb. She was taken down a long corridor and led into a small, dimly lit room with plain furnishings and a maid's uniform folded neatly on the bed.

It was only when she sat down, holding the coarse fabric in her hands, that the truth finally crashed down on her.

He had made her a servant.

A servant in his house.

Her fingers clenched the coarse fabric, knuckles white.

Her body trembled—not from fear now, but from humiliation, confusion, and a rage that threatened to explode.

How had it come to this?

After hanging up the call, Jaden grabbed his coat from the chair and left the room. A driver noticed him heading toward the garage and wanted to follow, but Jaden waved him off. He didn't want anyone with him. Moments later, he drove away from the mansion, his car disappearing into the night.

From inside, Liya heard the sound of the engine as it faded into the distance. It deepened her sorrow, like a cruel reminder of her reality. That sound made it sink in—she was truly being kept prisoner by the man she had once called brother.

Brother. Ha. The very thought disgusted her. How could she have ever called him that? After all, he had once forced himself on her.

She had tried to tell herself it wasn't what it seemed. That night, he'd claimed not to remember. But over the years, the confusion only festered, and her heart needed someone to blame.

She couldn't imagine a reason. Her heart was too broken to consider that someone else might have schemed against them, that they had been victims.

So, in her pain, she chose to blame him. It was easier that way. After the accident… after they lost their parents… she convinced herself that Jaden had changed, that he had become a brute.

It wasn't rational—but it was the only truth her heart could bear.

Her hands clenched the sheets, crumpling them in her fists. She held on tightly for a while, her knuckles white, until she finally breathed in deeply and let go, her fingers slowly loosening their grip. Closing her eyes, a single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek. She remained like that for a long time, motionless, lost in the storm of her sorrow.

Meanwhile, Jaden arrived at a club. Without hesitation, he made his way to the VIP suite, where his friend was already enjoying himself, surrounded by a few women.

He had met this man a year ago, and despite their differences, they had become good friends. The man was Gilbert Haman, a prestigious young master from S City's well-known Haman family.

But where Gilbert was a carefree playboy who indulged in pleasure and surrendered to the joys of life and desire, Jaden was the opposite—cold, detached, and distant from the world.

The moment Jaden entered, Gilbert let out a low whistle and shot him a playful wink. Without a word, he gestured for two girls to go to Jaden. They didn't hesitate, slipping onto the couch and settling on either side of him.