Mila stood in front of the mirror, tugging nervously at the sleeves of the soft white blouse Miss Rowan had left for her. She didn't know what meeting the "rest of the family" meant, but judging by Elias's tone last night, it wasn't going to be tea and biscuits.
She inhaled deeply and stared at her reflection.
Same Mila. Same girl who used to cry herself to sleep on a worn-out mattress in a shared room. Same girl who'd been called worthless so many times she started to believe it.
But her eyes... they were different now.
Sharper. Braver.
There was a knock, firm and impatient.
Miss Rowan entered without waiting. "They're waiting. Follow me."
Mila's boots echoed on the marble floor as she walked behind the stern woman, the same way she'd done yesterday—only this time, her spine was straighter.
The hallway curved into a wide, arched chamber with tall stained-glass windows. At a long polished table sat three people who made Mila's stomach clench.
Elias stood behind a chair at the head of the table, his suit flawless, his posture like royalty carved in stone. But his eyes flicked toward Mila the second she entered, and for a moment, they softened.
Just a little.
To his left sat a woman who looked like she'd been born with a silver spoon and never put it down. Mid-thirties, with sleek blond hair pulled back tight and eyes that glittered like broken glass.
Next to her sat a man built like a linebacker—muscular, mid-forties, with a crooked scar on his jaw and a presence that made the air heavier. His stare pinned Mila like she was a specimen.
"Is this the stray?" the woman asked with a faint smirk.
"Her name is Mila," Elias said sharply.
"Oh. So she's already on a first-name basis with the heir?" the man sneered.
Heir.
Mila stiffened. She'd known Elias was rich. Powerful. But now it clicked—he wasn't just a member of the Ashbourne family.
He was the one set to inherit everything.
"She witnessed something she shouldn't have," Elias said calmly, as if discussing the weather. "She's under my protection."
The woman snorted. "Since when do we protect liabilities?"
"She's not a liability," Elias replied coldly. "She's an asset. She just doesn't know it yet."
Mila opened her mouth to speak, but the older man's voice cut through.
"You think you're clever, don't you, Elias? Playing god with some broken girl off the street."
"She's not broken," Elias said, voice low and dangerous.
That stopped everyone.
Even Mila.
His eyes flicked toward her again, intense and unreadable. She didn't know whether to feel flattered or terrified.
Maybe both.
"Miss Mila," the woman said smoothly, folding her hands like a snake about to strike. "Do you understand what you're mixed up in?"
"I didn't ask to be here," Mila said, voice stronger than she expected. "I just... ran from something worse and ended up somewhere even more complicated."
The woman laughed. "Oh, darling. You have no idea."
---
After the meeting, Elias led her out without a word. Not until they reached a small library did he speak again.
"Don't trust them."
Mila turned to him. "You mean your own family?"
"They're not family," he said flatly. "They're predators wearing matching last names."
She swallowed. "Why did you stand up for me back there?"
He didn't look at her. Instead, he moved toward the fireplace, picking up a glass paperweight and setting it down again. Like his hands needed something to do.
"Because you're mine now," he said simply.
Her heart stuttered.
"Excuse me?"
"I brought you here. I kept you alive. That makes you my responsibility."
"Sounds more like ownership than protection."
His eyes snapped to hers, hard and cold. "Do you want protection, Mila, or would you rather go back to sleeping in alleys and running from men who'd rather break you than breathe the same air?"
She froze. The memory of her stepfather's last words burned in her chest.
No one will ever want you.
You're nothing but trash with a pretty face.
"I want to live," she whispered. "Is that too much to ask?"
Elias stepped closer, and suddenly the air was thick with tension. His voice dropped. "Not at all."
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was so gentle it nearly undid her.
"Then live," he said softly. "But under my rules. And my protection."
"And if I want to leave?"
"You can," he said, voice tight. "But there are people out there who now know your face. And if they find you before I do... you won't survive."
"So I'm just supposed to trust you?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly. "After everything?"
"No," he said. "But you will survive. And if you let me... you'll do more than that."
He turned and walked away, leaving her in the firelight with her heart pounding like war drums.
---
That night, Mila couldn't sleep.
Again.
Her body begged for rest, but her mind refused to shut down. She lay curled on the window seat, wrapped in a soft throw, eyes fixed on the moon outside.
There was a knock.
Soft.
She opened the door—and nearly tripped.
Elias stood there, holding a tray.
"Miss Rowan said you skipped dinner," he said.
"I wasn't hungry."
He glanced at her, then walked in and set the tray down on her table. "You need to eat. You'll need your strength."
"For what?"
He hesitated. "Tomorrow, you'll begin training."
"Training?" she echoed.
"You'll learn how to defend yourself. Speak properly. Walk like someone who doesn't flinch in a room full of knives. If you're going to stay here, you'll need to be... reborn."
She blinked. "What are you turning me into?"
His eyes met hers, and for the first time, she saw something besides cold steel in them.
A storm. A shadow. A secret.
"Someone who no one can break again."