Chapter 4

I must warn you, you must handle me delicately.

Yerenica

The car is too expensive.

That's the first thing my frazzled mind decides to focus on. The seats are black leather, the scent of something rich and clean lingering in the air. The dashboard gleams, the city lights reflecting off polished surfaces. It's too nice, too smooth, too suffocating.

And then, there's them.

I sit alone, pressed against the door like a trapped animal, while four men, strangers, sit across from me. They take up all the space effortlessly, their presence heavy and suffocating, a silent reminder that I don't belong here.

They talk among themselves, voices deep and low, laced with something sharp and easy all at once. The kind of conversation that feels natural to them. Casual.

As if they didn't just buy me like an object. I grip my dress tightly, my nails digging into the fabric.

Twelve.

I had been twelve when Madam Vera decided my fate. When a stain of blood on a sheet meant my childhood was over. "You're a woman now," she had murmured, fingers gripping my chin. "A perfect woman in the making."

I stare at my lap, willing myself to disappear.

But then—

Something hits me.

Not hard, just a light thud against my my thigh. I flinch violently.

A... candy bar?

Slowly, I glance up.

One of them the youngest-looking, dressed in a leather jacket and hoodie stares at me, his hazel eyes unreadable. "Eat," he says, like he's ordering me to. Is this a test? Poison? Some rich-person game where they watch the poor girl scramble for food?

I blink at him. Then I glance at the candy bar.

So, this is how we're doing this now? Damsel in distress meets teenage delinquent with a candy obsession? I throw the guy another glance. What's next? A lollipop and a "You're my favorite?"

Before I can decide, another voice, smoother and laced with amusement, interrupts.

"Darling, if you keep looking like you're about to pass out, I might take it personally."

I freeze.

One of the others, the one with light brown hair and an infuriatingly confident smirk, is watching me like I'm his new favorite source of entertainment.

"Poor thing," he sighs, shaking his head dramatically. "Thrown into a car with four strangers, not even knowing our names. Tragic, really."

I blink.

He blinks back.

He grins wider. "Let's fix that, shall we?"

I don't respond, but he seems more than happy to continue anyway, gesturing lazily toward the man in the center the one I've already decided is the most terrifying. "This one is our fearless leader," he says. "Cold, brooding, stares like he's planning a murder and he's great fun at parties. His name is Zyran."

Zyran does not react. Um.

Introduction guy leans in slightly, voice dropping into something mock-conspiratorial. "Try not to annoy him. He bites."

Zyran exhales sharply, and I can't tell if it's frustration or exhaustion.

Rezan carries on like he hasn't just flirted with death.

"Moving on," he gestures to the well-groomed one sitting beside him. "This is Cihan. He likes to think he's the sensible one." Cihan barely lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"And me," Rezan places a hand on his chest, "I'm Rezan. The best of the bunch, if I do say so myself." He winks. "Charmed, I'm sure."

I continue blinking.

"And lastly," he flicks a hand toward the youngest one the one who threw candy at me. "This is Dehrin. We let him stay out of charity."

"Shut up," Dehrin mutters, hazel eyes narrowing. Rezan grins, completely unbothered. "See? He's adorable when he's angry." The banter between them continues effortlessly, like this is all normal. Like I'm just some guest, not a stray they picked up out of God knows where.

I don't know what to do with myself, so I sit still, pressing further into my seat, trying not to be noticed.

It doesn't work.

I glance down at the candy bar still in my lap.

Slowly, hesitantly, I peel back the wrapper and break off a tiny piece.

It's fine. Probably not poisoned.

I nibble at it, barely taking a bite, chewing cautiously.

Silence.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch it. Rezan's lips twitch, amusement dancing in his brown eyes. Dehrin, too, his mouth lifting just slightly at the corner.

"Cute," Rezan mutters under his breath.

Heat rushes to my face.

I swallow hard, suddenly regretting every decision I've ever made.

"How old are you?"

The voice is sharp, cutting through their conversation with the efficiency of a blade.

Zyran.

I flinch at the intensity in his gaze, my breath catching in my throat.

"S-Sixteen," I stammer.

The car goes silent.

Zyran exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly, as if reassessing me. "Too young," he mutters under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

I don't know what to say to that.

"But that doesn't change anything," he continues, his tone turning cold again. "For now, you'll be staying with us. You'll be assigned a job in the house. You'll work, and you'll stay out of the way."

He pauses, eyes darkening. "And if I find out you're a mole, I will deal with you accordingly."

My stomach twists.

"I'm not—" my voice wavers. "I'm not a spy."

Zyran doesn't look convinced.

There's a long silence, and then—

A light touch on my shoulder.

I flinch again.

It's Cihan. Unlike Zyran, his touch is careful, barely there, more reassuring than threatening. "Breathe," he says gently.

I inhale shakily.

"Good," he murmurs. "That's a start."

I don't know what to make of them.

But something tells me I'm not getting out of this anytime soon.

Thoughts?