Lethal Hearts Where Killers Meet

CHAPTER 1: The Collateral

CHAPTER 1

The rain was a cold, constant companion in the city of Evershade, but for ten-year-old Lauren, it was just another part of the perpetual gray of her life.

The orphanage, a hulking stone edifice that smelled of boiled cabbage and despair, was her entire world. It was a world of sharp elbows and sharper words, where the older girls, led by the cruel and cunning Beatrice, found a twisted joy in tormenting the younger ones.

Lauren, with her too-thin frame and large, haunted eyes, was an easy target. They’d hide her worn-out shoes, steal the meager treats she sometimes received, and whisper cruel jokes about her. “Lo for loser,” they’d call her, a name that felt less like a taunt and more like a simple, painful truth.

She learned early on that tears were a luxury she couldn’t afford, so she learned to keep a hard shell around her heart, to be invisible, and to survive.

One blisteringly hot summer afternoon, a sleek black carriage pulled up to the orphanage. A couple emerged, dressed in clothes that whispered of wealth.

Lauren watched from a dusty window as they spoke with the matron, their faces were all a mask of well-rehearsed pity. She was used to this routine; it was always the youngest, the most angelic-looking children who were chosen.

But this time, the matron’s eyes fell on her.

Lauren’s heart, a bird long caged, fluttered with a desperate, fragile hope.

She was chosen, and Beatrice hated it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lauren,” Mrs. Albright said, her voice like warm honey. She knelt, her silken dress rustling as she took Lauren’s small, chapped hands in her own. “You have such lovely eyes.”

Lauren, who had never heard such a gentle tone directed at her, could only stare, speechless.

“We have a lovely room for you,” Mr. Albright added, his smile a practiced, reassuring curve. “You’ll love it.”

Mrs. Albright was standing and gesturing towards the sleek black car outside. “A new beginning.”

Lauren finally found her voice, a small, tentative whisper. “A… a real home?”

“The realest.” Mr. Albright smiled.

Her new parents, Mr. and Mrs. Albright, were impeccably dressed and spoke with a soft, cultivated elegance. They promised her a new life, a real home, a future. For the first time in her life, Lauren felt a flicker of something she couldn’t name—something akin to joy.

Her new life, however, was a gilded cage built on quicksand. Their home was beautiful, filled with gleaming furniture and vibrant paintings, but it was a home built on a foundation of lies and secrets.

Mr. and Mrs. Albright weren’t the benevolent benefactors they had appeared to be. They were gamblers, addicts chasing the next high, the next win, the next glorious, fleeting moment of triumph at the card table.

At first, Lauren was a novelty, a prop to show their friends, a testament to their supposed generosity. But as the wins turned to losses, their charm turned to a desperate, clawing need.

The beautiful paintings were sold, piece by piece, followed by the antique furniture and finally, the very trinkets that adorned the shelves. Lauren watched as their home, once so full of light and warmth, became a tomb of their failed ambitions. The soft voices became harsh, filled with accusations and curses.

When Lauren turned sixteen, the inevitable happened. They had lost everything, every last penny, every last shred of their dignity.

One evening, a grim-faced man with a diamond ring on his pinky finger arrived at their home. Lauren, huddled in a corner of the now-empty living room, listened as he spoke to the Albrights in low, menacing tones.

The man, known only as Valerius, didn’t bother with pleasantries. His voice was a low growl, barely a whisper. “The debt is long overdue. My patience is not endless.”

Mrs. Albright wrung her hands, a nervous tic. “We… need more time, Mr. Valerius. We’ll get it, I promise.”

Valerius’ gaze swept over the empty room. He scoffed. “Time? You’ve gambled away everything, even your dignity. What do you have left?”

He paused for a second, his eyes landing on Lauren huddled in the shadows. A slow, chilling smile spread across his face. “Ah. I see. A valuable piece you’ve kept hidden.”

Mr. Albright slumped in defeat. “She’s just a child.”

“A beautiful child,” Valerius corrected, his eyes fixed on Lauren as if she were a prize mare. “And in my line of work, beauty is a commodity. It holds value.”

A deal was made, a final, irreversible transaction.

Lauren was the collateral, the last chip in their game.

Their faces twisted with a mixture of shame and relief, told her it was for her own good, that she would have a better life. The man with the diamond ring, Valerius, the owner of a clandestine casino on the city’s underbelly, was her new proprietor.

The casino was a sensory assault: the dizzying clatter of dice, the intoxicating scent of expensive perfume and cheap cigar smoke, and the constant, low hum of avarice. Lauren wasn’t a hostess or a waitress; she was something else entirely. She was the Albrights’ debt, and her body was the currency.

She was a silent, beautiful ornament, a prize for the high rollers, forced to endure the leering stares and the unwelcome advances of men who saw her as nothing more than a plaything.

Her days were a blur of forced smiles, and her nights were spent in quiet endurance. The abuse was a relentless tide, threatening to drown her. The memories of the orphanage, of the Albrights’ deceit, and of the shame that clung to her like a second skin, fueled a smoldering rage deep within her.

It was a fire she kept hidden, a secret she nurtured.

One night, the abuse went too far. A high roller, a fierce and arrogant man, refused to take no for an answer. He backed her into a corner, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger.

“Come now, sweet thing,” he slurred, his words thick with entitlement.

Lauren’s voice was a barely-there whisper. “Sir, please. I am not a part of the entertainment.”

Julian’s smirk tightened. He reached out to grab her arm, his touch a violation of her space. “Don’t you talk back to me. I pay good money to be here. And I want to be entertained. Now.”

Lauren’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird desperate to escape. “I said no!” Her voice, though still quiet, held a new, hard edge. She tried to pull away, but his grip was like a vise.

Yet, she saw a flicker of an opening. She saw an empty bottle on a nearby table, and in a flash of pure, desperate adrenaline, she grabbed it.

The guard, a hulking brute with a permanent scowl, was already lumbering towards them, drawn by the commotion. Lauren didn’t hesitate. She swung the bottle, a desperate, clumsy arc, and the glass connected with the guard’s temple.

The sound was sickening, a sharp crack that echoed in the silent, stunned room. The guard crumpled to the floor, a single drop of crimson welling on his scalp. For a moment, Lauren stood frozen, the broken bottle still clutched in her hand. The high roller, his face a mask of shock, recoiled.

This was her chance.

Her only chance.

She ran.

Lauren ran through the labyrinthine corridors of the casino, the sound of alarms blaring behind her, sirens and shouts. She burst out into the night, the cold, damp air a shock to her lungs.

The city’s neon lights blurred around her as she sprinted, her bare feet slapping against the wet pavement. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to keep moving, to put as much distance between herself and that place as she could. She ran until her lungs burned and her legs felt like lead, until the blaring sirens faded into a distant memory.

Lauren’s escape was temporary. A week later, hungry, exhausted, and shivering in a thin dress, she found herself in a bustling night market. The scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries was a cruel taunt.

She was an animal, driven by instinct, by the gnawing emptiness in her stomach. She watched a kind-faced vendor, a woman with silver hair pulled back in a neat bun, as she turned her back to tend to another customer. Lauren reached out, her hand trembling, and snatched a handful of fresh fruit from the stall. The vendor, turning back, caught her in the act.

Lauren froze, her eyes wide with terror. The woman cried out, “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” as she reached for Lauren.

The hard shell she had built around her heart, the one that had been cracked and broken over and over again, solidified. She shoved the woman, a frantic, unthinking motion. The vendor stumbled backward, falling to the ground with a soft gasp.

Lauren, the fruit still clutched in her hand, didn’t look back. She fled, the sounds of the market fading behind her, the taste of stolen fruit a bitter ash in her mouth.

She ran into a narrow alleyway, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The walls of the alley, slick with grime, seemed to close in on her. There was no way out.

A figure stepped out of the shadows, a man she hadn’t seen until he was directly in front of her. He was tall and lean, dressed in a black trench coat, and his eyes, a startling shade of green, were calm and unnerving. He had a stillness about him that was profoundly unsettling.

Lauren, a trapped bird, prepared to shove past him, to fight her way. “W-What do you want. Stay back!”

But the man simply raised a hand, a gesture of quiet authority that stopped her in her tracks. He wasn’t a guard, she realized, not from the casino or anywhere else she knew. He was something different. He had a look on his face, a kind of knowing that made the hair on her arms stand up.

He had seen it all. He had seen the stolen fruit, the fallen vendor, the desperate flight. He looked at her, and in his eyes, she saw not judgment, but a recognition, a mirror of the same cold emptiness she had always felt inside herself. He didn’t speak.

He just watched, a silent observer in the rain-slicked alley, and for the first time in her life, Lauren knew she had been truly seen—and that her life was about to change in a way she never could have imagined.

“Who are you?” She asked nervously.