Wicked Master's Trap

Chapter 3

The sleek procession of luxury cars gliding through the cobbled streets of Menderly drew every eye. With golden Dominic family emblems gleaming in the sunlight, the convoy needed no introduction. No one else in Menderly dared to travel with such opulence or commanded such silent reverence. This was power in motion.

The fleet soon approached the heart of the city, a magnificent, ivory palace perched atop the highest cliff like a crown on the city’s head. It was vast, ancient, and formidable, with towering spires that brushed the clouds. From any corner of Menderly, one could look up and glimpse the palace, an eternal reminder of the Dominic family's dominance.

“Man… are you some kind of prince charming?” one of Asher’s friends blurted out in awe, his nose practically pressed to the tinted window.

“Unbelievable. Just look at these servants... and this mansion, it’s priceless,” another murmured, almost breathless.

Though all came from wealth, Asher’s friends realized quickly that they were no match for this level of power. This wasn’t just wealth. This was a legacy. Territory. Bloodline.

Zander leaned back coolly, a smirk on his lips. His black sunglasses reflected the palace gates as he drawled, “You haven’t seen a thing yet, and you’re already squealing like girls.”

The convoy came to a smooth stop at the palace’s grand entrance. The butler, Patrick, dashed forward and opened the door of the lead limousine with a bow.

“Welcome home, Young Master,” he said respectfully as Asher stepped out.

Asher’s shoes hit the marble, his presence commanding attention. He was taller, broader, a man carved by years of discipline and ambition. With a slight nod to the butler, he strode forward, each step a silent declaration that the heir had returned.

“Mother,” he called, his tone respectful but warm.

“Welcome home, my son,” Lady Gianna said, her composure momentarily melting as she pulled him into a rare embrace. She hadn't seen him in years, years he’d spent preparing to take the crown of the Dominic empire. Now, he looked the part. Every inch of him radiated control and purpose. Her heart swelled with pride.

Next, Asher turned to his father.

“Dad.”

“Welcome home, young man,” Mr. Dominic said. His voice was rough, his hand firm on Asher’s back. Emotion was never his strong suit, but Asher could feel it, hidden beneath the layers of stoicism. That was his father’s way. Distant, but not indifferent.

“Zander. At least take off those ridiculous sunglasses,” Aunt Eunice’s sharp tone pierced the air.

“Oh, sweet Eunice,” Zander smirked, “You’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.”

“Call me Mom, you fool!” she snapped, swatting the back of his head.

Asher chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. The familiarity, the teasing, it felt like home.

Then his gaze drifted. Past his family. Past the murmuring guests. Toward the lines of bowed heads, rows of servants stood still like statues. And among them, he searched. His eyes combed the crowd, hungry for a glimpse of that soft, innocent face that haunted his mind for nearly a decade.

But all he saw were lowered heads. Still. Silent. Hidden.

She was somewhere there. He knew it. She had to be.

“Come inside, gentlemen,” Lady Gianna said gracefully. “You all must be tired.”

And as they moved into the grand halls of the palace, Asher’s eyes lingered one last time on the sea of bowed heads, his heart silently whispering her name.

Kiara.

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As Master Asher and the esteemed Dominic family disappeared behind the grand manor doors, Beatrice’s shrill voice cut through the heavy silence.

“You may raise your heads now.”

A collective breath was released as the servants finally lifted their heads. Quiet groans and whispers followed, necks stiff, bodies aching after standing in the same position for over an hour.

But mercy was not something Beatrice knew.

“Silence, you lowlives!” she barked, her eyes narrowing like a hawk. “How dare you complain? Get back to your work, now!”

Startled into action, the servants scrambled, heads down again, not out of respect this time, but fear.

Kiara heard the whispers trailing behind her as she turned to leave.

“They didn’t even let us see Master Asher or Master Zander,” one of the girls sighed, disappointment evident in her voice.

“I heard they’re the most handsome men in all of Menderly,” another chimed in, her cheeks tinged pink.

Gabrielle groaned beside Kiara, rubbing her neck with frustration. “My neck feels like it’s about to snap, and these girls are busy swooning over men they’ve never even seen.”

Then she muttered under her breath, venom lacing her words, “Master Asher, my foot. I don’t give a damn who this Master Asher or Zander is.”

Kiara gasped, her eyes wide. “Gabrielle!” she hushed, looking around in panic. “What if someone hears you? You know we can’t talk like that, especially not about Master Asher.”

Gabrielle turned to her, her eyes glistening with rage and exhaustion. “And what about us, Kiara? Huh? Are we not human beings too? Why does no one care about how we’re treated, how we’re made to stand for hours like statues, starve, and work until our bones ache?”

Tears welled in Kiara’s eyes. Seeing Gabrielle like this, broken, furious, helpless, was like watching the last bit of strength drain from her best friend.

Without a word, Kiara stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Gabrielle, holding her tight.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I wish I could make it better.”

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“I trust you won’t disappoint me,” Mr. Dominic said, his voice cool and deliberate as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “You know what’s expected of you, as the heir to the Dominic empire.”

Asher leaned back in his chair, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “I know how to manage my assets. Don’t worry, I won’t shatter your carefully constructed hopes.”

His father gave a curt nod, a low hum rumbling from his throat, approval, perhaps, but never praise.

Lady Gianna, ever the composed matriarch, folded her hands in her lap and smiled gently. “Tomorrow will be important for you, Asher. You should get some rest. There’s a lot waiting on your shoulders.”

“Sure,” he replied, rising from his seat with a grace that mirrored his upbringing, flawless on the outside, hollow on the inside.

Without another word or even a glance back, Asher left the room. Despite the titles and bloodlines that bound them, warmth had always been a foreign language between him and his parents. What existed was not love, not even closeness, only expectation, duty, and respect forged in cold steel.

Affection? That was a word never spoken, never felt in the house of Dominic.

Asher approached the massive double doors at the far end of the corridor. With a curt nod, the butler bowed and pulled them open, revealing a lavish, dimly lit hall bathed in golden hues and velvet shadows, the infamous Zest Coterie.

A place of pleasure and power.

Reserved for the men of the Dominic bloodline, the Zest Coterie was a domain where lust reigned and rules vanished. No commoner dared to enter. Only Courtesans, handpicked, trained, and groomed to serve, were permitted inside. For them, pleasure was duty. And in return, they were rewarded with wealth, jewels, or promises of comfort, never freedom.

“Finally! The man of the hour!” someone slurred from across the room.

Asher’s gaze shifted to the group of drunken friends sprawled across the royal couches, flanked by slave girls who laughed too loudly and touched too eagerly.

Suppressing the disdain curling at his lips, Asher sank into a leather-backed chair and reached for the crystal decanter beside him, pouring himself a generous glass of the aged liquor.

“Where’s Zander?” he asked, noting the absence of his cousin.

“Master Zander is with Lady Eunice. He’ll be joining shortly,” a butler replied promptly.

With a silent nod, Asher brought the glass to his lips and drank. The burn down his throat offered a brief relief, a temporary silence in the chaos of his mind.

From the corner of his eye, a blonde courtesan approached. Her hips swayed with deliberate grace, breasts pushed high, lips painted blood red. She was everything this room demanded: sensual, submissive, and hollow.

She leaned in, but before she could speak, Asher’s voice cut through the air, low and disinterested.

“Go to the room. Get on all fours. Naked. I’ll be there when I feel like it.”

The woman giggled, a trained, sultry sound, and turned away, her heels clicking seductively against the marble floor. The other concubines watched her with envy burning in their eyes. Tonight, she’d earned what they all craved: Master Asher’s attention.

But for Asher, it wasn’t about her.

It never was.

It was about drowning something darker.