Chapter 1
I’m running without pause, sweat clinging to every inch of my skin. My lungs sting with each breath, as if they’ve forgotten how to pull in air. The night wraps itself around me—thick, quiet, suffocating. My feet stumble over the uneven path, and all I can do is pray that something—anything—will appear out of the dark and save me from the monsters chasing behind.
Their roars tear through the forest, wild and furious. It’s the kind of sound that makes your blood freeze.
I can’t let them catch me.
I can’t.
⸻
My name is Lyra Ashbourne, and I’m nineteen.
I’m the daughter of the woman who runs the orphanage where I was born. My life there has always been simple—soft laughter echoing through narrow halls, the scent of rain leaking through the roof, the warmth of people who have nothing yet give everything.
Mama and the children are my whole world. We may live under a roof that creaks and leaks, but it shelters a kind of happiness money could never buy.
I write, too. I’m a dreamer who loves to turn feelings into stories. For years, my words lived quietly inside old notebooks—until one of them, Vampire, I Love You, escaped. The story I wrote just for fun suddenly made me a name. People started calling me the rising star, the girl who spun wild dreams into ink.
Life felt unreal after that. Like a dream that finally chose me—
until the dream twisted into something else.
I never imagined the world I created would bleed into mine. That the creatures I wrote for fantasy would crawl out of my pages and tear through everything I knew as real.
But they did.
It began a few nights ago.
A man came to the orphanage. He spoke with a calm, polished tone, convincing Mama to let me go with him. She refused, of course. But there was something strange about him—something in his voice that bent her will. I saw it happen, the way her eyes dimmed, the way her lips formed a reluctant yes while her heart screamed no.
He promised safety. Money. A better life for the children.
And with tears trembling down her cheeks, Mama handed me to him.
I still remember how her hands shook when she hugged me.
“Lyra… forgive me, my child. I did this for everyone.”
Her voice broke.
I wanted to fight, to scream that I wasn’t leaving.
But my body betrayed me. I followed him—silent, trembling, vision blurred until the orphanage vanished behind me like a dream dissolving in dawn.
⸻
The car drives endlessly through the night. My heart beats faster than the tires rolling against the road. When it finally stops, we’re in front of a dim, unfamiliar building. The walls are old, elegant in a way that feels wrong. Lamps flicker weakly along the path, casting trembling shadows.
He opens the door.
“Get down,” he orders.
His tone leaves no space for hesitation.
The air outside smells sweet—sweet enough to rot. My legs tremble as I follow him in. The moment the heavy door closes, sound swells around me.
Music. Laughter. Moans.
I blink, startled. Women in glittering gowns press themselves against men—laughing, whispering, kissing without shame. Their smiles are bright but hollow.
What is this place?
A chill crawls up my spine. I can feel eyes on me—hungry, curious. Someone whistles low.
“New girl, huh? Where’d you get this pretty thing?”
“Shut up,” the man beside me snaps. “She’s for the boss.”
The boss?!
My stomach drops.Mama, i'm affraid... i wrap my arm aroud my self.
We walk through a long corridor before stopping in front of a door. A woman opens it, she is tall, stunning, draped in silk that barely conceals her body. Her beauty feels sharp, like glass.
“Put her in and go,” she says, her voice sound flat.
He pushes me inside. Then, the door shuts.
The room is breathtaking, i look aroud, gold chandeliers, crimson drapes, velvet chairs. Luxury that feels like a trap. My eyes wander until they find him.
A tall figure stands by the window. He turns, and his gaze meets mine.
Dark. Sharp. Dangerous.
My breath stops. My God!
He looks unreal—like an angel sculpted for sin. Every line of his face perfect, every detail designed to destroy. His eyes hold something I can’t name. My throat tightens. He notices. The corner of his lips curves into a faint, he smirks.
Don’t look at me like that, I want to say. But no sound comes out from my mouth.
He starts walking toward me. Slow. Measured.
Each step feels like a countdown.
When his hand reaches my face, my body goes rigid. His touch is cold—so cold it burns. His fingers trace my jaw, sliding to my lips. I shut my eyes, holding my breath, trying not to shiver.
His touch is gentle. Too gentle. It confuses me.
Then instinct cuts through the haze. I slap his hand away and step back, chest heaving.
He doesn’t flinch. He just smiles. That smile—calm, wicked, unbearably composed—is worse than anger.
“Come here,” he says.
His voice is deep, low, like velvet dragging through smoke. It seeps into my mind, wraps around my thoughts, and before I realize it, I’m moving toward him.
He takes my hand. His fingers are cold, his grip light.
“Clean yourself,” he murmurs. “Do it fast.”
He leads me to a side door. The moment it shuts behind me, silence falls.
And in that silence, it hits me.
Whatever world I’ve stepped into—
there’s no way back.
