SAVAGES (BARGAINING CHIPS)

~CHAPTER ONE~ ( The Garden of Thorns) The iron gates of the Kingston Estate creaked open like the jaws of a giant beast. sss stepped out of the sleek black car, her scuffed boots crunching on the marble driveway, so out of place they might as well have come from another century. The mansion towered ahead like a cathedral to luxury—arched windows, golden sconces, and a fountain that glittered even at dusk. It was a different world. Cold. Immaculate. Merciless. She adjusted the strap of her violin case on her back and tightened her grip on the lone suitcase. Her heart pounded, but her spine stayed straight. Her mother had told her never to bow, even when the world towered over her. The butler—stone-faced, gray-suited—escorted her through the echoing halls, past paintings of ancestors who looked down on her with scorn. And then, without warning, she stood at the base of a grand staircase, where a group of teens turned to look. They were dazzling. Like characters from a movie scene. Four of them. Each impossibly beautiful, each dripping charisma like cologne. And then he appeared at the top of the stairs. Hermit Kingston. Amazon recognized him immediately. His face was on magazines in every village kiosk. He was taller in real life, sharper too—jaw carved like a statue, raven-black hair in messy waves, storm-gray eyes that looked at her like she was an inconvenient problem. “sss Rivers,” he said, his voice smooth and cold, “you’re late.” “I’m not a package,” she replied, lifting her chin. “You don’t own me.” A smirk twitched on his lips, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he descended slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, stopping just inches from her. Their difference in worlds was stark—but neither backed down. Behind him, the four teens tried not to snicker. One, with golden hair and feline eyes, leaned into another and whispered something. The tall one with moon-silver hair laughed, causing the shorter girl with bubble-pink nails to elbow him in the ribs. “This is sss,” Hermit said lazily, turning to the group. “My... collateral.” Amazon stiffened. The blonde girl stepped forward. “I’m Snow,” she said with the sweetness of a poisoned apple. “We were very close, Hermit and I. Childhood friends.” She eyed sss with practiced distaste. “Welcome to the zoo.” Amazon didn’t respond. Snow’s words were clear: You don’t belong. As the night grew deeper, the estate buzzed with whispers. Hermit’s four closest friends lingered around the spiral staircase. Leone—the flirt—was sprawled across a velvet chair, twirling a gold pen. Scorpio, tall and always in black, leaned against the pillar like a bodyguard with secrets. Cancer, the silver-haired joker, kept tossing grapes into his mouth and failing. And Pisces, gentle-eyed and shy, sat quietly with a book. “She’s cute,” Cancer said, tossing a grape at Pisces. “Do you think she bites?” Pisces ducked, flustered. “Cut it out, you perv.” Cancer grinned. “Relax, I’m just making conversation. What, you into her already?” Scorpio's voice cut in, low and deadly. “Leave her alone, Cancer.” Leone laughed, “Easy, Scorpio. You’re not her knight. Yet.” --- Outside in the estate’s massive rose garden, two maids whispered while trimming hedges. “Did you see her? That girl—sss?” “Poor thing. She’s in over her head.” “I heard Snow’s already trying to get her sent back. She’s always been possessive of Hermit.” “Shhh!” the older maid hissed. “Snow’s worse than the frostbite in January. She’s been in love with Hermit since they were kids—he shared his lunch with her once, and that was it.” “I thought Hermit didn’t like anyone.” “Well, he tolerates his four shadows—Leone, Scorpio, Cancer, and Pisces. Though Pisces looks like he’d cry if you raised your voice.” A dry voice cut through the night. “Oh, would he?” The maids froze. Standing behind the trimmed hedge were Hermit and his four friends, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. The older maid stammered, trying to curtsy, while the younger turned red as a tomato. “You know,” Leone said, amused, “we can hear you.” “I—please—we meant no offense—” “Then stop gossiping,” Hermit said flatly. “This is your only warning.” As they turned to walk back, a strange sound caught their attention. From the far side of the garden, where no one ever went, came the faint creak of a wooden door. A place the maids called The Forbidden Room—an old glass greenhouse no one had used in years. Hermit motioned for silence. Inside the greenhouse, surrounded by vines and broken flowerpots, sss curled into a bench, her violin case under her head. It was the only place she’d found that didn’t smell like money. She was fast asleep, lips slightly parted, hair glowing in the moonlight like fire among the thorns. Hermit stepped in first. His shadow fell over her. She stirred. Then froze. Their eyes met—hers wide with confusion, his unreadable. “You’re not allowed in here,” he said, voice like ice. “Neither are you,” she replied groggily. “Yet here we are.” The others had gathered behind him. Cancer whistled low. “And here I thought we were the troublemakers.” Snow, appearing like a ghost behind them, stared daggers into sss, but said nothing. Hermit’s gaze didn’t leave sss’s. For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—curiosity? amusement? danger? “Get up,” he said finally. “If you’re going to survive in this house, sleeping in forbidden places isn’t a good start.” She stood slowly, brushing leaves from her coat. “I’m not here to survive,” she said. “I’m here to pay a debt.” He smirked. “Then consider this your first lesson.” As they left the greenhouse together, neither noticed the dying white rose behind them—wilting, alone, and somehow prophetic.