SAVAGES (BARGAINING CHIPS)

SAVAGES ( BARGAINING CHIPS)

~CHAPTET TWO)

(Thorns in Velvet)

The winds in Tarrow Glen were fierce that morning.

They blew through the broken windows of the old Rivers cottage, rattling the shutters and shaking the dead ivy that once bloomed across the brick walls. Inside, amidst the lingering smell of dust, firewood, and faded memories, a storm of a different kind was brewing.

Amazon Elara Rivers stood at the edge of her bedroom, her fists clenched and heart a steel drum beneath her ribs. She could still hear Lydia’s voice—sharp as broken glass—echoing from the drawing room downstairs.

"Her?" Lydia had snapped, voice dripping honey over arsenic. "You want her to go? sss isn’t fit to polish a Kingston servant’s shoes!"

Amazon didn’t need to peek through the c***k in the door to imagine Lydia’s theatrical performance: one hand to her chest, the other fluttering like a distressed dove. She’d probably worn black today—for effect. Widow’s black, though she had never mourned sss’s mother for more than an hour.

Audrey, sss’s stepsister, had said nothing. As usual. Just watched with her doll-like smile, dressed in lavender and lace, every inch the fragile beauty Lydia had molded her to be.

The Kingston family envoy waited in the parlor below. Rumors in the village said they traveled with armed guards and diamond-studded pens—symbols of power and prison all at once. And they were here to collect a collateral.

Not Audrey.

But sss.

Her father's debt to the Kingston Empire had caught up with them. But Lydia—snake-hearted Lydia—had tried to pass Audrey off instead.

Amazon had overheard everything.

"She’s weak," Lydia had said sweetly. "Her lungs are delicate. She can’t endure the stress of living in the city—around strangers. Audrey is innocent, pure. She won’t last. But sss? That girl is—wild. Rebellious. She might actually thrive there. Maybe they’ll break her."

Amazon’s father had hesitated. A rare moment of shame flickered in his voice. "But it’s not right, Lydia. It’s supposed to be your daughter who goes."

"And what of it?" Lydia hissed. "Do you want your precious Audrey to suffer in that cold castle, surrounded by wolves? Let the other one go. She’s not even mine."

Amazon should have cried. Or screamed.

Instead, she smiled.

Because for the first time in her life, her exile had become her weapon.

---

The footsteps were loud. Too loud. Polished boots on old wood. Company staff, dressed in gray suits with the Kingston crest over their hearts, scanned the house like hawks. At their head, a tall woman in black heels and a sleek coat stood silent, her clipboard tucked under one arm.

She was Hermit Kingston’s personal secretary—Miss Adrienne Vale. Sharp eyes, sharper tongue, and a reputation for getting things done, no matter who had to bleed for it.

She looked unimpressed.

"You have one minute," Miss Vale said icily, looking at Lydia. "If your daughter isn’t ready, Mr. Kingston will be informed of the delay."

"She’s—sick," Lydia lied without flinching. "Poor girl. Fever, I believe. She’s just not herself lately."

Miss Vale arched a brow. "Funny. The file says Miss Audrey attended a village party two nights ago. No fever then. Are you suggesting we’re being misled?"

Audrey stood beside her mother, silent, pale, her lips trembling just slightly. She looked like a porcelain doll, and sss almost pitied her. Almost.

From the top of the stairs, sss watched it all unfold.

Her fingers were cold, her breath shallow. She still wore her tattered dress—the same one she’d worn while chopping firewood, the same one her mother had mended years ago. She refused to change.

Lydia had demanded she wear the silky blue gown they'd tailored for Audrey—a ridiculous thing of ribbons and pearls. But sss had refused. “I’m not your doll,” she had said, spitting the words like venom. “You can’t dress me up to bury your guilt.”

"You little brat," Lydia had snapped. "You’ll do as you’re told—"

"I’m not your anything," sss had replied, eyes blazing. "Not anymore."

And she had made it official.

With cold precision, she’d pulled the old envelope from the c***k in her wooden floor—the one she had found years ago, hidden beneath her mother’s piano. A copy of her mother’s will, naming sss as the heir to her dowry. Lydia had stolen the original, locked it away, lied about it for years.

But sss had the truth now.

And she used it.

"I’ll go," sss had told Lydia, "but on my terms. I leave as my mother’s daughter, not yours. I take back her name, her dowry, and I cut ties with this family. You stole what was mine. Not anymore."

Lydia had gone pale.

Audrey had looked away.

And now, with the seconds ticking down, the Kingston envoy waiting, and panic setting into Lydia’s painted face—

Amazon stepped forward.

Deliberate. Quiet. Every step down the staircase like a thunderclap.

Her boots thudded softly on the wood. Her hair, unbrushed but proud, caught the morning light like molten copper. Her emerald eyes—so unlike anyone else’s—met Adrienne Vale’s with unflinching boldness.

"I’m ready," she said.

Miss Vale blinked once, as if surprised.

"You’re not wearing the dress," the secretary noted.

"No," sss said. "I’m wearing myself."

Behind her, Lydia hissed like a struck snake. "Don’t embarrass us."

Amazon didn’t turn around.

Adrienne tapped her clipboard. "Very well. Miss sss Elara Rivers, collateral for the debt of Mr. Elias Rivers. Do you accept your transfer to the Kingston Estate?"

Amazon inhaled slowly. "I do."

Adrienne nodded. "Then follow us. The car is waiting."

As the entourage turned toward the door, Lydia reached for sss’s sleeve. "You ungrateful little—"

Amazon shook her off.

"Goodbye, Lydia."

She didn’t say mother. Not now. Not ever again.

Outside, black sedans gleamed like panthers. Guards stood by, impassive. The villagers peeked from windows, some curious, others pitying. They didn’t know the full story. Not yet.

Inside the car, as the trees of Tarrow Glen blurred into shadows behind her, sss sat tall. Her violin case rested beside her, and in her pocket was the folded will—proof that she was not just a girl in rags.

She was a girl with a plan.

Let them think she was the sacrificial lamb.

Let Hermit Kingston think she was collateral.

They had no idea who they had just invited into their cage.

---

Hours passed before the cars rolled up the marble driveway of the Kingston Estate. Even in the mist of late evening, the mansion stood like a carved god—tall, cold, and unfathomable.

Miss Vale opened the door without a word.

Amazon stepped out, her boots clicking on the pristine tiles, her presence a stormcloud against the golden glow of the estate.

A maid gasped as sss walked in—mud-streaked skirt, soot on her cheek, fire in her eyes.

"Show her to the east wing," Adrienne ordered. "And inform Mr. Kingston that the collateral has arrived."

The door slammed shut behind her.

And so began sss Elara Rivers’ new life.

The girl from the village had entered the lion’s den.

But she would not be devoured.

She would rise from within.

Savage.