Emperor of ashes

The hour I had dreaded for a year had finally arrived. The Beast was coming — and once he arrived, there would be no bargaining, no escape, no mercy. My bags were already packed. My hands trembled as I checked my phone again. No cab. No driver. No miracle. Fine. I’d walk. The night felt cold and empty, but at least it was freedom — freedom I was determined to cling to. I stepped onto the lonely road, each footstep sounding louder than it should, when a harsh voice shattered the silence. “Hey! Stop. Right there.” Panic jolted through me. I ran, abandoning my luggage without a second thought. But shadows moved around me like they’d been waiting. Three men emerged, blocking my escape with cold efficiency. One grabbed my arm and struck me; the sting lit my nerves, but fear pushed me to slap him back. His rage snapped forward, but a quiet, commanding gesture stopped him. Then came slow applause. “Well,” a familiar voice murmured. “She still fights. Even now.” The Beast. He stepped into the weak glow of the streetlight, wearing a luxury suit that didn’t match the cruelty in his eyes. Smoke drifted lazily from the cigarette in his hand, as if he had all the time in the world. As if I wasn’t already suffocating with fear. “Where is my boss’s money?” he asked, voice too calm to be safe. My knees buckled before I could stop myself. I clutched his leg. “Please. Tell him I’ll pay. I just— I just need more time.” He shook me off like dust. “You had a year,” he said, his tone almost bored. “Now time is up. So you’ll repay the debt another way.” A cruel smile touched his lips. “You’ll be working under his son.” My heartbeat stuttered. His son — the one even the violent feared. The one whispered about. The one no one disobeyed. “No,” I whispered. “I can’t— I won’t.” “Then run,” he said softly. “Let’s see how far you get.” I snatched my suitcase and threw it at them, desperation becoming strength. Then I sprinted, the wind tearing at my face, my lungs burning with hope I knew was impossible. For a moment, just one moment, I thought maybe—maybe—I could outrun them. Then something heavy struck the back of my head. The world tilted. The lights blurred. And everything faded into darkness. Jordan pov The morning light cut through the glass walls of my penthouse like sharp blades, glinting against the untouched coffee cooling in my hand. It should have been a peaceful morning. But peace never existed in my father’s world—and therefore, not in mine. From the top floor, I watched the estate below: guards pacing, cars lining up at the entrance, staff hurrying like the world might collapse if they slowed down for even a second. Another girl was coming today. Another “match.” Another attempt from my father to force me into a life I didn’t choose. I exhaled sharply, jaw tight. “He never listens,” I muttered to myself. “Never.” The quiet click of heels broke the silence. Harper stepped into the room, bowing slightly the moment her eyes met mine. Harper had been my personal assistant since I was thirteen. She could read my moods like headlines. “Sir…” she began, voice gentle, “she has arrived.” Of course she had. They always arrived—dragged, escorted, escorted with fear in their eyes. “I already know,” I said, placing the cup down with a bit more force than necessary. “My father warned me last night.” Harper hesitated—something she rarely did. “Master Jordan… if you never choose, he will continue this. You know how he is.” A cold, humorless smile crossed my lips. “I know exactly how he is, Harper. That’s the problem.” No sooner had I spoken than heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway. The air shifted. My body tensed instinctively—only one person carried that kind of presence without saying a word. Jake. My father’s right hand. His beast. His shadow. Jake entered the room with a smug, satisfied grin, dragging a girl behind him with the kind of grip that dared anyone to interfere. The girl stumbled, but quickly regained her stance, straightening her spine even with her wrists bound. Not crying. Not pleading. Not shaking. Interesting. “She is all yours now, Master Jordan,” Jake announced, releasing her like she was some wild animal he had just caught. The second his hand let go, she pulled her shoulders back, chin up, eyes burning with a fury I hadn’t seen in years. Jake left, and silence swallowed the room whole. I walked down the stairs slowly, deliberately, studying her the entire time. She was clearly from a humble background—clothes worn, shoes barely holding together—but it wasn’t her appearance that caught my attention. It was confidence. The defiance. The absolute refusal to look away. “What’s your name?” I asked, stopping in front of her. She tilted her head slightly. “Why do you need to know?” Gasps erupted behind us. Even Harper stiffened. Most girls barely managed to speak around me. This one? She challenged me. A dangerous thrill pricked at my chest. “Answer the question,” I said, voice low. “No,” she said simply. The staff stared at her like she had just declared war on the entire household. My eyebrows lifted. “You’re bold.” She smirked—actually smirked. “Or maybe you’re just used to people being afraid of you.” My pulse kicked. Bold didn’t even begin to describe her. I reached inside my jacket and pulled out my gun—not pointing it, not firing it, just letting the metal gleam between us like a warning. A test. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t shrink back. She stared at me like she was daring me to act. “You won’t do anything,” she said. “Not while your father is involved. You act tough, but you’re more afraid of him than I should be of you.” A hush swept over the entire hall. Even the guards exchanged glances. Her words hit harder than I expected. Not because she was wrong—but because no one had ever said it out loud. I stepped toward her, close enough for her to feel the tension radiating off me. “I could make your life very difficult here,” I said calmly. Her confidence cracked—just slightly. “My… my name is Angel,” she stammered. “Just don’t… don’t start trouble yet.” Behind us, the staff whispered: “He smiled…” “Master actually smiled…” “What kind of girl is she?” My eyes flicked toward them, and instantly the room went silent. I turned back to Angel. “If you want to stay alive and sane in this house, you follow my rules.” Harper stepped forward with a thick leather-bound rulebook—sharp corners, heavy pages, a symbol of my father’s control disguised as order. Angel’s eyes flickered to it, but she didn’t reach for it. I could already tell: She wasn’t going to obey anything. Not willingly. Not quietly. And something about that made the air feel… different. This girl wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t broken. She wasn’t submissive. She wasn’t afraid to stare a monster in the face. And for the first time in a long time… I didn’t know whether I wanted to break her spirit— or see how far her fire could burn