Chapter 1
One
Two hours before…
Wynter
As I begin my descent of the grand staircase, the ballroom unfurls below me like a gilded cage.
The polished marble floor gleams under the oppressive twinkle of crystal chandeliers, reflecting a thousand points of light I cannot feel.
The walls are paneled in rich, dark wood, their intricately carved floral motifs seeming to writhe in the periphery.
Moonlight spills through massive velvet-draped windows, casting a silver, spectral glow across the room.
In a corner, a string quartet saws through a melodious waltz, a sound that mingles with the brittle hum of conversation, all of it feeling distant, as if happening under glass.
My heart hammers a frantic, desperate rhythm against my ribs, a stark counterpoint to the elegant music.
With every soft echo of my steps, the heads of the guests turn.
They are a sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns, their eyes widening not just in admiration, but with a predatory curiosity.
This is my debut. The ghost they've only heard whispers of, finally made flesh.
The weight of their collective gaze is a physical pressure, threatening to crush me.
The yellow silk of my gown flows like liquid sunshine, a cruel irony for a girl who has lived in shadows.
The skirt flares into a sweeping train, its delicate gold embroidery tracing patterns that feel more like chains than decorations.
The bodice, a deep, unforgiving blue, hugs my torso with an expert, suffocating craftsmanship.
Each breath is a deliberate, shallow act, a battle against the tight lacing.
My stepmother’s work. A perfect, poised doll on the outside, while my lungs scream for air within.
My hair is a crown of midnight, the glossy black strands woven into an intricate braid, coiled and pinned with a regal severity that feels like a costume. It’s all a facade. A beautiful, breathtaking lie.
And the architect of this lie is my stepmother, Evilin.
A name that has never felt more appropriate.
This grand celebration is not a gift; it is a display.
A spectacle of her supposed generosity, masking intentions I can feel coiled in the air like a serpent.
Even here, surrounded by opulence, the familiar dread gnaws at me.
Tonight is my eighteenth birthday, but it feels more like my unveiling at an auction.
The memory of her hands on me just hours ago is a phantom chill on my skin. Cold and unyielding as she fastened the corset, pulling the laces until stars danced at the edge of my vision.
She had leaned in close, her voice a cold whisper in my ear, her expensive perfume a cloying mix of florals and power.
“Remember, this is an honor. People want to celebrate you.” Her reflection in the mirror told the truth; her eyes were chips of ice, an ugly sneer twisting her perfect lips.
“Don’t forget,” she’d continued, her voice dripping with saccharine poison, “how lucky you are.”
“Suck it in, for fuck’s sake,” she’d seethed, one final, brutal yank on the laces stealing the very air from my lungs. Then she’d pushed me away from the mirror to gaze at her own reflection, standing still for a long moment, as if waiting for an answer.
“Shut up!” she had suddenly screamed at the glass, before snatching my vanity chair and hurling it. The mirror shattered into a million glittering tears. Her rage-filled eyes met mine, and a promise of violence I knew all too well flashed within them. “It’s you,” she’d cursed.
Before she could cross the room, my maid, Emily, had rushed in. “I-I heard a crash,” she’d stammered, her presence a fragile shield. Evilin wouldn’t dare leave a mark, not tonight. Not with a witness who would talk.
“Clean this,” Evilin had snapped, before storming out.
I’d slumped against the wall, fighting the encroaching darkness in my vision, my ribs screaming against their cage.
Evilin never gave me attention unless it was painful.
This party wasn't a change of heart. It was a new, terrifying strategy, and I could only hope to survive it long enough to make my escape.
The memory fades, but the tightness in my chest remains.
The line of guests thins as they offer hollow well-wishes and leave their gifts on a table already overflowing.
I know Evilin will sift through them later, keeping the best for herself.
This charade of generosity is just another tool of her control.
“Happy eighteenth, Wynter!”
The voice is a balm, a single point of warmth in the freezing room. Relief, so potent it almost makes my knees buckle, washes over me as I see Emily, my only friend. Since my father’s death, she has been my lifeline.
“Oh, Emily!” I exclaim, my voice thick with emotion as I take the small, intricately carved wooden box she offers. Inside, a set of exquisite hairpins rests on velvet. “They’re perfect! But I told you not to get me anything.”
“I couldn’t resist,” she replies with a grin, pulling me into a hug that feels like the only real thing that’s happened all night.
For a moment, the fear recedes. Maybe, just maybe, this party is a new beginning.
But the thought dissolves the instant I see her across the room.
Evilin. Watching. Her expression is unreadable, but her gaze is a physical weight that makes my skin crawl.
“How are you holding up?” Emily whispers, her voice a conspiratorial murmur. “That dress is a masterpiece, but you look like you can barely breathe.”
“This is… a lot,” I gesture vaguely to the opulent chaos. “Don’t you think?”
She scrunches her nose. “Maybe Evil is turning over a new leaf,” she muses, the old nickname a small spark of our shared defiance.
“Yeah, maybe…” I trail off, unconvinced.
“Well,” she says, trying to inject some levity, “any cute boys catch your eye?”
Her question is meant as a distraction, but my gaze snags on a figure in the corner, and the rest of the room fades to a muted roar.
He is an imposing silhouette of power, his tailored suit doing little to conceal the raw strength in his frame.
Long, black hair is pulled back in a severe bun, exposing the sharp, unforgiving line of his jaw, dusted with stubble.
But it’s his eyes that hold me captive. They are a piercing, glacial blue, and they are fixed on me with an unnerving intensity, as if he can see straight through the silk and the smiles to the frantic bird beating its wings in my chest. He radiates a magnetic stillness, a predator at rest. Every other man in the room seems like a boy in comparison.
A jolt, sharp and unwelcome, shoots through me. It’s not just attraction; it’s a primal, terrifying recognition. My friend tugs on my hand, snapping the connection. The party comes roaring back to life, louder and more jarring than before.
“Emily, who is that?” I whisper, my voice unsteady.
Emily follows my gaze and I feel her stiffen beside me. “Oh. Stay away from him, Wyn. That’s… I think that’s Kaden Prince.” She says the name like a curse.
“Should I know who that is?”
She pulls me into a secluded alcove, her eyes darting around. “He’s the head of the largest mafia family in Alaska. The Deadly Seven. They’re not just rumors, Wynter, they’re nightmares. I heard… I heard he drowns men in the frozen rivers for crossing him. And he laughs while he does it.”
The image—a desperate face trapped beneath the ice—flashes in my mind, and a chill that has nothing to do with the Alaskan night seeps into my bones.
I risk a glance over my shoulder. Those same icy blue eyes are still on me, and a flicker of something dark and possessive crosses his features.
It feels like he just heard Emily's words and found them satisfying. Goosebumps erupt over my skin.
“What is he doing here?” I wonder aloud.
“Nothing good,” Emily pleads. “Please, Wynter. Stay away from him.”
Her warning rings in my ears, but it’s a distant bell against the magnetic pull of his gaze.
He is danger personified. He is everything I should run from.
So why does a rebellious, self-destructive part of me want to walk straight into the fire?
My whole life has been a cage. Maybe it’s time to dance with the devil.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t see Evilin approach, her presence a sudden drop in temperature.
“Wynter,” she says, her voice loud enough for those nearby to hear.
“It is unbecoming to sequester yourself. Mingle. And try to converse with those who matter, not… the help.” Her disdainful gaze dismisses Emily like a piece of lint on a coat.
I mouth “I’m sorry” to Emily as Evilin’s fingers dig into my arm, yanking me back toward the center of the room. The sting is a familiar promise of the pain she prefers to inflict behind closed doors. I force the mask of a smile back onto my face, a puppet on her strings.
After an eternity of forced pleasantries, Evilin is distracted by a wealthy dignitary.
I seize the moment, slipping away onto a deserted balcony.
The frigid air is a welcome shock, clearing my head.
I gaze out at the snow-covered gardens, my sanctuary.
Evilin’s disdain for anything natural or untamed meant she never set foot there, leaving it as my only true refuge.
My mind drifts back to a happier time, a time of warmth and gentle hands.
“Wyn, you’ve got to pat the ground gently,” my mother’s voice, fragile as a bird’s wing, whispered. I’d copied her movements, my small hands pressing dirt around the base of a new apple tree. My father had told me she was unwell, but in my child’s mind, I thought she’d be with me forever.
“This tree will grow up with you, my love,” she’d murmured, a tear tracing a path through the dirt on her hollow cheek. The sight of it was a physical blow, the first time I truly saw the illness devouring her.
“I’ll always be here with you,” she promised. “Whenever you need me, come sit by our tree, and that’s where I’ll be.”
The memory dissolves as a gust of wind bites at my skin.
The tranquility is gone, replaced by the cold reality of my situation.
I take one last breath of the clean, cold air before turning back to the ballroom.
As I near the entrance, I hear voices from a nearby room.
A low, gravelly rumble that vibrates through the floorboards, a sound of pure, masculine authority.
“I want my payment tonight.”
The voice sends a tremor of unease through me. It’s deep and powerful, a predator’s voice. It sounds exactly like the man in the corner looks.
Evilin’s reply is sharp and cold, cutting through the air. “You’ll get what you’re owed.”
A dark chuckle slithers down the corridor, a sound devoid of all humor that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. “I don’t think you understand. I’ve decided your debt can only be paid one way.” A beat of silence hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. “I’m taking the girl.”
My blood turns to ice. The girl. He’s talking about me. And the man Evilin owes a debt to, the man Emily warned me about, the man who drowns people and laughs... it has to be him. The realization hits me not as a thought, but as a full-body conviction. It’s Kaden Prince.
A gasp escapes my lips, and I clamp my hand over my mouth, my heart seizing in my chest.
“No,” Evilin retorts, a strange fury in her voice.
“I see the hatred in your eyes when you look at her. I’ll be doing you a favor. I’m taking her off your hands.”
“You don’t have that right!”
There’s a tense shuffle, then a heavy thump against the wall that makes me jump. The man’s voice, now a menacing purr, responds. “Evilin. Try and stop me.”
The threat is not a question. It is a statement of fact. He is not asking for me. He is taking me. Panic, pure and undiluted, floods my veins. I have to get out. Not later. Now.
I slip back into the ballroom, my mind a chaotic swirl.
I force a smile, nodding at guests as I make my way toward the main entrance, my steps quickening with every foot.
The moment I’m through the doors and out of sight of the guards, I break into a desperate run.
My gown billows behind me, a flash of yellow against the frozen night as I flee into the darkness, trading one monster for another.