I'm the Young Master's New Pet

The vanity mirror in Elara's room didn't reflect a woman anymore; it reflected a masterpiece. The maids had spent four hours on her transformation. Her skin had been buffed to a pearlescent sheen, her hair swept up into an intricate arrangement that left her neck-and the silver collar-completely exposed.

Julian had sent a new dress. It was a gown of midnight blue silk, so dark it was almost black, with a neckline that plunged dangerously low and a slit that rose to the top of her thigh. It was elegant, but it was designed to provoke.

"The Young Master is ready," the head maid, a woman with eyes like cold stones, announced.

Elara stood, the silk whispering against her legs. She felt the weight of the silver key still tucked into her bodice-a secret weapon hidden against her skin. She descended the grand staircase, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm.

Julian was waiting at the foot of the stairs. He was in a tuxedo that fit him with lethal precision. He looked up as she descended, and for a moment, the air in the foyer seemed to vanish. His gaze was a physical weight, traveling from the tips of her heels to the glitter of the diamonds on her neck.

He didn't say she was beautiful. He didn't have to. The way his jaw tightened and his pupils blown wide said everything.

"You will stay within three feet of me at all times," Julian said, his voice a low vibration. He reached out, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm. "Tonight, you aren't just Elara. You are the reason the Blackwood empire has closed its doors to outside mergers. You are my statement to the world."

"A statement with a price tag," Elara whispered, her pride stinging.

"A statement that you are priceless," he countered, his eyes flashing.

The gala was held at the Starlight Pavilion, a glass structure perched on the edge of the city's highest cliff. As they stepped out of the black limousine, a wall of camera flashes blinded her. The whispers were a physical roar.

"Is that her?"

"The Vance girl?"

"I heard he paid fifty million..."

"Look at the collar... he's actually branded her."

Julian ignored them all, his grip on her arm firm as he led her through the double doors. The ballroom was a sea of gold, champagne, and vipers. Every eye in the room turned toward them. Men looked at her with a mix of hunger and pity; women looked at her with pure, unadulterated venom.

In the corner of the room, Elara saw Lydia. The fiancée was dressed in white, looking like a vengeful bride. She was surrounded by a group of elders, their faces grim.

"Julian," one of the elders, a man with a cane and a face like wrinkled parchment, said as they approached. "You've made quite a splash. But a pet at a diplomatic gala? It's beneath the family name."

"My name is whatever I define it as, Silas," Julian said, his voice carrying a cold edge that silenced the table. "And Elara is not a guest. She is an extension of me. Treat her with the same respect you would treat my right hand, or you'll find out how quickly I can sever ties."

Julian led her away, toward the balcony where the air was cooler. He handed her a glass of champagne, his fingers brushing hers. "You're doing well. Keep your head high."

"I feel like a prize horse," she spat, taking a sip of the drink.

"Horses are for riding, Elara," Julian murmured, leaning in close, his breath hot against her ear. "You are for worshipping. There's a difference."

Before she could respond, a man stepped out of the shadows of the balcony. He was tall, with silvering hair at his temples and a smile that made Elara's skin crawl. This was Marcus Thorne, the rival billionaire and Victor's father.

"Blackwood," Marcus said, his voice like grinding gravel. "I see you've brought your little investment out for a walk."

Julian's posture shifted instantly into that of a predator. He stepped slightly in front of Elara. "Thorne. I didn't think you were on the guest list."

"I own the guest list," Marcus laughed. He turned his gaze to Elara, his eyes narrowing with a sickening familiarity. "Hello, Elara. You look remarkably like your mother. She was a beautiful woman, right up until the end."

Elara felt the blood drain from her face. "You knew her?"

"I knew her debts," Marcus said, taking a step closer. Julian moved to block him, but Marcus held up a hand. "Relax, Julian. I'm just here to deliver a message. Elara, your father is a very difficult man to find. But the Thorne Syndicate has deep pockets and even deeper connections."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that only Elara and Julian could hear.

"I know where Arthur is. He's in a hole in Macau, trying to sell the one thing he has left-the location of the Blackwood vault codes. He's desperate, Elara. And desperate men do very loud things."

Elara's hand shook, the champagne splashing against the rim of the glass. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Marcus said, looking at Julian with a grin of pure malice. "If you want to save him before Julian's cleanup crew finds him, you'll need to come to me. I'll be at the docks tomorrow night. Alone."

"She's going nowhere with you," Julian hissed, his hand dropping to the small of Elara's back, his grip bruising.

"Is that so?" Marcus mused. "Then I suppose the police will find him first. Or perhaps the men he owes money to. It's a tragedy, really. To be sold once, only to watch your father die because your new Master couldn't share."

Marcus turned and vanished back into the crowd, leaving a trail of cold dread in his wake.

Elara looked at Julian, her eyes wide with terror and a sudden, sharp realization. "You're hunting him. You're not trying to protect me-you're trying to find him so you can kill him."

Julian didn't deny it. He pulled her closer, his face a mask of stone. "He is a threat to you, Elara. As long as he is alive, you are never truly safe. He will sell you again the moment he needs a fix."

"He's my father!" she screamed, though her voice was drowned out by the orchestra playing a waltz in the ballroom.

"He's a ghost," Julian countered. "And I am the man keeping you in the light. Don't listen to Thorne. He's using you to get to me."

"And what are you doing?" Elara asked, her voice breaking. "You're using me as a shield. You're using me to keep the Rossis and the Thornes at bay."

Julian grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes burning with an intensity that was both terrifying and seductive. "I am using everything I have to keep you, Elara. If that makes me a villain, then I will be the best villain you've ever met."

He pulled her back into the ballroom, but the glamour of the evening had shattered. Elara felt the weight of the silver key against her chest. Marcus Thorne had given her a choice: stay with the Master who branded her, or trust the rival who wanted to use her.

As the waltz reached its climax, Julian pulled her into his arms for a dance. They moved in perfect harmony, a vision of elegance and power, but beneath the silk and the diamonds, a war was being waged.

Julian's hand was firm on her waist, his gaze never leaving hers. He looked like he wanted to kiss her and kill the world all at once.

"Don't go to the docks," he whispered as he spun her across the floor.

"How do you know I was thinking about it?" she asked.

"Because I know everything you think, Elara. I've been studying you for a long time."

The dance ended, and the crowd erupted in applause. Julian bowed, his hand never leaving hers. But as he led her toward the exit, Elara saw Marcus Thorne watching her from the shadows, a single finger raised to his lips in a sign of silence.

Back in the limousine, the silence was a living thing. Julian stared out the window, his jaw tight. Elara sat as far from him as possible, the silver collar feeling like a noose.

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" she asked.

"If I have to," Julian said.

"Then you're no better than him."

Julian turned to her, his eyes like cold ash. "The difference, Elara, is that I would never sell you. I would burn the world down before I let a single coin touch your hand in exchange for your soul."

He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. For a moment, she saw the boy in the garden, the one who had pulled her from the fire. But then the mask of the Young Master returned.

"Go to bed," he said as the car pulled up to the estate. "We have a long day tomorrow."

Elara walked to her room, but she didn't go to bed. She waited until the house was silent, until the hum of the security system was the only sound.

She took the silver key from her bodice. She looked at the window. Marcus Thorne was a liar, and Julian Blackwood was a stalker. But her father was her blood.

She began to pack a small bag. She was going to the docks.

But as she reached for her cloak, she heard a soft click at the door.

She turned, expecting Julian. But it wasn't Julian.

Standing in the doorway was Lydia, the fiancée. She was holding a small, silenced pistol, and her eyes were filled with a dark, murderous glee.

"The Master is busy," Lydia whispered. "And I think it's time the pet was put down."