"Mmm..."
I let out a faint groan, my eyelids heavy as if weighed down by stones. My whole body was drained, my mind blank. The air was thick with the scent of leather and masculine cologne. I frowned, slowly opened my eyes.
Dim car lights came into view. I was lying... inside a moving car?
A wedding dress? I looked down at myself. It really was a pristine, extravagant white wedding gown. But why was I wearing this?
"Oh, the little bride's awake," a mocking voice came from the front passenger seat.
Startled, I sat up abruptly, long hair tumbling down as I stared in confusion at the two men in the front seats.
"Who… who are you? Where are you taking me?" I tried to stay calm, but my voice still trembled with fear.
I remembered today was the day my father was supposed to pick me up from my grandparents' countryside home to start a new life in the city. He said he regretted abandoning me all those years and now wanted to make it up to me, to let me continue my university studies. But now that I was here… I had a sinking feeling I understood everything.
A wave of disappointment, pain, and sorrow overwhelmed me. The fear and panic I felt moments ago faded in comparison. He… sold me?
The blond man—the one who had just called me "sister-in-law"—turned around with a mocking half-smile.
"Strange question coming from a bride. You don't know you're on your way to your wedding? We're taking you to meet… the groom," he drawled, "Captian, your future husband."
I froze.
Captian?
"Captian... Who's Captian?" I stammered, my mind conjuring up all sorts of horrifying images. He would be some fat, lecherous old man, sprawled in a gold-trimmed leather chair, one hand holding a glass of imported liquor, the other resting casually on the thigh of a girl young enough to be his daughter. His silk shirt strained over his bulging belly, the top two buttons deliberately undone to show off a gold chain thick as a bike chain. His fingers weighed down with oversized gemstone rings jade, amber, tiger's eye clinking coldly with every movement.
He'd be followed by bodyguards with every step. Every word he spoke would sound like a decree from on high, like others were kneeling at his feet. He built his wealth on blood and tears. What he loved most were those moments when debtors begged—not for forgiveness, but to name their price. He didn't need love, didn't care for reason. What he wanted was other people's despair and the way beautiful women had to lower their heads, force a smile, and pour his drink with trembling hands.
"No one's truly poor. They just haven't figured out what to sell yet." That was the kind of line people like him always said, followed by a dry, metallic laugh like rust scraping on concrete.
I shuddered. Being sold to someone like that—death would be kinder. How far had my father fallen, how corrupted must he be, to sell his own daughter?
"Hunter, this girl doesn't even know who our Captian is," the blond man laughed. The other man still driving, apparently named Hunter turned to him with a cold glare.
"Shut it, Ronan. Our job is just transportation."
"Why so serious? She should at least know who she's about to die under," Ronan burst out laughing again, then turned to me and winked.
"Remember the name Captian Anderson. CEO of LYNKOS Group."
A chill crawled down my spine. Wasn't that man a legend in the world of banking and finance? Ruthless, cold, terrifying to the point people called him "the Grim Reaper in a suit."
"No… You've got the wrong person. I'm not… I don't know anyone named Captian," I shook my head repeatedly, both hands clutching the lace of the wedding gown. Suddenly, the idea of being sold to some fat old man didn't sound so bad. At least if he was in a good mood, I might be treated "well." I'd still have a chance to survive. But this? This felt like I was being sent straight to hell while still alive.
"Don't know him? You talk like you're not the eldest daughter of the Baileys," Ronan sneered. "Your father sold you to our boss. Not a bad price either. Your whole family gets a second chance."
Saved… from what?
My father had lost his mind. How could he be this heartless? I was his daughter: his blood. Even if he didn't love me, how could he do this?
"What are you talking about… I don't agree to this!" I shouted, reaching for the door handle, but it had long been locked. I banged on the window. "Let me out! You've got the wrong girl! I didn't live off the Baileys' money go take Rose instead! Let me go...!"
"Calm down, future sister-in-law," Ronan snorted. "If you keep screaming like that, you'll have no face left to meet your husband."
"Enough," Hunter cut in, his voice cold as steel. "Shut up, Ronan."
"I'm just speaking the truth. Everyone knows the 'wedding gifts' given to Captian rarely survive their wedding night." Ronan shot me a sharp look. "If you're lucky enough to survive, you'll be our sister-in-law."
My body stiffened. My heart pounded. Cold sweat soaked my palms. It felt like I had been thrown into a cruel game with no say in it at all.
…
The car stopped in front of a massive mansion. The gray-tiled roof loomed like it was covered in the dust of time. I couldn't tell where we were only that the place was enormous, silent, and completely cut off from the outside world. Like a gate to a place no one ever returned from.
I swallowed dryly. My hands trembled, I wasn't sure if it was from fear or cold. I was about to meet him - Captian Anderson, the man they all said was colder than steel, more ruthless than my shadow. I didn't know how many seconds I had left to live, but I knew this: if I wanted to survive, I couldn't afford to be stupid. I couldn't cry. I couldn't soften. I had to do everything I could with instinct, with reason, with everything I had.
The car door opened. Light from the gate poured in, making me squint. Ronan said nothing. He bent down, grabbed my arm like I was a sack of cloth, and dragged me out. I slipped, almost fell, but he didn't care to catch me. Fear swelled in my throat.
"Please… don't…" I whispered, my voice hoarse like I'd been strangled. "I haven't done anything. I don't want to meet him. I shouldn't be here. Please, Ronan, please…"
"Shut up," Hunter cut in coldly, stepping beside me without even looking my way. "You talk too much."
I bit my lip until I tasted blood. They didn't look at me. They didn't listen. I wasn't a person. I was merchandise.
They dragged me through the grand hall, past cold stone walls, and I froze at the sight of the brightly lit parlor. It was full of people. Silent. Unnaturally silent. On the gleaming marble floor, two men knelt, heads bowed low like criminals awaiting sentence.
And in the center of the room, he stood. Captian. His back to us all. Tall and imposing, his fitted black shirt outlined a lean, muscular build. His shoulders straight as an unsheathed blade. His hair neat and precise, cold to the point it repelled life itself. The whole room felt frozen in his presence.
"Sir, I've brought her," Hunter spoke—not loud, not soft, just enough to cut through the air like a blade tapping against stone.
And he turned around.
That face—cold, sharp. His eyes were black and deep as a void, slicing through me like a blade. I shivered. I didn't know if it was because of those eyes… or the silence they carried.
Then he spoke. His voice was low, quiet, but heavy with pressure. I couldn't disobey.
"Come here."
I once thought fear would keep me frozen in place. But somehow, I rushed toward him, panic all over my face. I hesitated, not daring to look up. When I finally sneaked a glance at him, his cold, iron gaze stole my breath.
He said nothing. And I dared not speak.
Suddenly, someone tugged lightly at the hem of my wedding dress.
"Sister-in-law! Please save us! We know we were wrong! Please, say something to Captian! Beg him to give us another chance!"
"Please… help us!"
Startled, I instinctively stepped back. The two kneeling men were clutching my dress, crying in despair. Grown men crying like death was at their heels. I could feel their desperation as if it were my own.
They must have thought I was truly Captian's bride—the future mistress of this house. But they didn't know I was no better than them. I couldn't even save myself.
Their pleading gazes pierced through me. But I knew, clearly, if I stepped into something that wasn't my place, I'd only drag myself down with them. The three of us were all standing on the edge of a cliff.
It felt like a boulder pressed on my shoulders, holding me still. Slowly, I looked up. Captian's gaze locked onto mine: cold as steel, sharp as a blade. No words were needed. That look gave a command: "Say something. Do something. Or you'll go down with them."
"I..."
A thought sparked. What if I used them as my chance to survive? They were going to die anyway. If I stayed silent, the number of corpses tonight would be three, not two. But if Captian saw I was like him calculating, willing to trade to survive, decisive—maybe he'd spare me?
I swallowed, masking my fear with a fake calm. I spoke—clear and firm:
"I've heard Captian punishes with fairness and precision. If these two are here, that means they truly deserve to die."