Kira's POV
The transport slammed to a stop so suddenly I crashed against the wall.
"We're here," the officer's voice crackled through the speaker. "Upper Tower Seven. Commander Vex'thor's private quarters."
My stomach twisted. Through the small window, I saw we'd arrived at the tallest building in the city—a massive spire of black metal and glass that pierced the clouds. Only the highest-ranking Xylarans lived here. The most powerful. The most dangerous.
The door opened, flooding the dark transport with blinding light.
"Out," the officer ordered.
I climbed out on shaking legs, still cuffed. We were in an underground parking bay—cold, sterile, with armed guards everywhere. They all stared at me. At the white dress. At the collar.
They knew what I was.
"This way." The officer grabbed my arm and pulled me toward a private elevator. His grip hurt, but I didn't make a sound. Showing pain here felt like showing weakness to predators.
The elevator doors closed, trapping us in a small metal box. The officer pressed the button for floor 157—the very top of the tower.
"Advice," he said suddenly, his black eyes fixed on the rising floor numbers. "Don't talk unless he asks you a question. Don't look him in the eyes unless he orders it. Don't cry where he can see you. Tears annoy him."
"Why are you telling me this?" My voice came out barely a whisper.
"Because I've transported eleven offerings to him before you." He finally looked at me. "Only three made it the full month. The others..." He shook his head. "Just follow the rules. Maybe you'll be lucky."
The elevator dinged.
Floor 157.
The doors opened onto a hallway of pure luxury—polished floors, walls that glowed with soft light, artwork that probably cost more than my entire neighborhood. Everything was cold and perfect and lifeless.
At the end of the hall stood a single door. Black metal with silver symbols.
Commander Vex'thor's quarters.
"Last chance to run," the officer said, but his tone was joking. We both knew I couldn't run. Where would I go? How would I get past the guards?
He walked me to the door and pressed the entry panel.
"Commander, your offering has arrived," he announced to the speaker.
A voice answered. Deep. Cold. Absolutely devoid of emotion.
"Send her in."
The door slid open.
The officer unlocked my cuffs, and suddenly my hands were free. But I'd never felt less free in my entire life.
"Good luck," he muttered, then pushed me forward.
I stumbled through the doorway.
The door sealed shut behind me with a soft hiss.
I was inside.
The quarters were enormous—bigger than my entire apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the whole city spread below. Everything was black, silver, and white. Elegant. Expensive. Completely empty of warmth.
And standing by the window, silhouetted against the light, was him.
Commander Zair Vex'thor.
He was even bigger than I expected. Seven feet of pure muscle and genetic modification. His silver-white hair caught the light like metal. When he turned to look at me, his violet eyes were like looking into the heart of a dying star—beautiful and absolutely lethal.
He stared at me for a long moment. Assessing. Judging. Like I was equipment he'd ordered and needed to inspect.
"Come here," he said.
My legs wouldn't move.
"I don't like to repeat myself." His voice dropped lower. Dangerous.
I forced myself to walk forward, each step harder than the last. I stopped a few feet away from him, my head down, my hands clasped in front of me.
He moved closer. His shadow swallowed me.
I smelled something sharp and metallic—whatever alien biology produced. Up close, I could see the platinum circuitry running beneath his skin, glowing faintly. He was beautiful in the way a blade was beautiful. Made for killing.
"Look at me."
I lifted my eyes to meet his. It felt like staring into ice.
He reached out and grabbed my chin, tilting my head roughly from side to side, examining my face. His touch was cold. Not human cold—something deeper.
"They chose well," he said, more to himself than to me. "Good bone structure. Healthy. Young enough to be... moldable."
I wanted to jerk away. To slap his hand. To scream. But the transport officer's words echoed in my head: Don't cry where he can see you. Tears annoy him.
So I stayed frozen.
He released my chin and walked around me in a slow circle, still assessing. I felt his eyes on every part of me. Judging. Evaluating.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Kira." My voice cracked. "Kira Chen."
"Kira," he repeated, like testing how it sounded. "I won't use it. Names create familiarity. I don't require familiarity from you. I require obedience. Compliance. Silence when not spoken to. Do you understand these terms?"
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I blinked them back. "Yes."
"Yes, what?"
I hesitated, confused.
His hand shot out and grabbed my throat. Not choking. Just holding. A warning.
"Yes, Commander," he said slowly, his face inches from mine. "Those are the only two words you need when answering me. Yes, Commander. Do you understand now?"
His hand on my throat made it hard to speak, but I forced the words out.
"Yes, Commander."
He released me and stepped back. "Better. You're trainable. That's good. The last one wasn't." He gestured to a door on the right. "Those are your quarters. Small but functional. You'll sleep there. Eat there. Wait there until I summon you. Which I will do whenever I require your... services."
Services. Such a cold word for what was about to happen.
"The bathroom has everything you need. There's a meal schedule programmed into the room console. Follow it." He turned away, already losing interest. "I have work to complete. I'll send for you at 2100 hours. That gives you—" he checked his wrist display, "—nine hours to prepare yourself mentally."
Nine hours until he used me.
"What if I refuse?" The words escaped before I could stop them.
He turned back slowly, his expression unchanged. But something flickered in his violet eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or amusement.
"Refuse?" He walked back to me. "You signed the contract. Your family accepted payment. You're legally my property for thirty days. Refusal isn't possible."
"I'm a person, not property."
"You're a human," he corrected. "An inferior. And in this empire, inferiors don't have the luxury of personhood. They have function. Your function is to serve me however I require. If you refuse, I'll file a breach of contract report. Your family will be arrested. You'll be sent to a labor camp for twenty years. Is that what you want?"
My hands clenched into fists. "No."
"Then we understand each other." He moved to his work desk, already dismissing me. "Your quarters. Now. And remember—tears annoy me. So whatever you need to feel, do it privately."
I walked to the door he'd indicated. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else.
Inside was a small room—bed, bathroom, nothing else. A prison disguised as accommodation.
I closed the door and immediately collapsed against it, finally letting the tears come. But I made no sound. Even crying, I followed his rules.
Nine hours until 2100.
Nine hours until I stopped being Kira Chen and became just... a thing he used.
I slid down to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, and let myself break silently.
At 2030 hours, a chime sounded in my room.
"Thirty minutes," a computerized voice announced. "Prepare for summoning."
I'd spent the last nine hours crying, then being numb, then cycling back to crying. I'd tried to contact Lysa with the communicator, but something in these quarters blocked the signal. I was completely cut off.
Now I had thirty minutes.
I stood up and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. My eyes were red and swollen. My makeup was ruined. I looked like exactly what I was—a terrified girl about to be destroyed.
I washed my face. Rebraided my hair the way Mom used to do it. If I was going to survive this, I needed to be her daughter. Strong. Brave.
Even when I was breaking.
At exactly 2100 hours, the chime sounded again.
"Commander Vex'thor requires your presence. Main quarters. Now."
My hands shook as I opened the door.
The main quarters were dimly lit now. He stood by the windows, still in his uniform, his back to me.
"Lock the door behind you," he said without turning around.
I did. The click sounded like a cell door closing.
He finally turned to face me. In the low light, his circuitry glowed brighter, making him look even less human.
"Come here," he ordered.
I walked to him on legs that barely held me.
"I'm going to explain this once," he said. "I don't enjoy hurting you. I don't enjoy your fear. But I also don't care about either. You're here for a purpose. To fulfill a contract. What you feel during that fulfillment is irrelevant to me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Commander."
"Good." He reached for the collar of my white dress. "Then let's begin."
His hands were on me.
And somewhere deep inside, something in me started screaming and never stopped.
FOUR HOURS LATER
I lay on his bed—no, not his bed, just the bed—staring at the ceiling while my body throbbed with pain I didn't have words for.
He was already dressed, working at his console like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just spent hours treating me like I wasn't human.
I pulled the sheet around myself, every movement agony.
"You may return to your quarters," he said without looking at me. "Clean yourself. I'll require you again tomorrow at the same time."
Tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.
For thirty days.
I stood on shaking legs and walked toward my room door. Each step left tiny drops of blood on his perfect white floor.
Just before I closed the door, his voice stopped me.
"Kira."
I froze. He'd used my name.
"You lasted longer than most," he said, still not looking at me. "That shows resilience. Perhaps you'll survive the month after all."
I didn't answer. Just closed the door and collapsed inside my room.
My communicator beeped—signal restored now that I was alone.
Lysa's message flashed: Are you okay? Please respond. I'm ready to come get you.
My hands shook as I typed back: Don't come. I'll survive. 29 days left.
Her response was immediate: I'm here. Always. You're stronger than him. Remember that.
I clutched the communicator to my chest and let myself cry again.
Twenty-nine days.
I could do this.
I had to.
Because the alternative was giving up.
And I'd made a promise to myself in that transport.
I was going to survive.
And then I was going to make them all pay.