Marked as Property

Julia's POV:

I wake with a start, my throat raw from screaming in my sleep. For a moment, I forget where I am. Then the cold reality seeps in with the damp chill of the stone beneath me.

Three days. That's how long I've been in this pit they call a holding cell. Or maybe it's been four? Without windows, time blurs into an endless nightmare.

The fever makes my skin burn even as I shiver. My captors haven't bothered with medical attention—why waste resources on property?

That's what I am now. Property. Not a person.

The heavy metal door scrapes open, flooding the darkness with harsh light that makes my swollen eyes water. A silhouette fills the doorway—broad-shouldered and imposing.

"Still breathing, I see." The woman they call Tigress steps into my prison, her muscular frame blocking what little light filters in. "Master Thorne doesn't like to be kept waiting for his new acquisitions."

I try to sit up, but the chains around my ankles clank against the stone floor, reminding me of my captivity. My wrists, raw and scabbed from yesterday's restraints, throb with each heartbeat.

"Here." She tosses a wooden bowl that lands beside me, splashing gray porridge onto the filthy floor. "Eat. You'll need your strength."

The meager portion wouldn't satisfy a child, but my stomach growls traitorously. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning.

"What—" My voice cracks. I swallow and try again. "What kind of work am I expected to do?"

Tigress barks out a laugh that contains no humor. "You think you're special? You're a slave. You do whatever Master Thorne commands. Clean, cook, warm his bed—whatever he wants."

A chill that has nothing to do with the damp cell runs through me.

"I can't—" I gesture weakly to the chains binding my ankles.

Her eyes narrow dangerously. "You don't give orders here, girl. You don't make requests. You don't even speak unless spoken to."

She strides forward, grabs a bucket I hadn't noticed, and without warning, dumps ice-cold water over my head. I gasp, the shock stealing my breath.

"That's for questioning your place," she snarls. "Next time, I'll use the whip instead of water."

I curl into myself, shivering violently now, my thin shift plastered to my skin.

"Address me as Tigress. Nothing else. Understand?"

"Yes... Tigress," I whisper through chattering teeth.

She nods once, satisfied with my submission, and unlocks the ankle chains. "Eat. Then make yourself presentable. Master Thorne may want to inspect his new property today."

The door slams behind her, the lock clicking into place with terrible finality.

I drag myself toward the bowl, scooping up what porridge hasn't spilled with trembling fingers. It tastes like paste, but I force it down. Survival first. Pride later.

As I eat, memories flood back unbidden. Just ten days ago, I was free. Not happy, not safe, but free.

I close my eyes, trying to block the images, but they come anyway. My stepfather's face, flushed with drink and fear as the debt collectors stormed our home. Preston smirking from the corner, knowing what was coming. Connor sobbing as they dragged me away.

"She'll cover the debt," my stepfather had said, not meeting my eyes. "She's young, healthy. Take her to Master Thorne."

The men had laughed. One grabbed my chin, turning my face this way and that like examining livestock. "She'll fetch a good price. Thorne likes them spirited."

I'd fought then. Kicked and screamed and clawed. It earned me a blow to the head that still throbs when I move too quickly.

The bowl empty, I use the remaining water to clean myself as best I can. My reflection in the small puddle on the floor shows a stranger—hollow-eyed, bruised, hair matted with blood and grime.

I've heard whispers about Master Thorne. The guards speak of him in hushed tones, a mixture of fear and reverence in their voices. They say he collects beautiful things and beautiful people, only to break them for sport. They say he hasn't smiled since his wife died. They say his heart is as cold as his name.

I examine my prison again, searching for any weakness, any escape. The walls are solid stone, the door reinforced metal. The only openings are tiny air vents near the ceiling, barely wide enough for my hand.

"You're not getting out of here, Julia," I whisper to myself. "This is your life now."

I've tried to stay strong, but in the silence and darkness, despair creeps in. I allow myself one moment of weakness, one silent scream of rage against the family that betrayed me, against the man who now owns me.

Then I wipe away my tears. Crying won't help. Nothing will help.

I was born Julia Alvarado, daughter of a loving mother and a father who died too soon. I worked hard, stayed honest, protected my half-brother when no one else would. I did everything right.

And still, I ended up here—in a pit beneath the castle of a man they call Thorne, waiting to learn what form my slavery will take.

I curl up in the driest corner of my cell, hugging my knees to my chest. The fever makes my thoughts drift. I wonder if Master Thorne will see me today. I wonder if he's as cruel as they say. I wonder if death might be kinder than whatever awaits me in his service.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor jolts me from my thoughts. Multiple sets, coming closer.

Is it him? Has the moment come?

I press myself against the wall, heart hammering against my ribs. Whatever happens next, I know one thing for certain—my old life is gone forever.

What new horrors await me in the castle of the ruthless Master Thorne?