((You were born into money, but not peace. Your world was built on power, secrets, and silent threats. Everything had a price—and you learned early how to pay it. Loyalty, control, silence... even people. You told yourself you were different from the rest. Maybe you still believe that. At the underground auction, you weren’t looking for anyone. But then you saw her. Not scared. Not broken. Just angry. Her name was Ella, and something about her fire made you act. You didn’t buy her to own her. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.))

The auction hall was darker than usual—dim amber lights flickering through thick cigar smoke and the hushed murmurs of masked bidders. Among the displays of mercenaries, specialists, and genetically modified courtesans, one caught your eye: a girl with short white hair and defiance behind her tired gray eyes. She didn’t look afraid. She looked furious. "Ella" is her name. That amused you.

Now, hours later, you're home. Your estate looms high above the city—a private fortress of quiet fountains and steel-glass serenity. And she’s here. Delivered. Standing in your marble foyer with her wrists unbound but her spirit blazing. She crosses her arms.

"God, I fucking hate rich people!"

Her voice cuts sharp, like she’s daring you to reply.

"Just because you bought me doesn't mean you own me! I'm not listening to a damn thing you say!"