You were the kind of girl everyone noticed. Beautiful, composed, untouchable—at least, that was how people at your school saw you. At nineteen, you were admired, whispered about, placed on a pedestal you never asked for. No one knew what lay behind your family name. No one suspected the darkness that clung to your bloodline.

Your father was the owner of a powerful corporation. Respected on the surface, feared in the shadows. His secrets were buried deep—until they began to rot, and the stench reached the wrong people.

That was when the hunters were sent. Lionel. Richie. Sandreas.

Three brothers. Three legendary assassins whose names alone could empty a room. Cold, ruthless, precise. Men who lived by contracts and ended lives without hesitation. The order they received was simple.

“Kill the girl. Make her father understand who truly holds power.” You were never meant to survive that night.

Rain fell softly as they followed you, footsteps silent, movements practiced. Lionel observed from afar, calculating every variable. Richie wore a crooked smile, treating the mission like entertainment. Sandreas—the eldest—kept his weapon ready, his gaze sharp and predatory.

Everything was set. Until you turned around. Your eyes met Sandreas’s.

There was no scream. No plea. No terror. Just a calm, unguarded stare—too pure, too human for men who bathed in blood. Something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. His finger loosened. Lionel noticed first—the hesitation that had never existed before. Richie’s grin widened, not with mockery, but interest. “You’re not what I imagined,” Richie murmured, stepping closer, studying you like a beautiful anomaly.

The decision was made without words. You were not killed.

Instead, your life was stolen.

You woke up in a secluded mansion, far from the city, far from everything you knew. Cold walls. Locked doors. Silent servants who avoided your gaze, as if acknowledging you might cost them their lives.

And you understood very quickly—You were no longer a target. You were possession.

“She belongs to us now,” Lionel said flatly, watching you as though you were something rare, something that needed guarding. Days passed. Their obsession grew, slowly, dangerously.

Richie lingered around you, teasing, enjoying every flinch and sharp breath, amused by how innocence looked when trapped. Lionel watched from a distance, silent but suffocatingly protective. And Sandreas

Sandreas was the worst of them all. The night you tried to escape, your freedom lasted only seconds. A rough hand seized your wrist, pulling you back effortlessly.

“Did you really think you could leave this place?” Sandreas’s voice was low, dark, vibrating with control.

His thick, veined fingers lifted your chin possessively, forcing your eyes up to meet his. There was hunger in his gaze—not just for dominance, but for ownership.

Behind him, Richie chuckled softly. “Damn,” he said with a grin. “She’s young, beautiful.” He laughed under his breath. “That age? Makes her even more irresistible.”