Chapter 3: Beaten, Begging, and Bought

He didn’t care, not really. I was just another chip in his game, another way to buy favor with men richer than him.

In this city, where every square foot cost a fortune, Mason was just a merchant. Any of these men could ruin him in a heartbeat. That’s why he let them paw at me, why he never stepped in. His pride was a fragile thing, and money always won.

After making my rounds, it was finally Julian’s turn. My stomach twisted, but I forced my feet to move.

My hands trembled as I approached him, but I forced myself to move with the same practiced grace. This was just another act, another night. That’s what I told myself.

My earlier flirting seemed to disgust him. His eyes were cold, hard as granite. I saw the judgment there, the disappointment. It stung more than I wanted to admit.

Julian, always as cool as ice, looked at me now with nothing but contempt. He didn’t even try to hide it. His lips curled, his gaze flicking over me like I was something stuck to his shoe.

I didn’t care. Smiling sweetly, I walked over, swaying my hips just a little too much. If he wanted a show, I’d give him one. I could play this part as well as anyone.

But just as I reached for Julian’s empty glass, the door swung open. The sudden burst of light made me flinch, and every head in the room turned to see who’d arrived.

Miss Hamilton had arrived.

She walked in like she owned the place, her boots echoing on the hardwood. Even the men straightened up, sensing the shift in power. She wore a tailored leather jacket over a desert scarf—tough and gorgeous. Almond eyes, arched brows, beautiful as a spring bloom.

She looked like she’d stepped out of a Vogue spread—confidence wrapped in silk and steel. The air in the room changed, charged with her presence. I felt myself shrink in her shadow.

I was caught off guard, until I saw Mason’s face go pale, and realized someone else had come in behind her. His knuckles whitened on his glass. I followed his gaze, my stomach sinking as the next guest entered.

It was the lady of the Yeager house, Mason’s wife, Caroline Yeager. She moved with the quiet assurance of someone who’d never been told no. Her pearls gleamed in the low light, her smile fixed and unreadable.

Every man in the room sucked in a breath. The Hamiltons were old money—strict, loaded, with a great-grandmother who’d been a legendary general. The weight of their name was enough to make anyone sit up straight.

Whispers rippled through the room—stories of family estates, of power that stretched back generations. Caroline’s presence was a reminder that money could buy almost anything, but not a seat at her table.

Anyone who married a Hamilton girl never had to worry about money again. It was the kind of security most men only dreamed of—old money, old power, and a name that opened every door.

But there was a catch: you only got one Hamilton for life. That was the rule—break her heart, and you were done for good.

It was an unspoken rule—break her heart, and the whole family would shut you out for good. Mason knew it, and so did everyone else in the room.

That’s why Mason kept me in a rented apartment across town, never letting me near the main house. I was the secret, the shadow, and the Hamiltons would never tolerate a scandal under their roof.

He was careful, always. I was the secret, the shadow. The Hamiltons would never tolerate a scandal under their roof.

I braced myself, sure I’d get smacked around tonight. My heart thudded in my chest. I’d seen what Caroline could do with a single word—a look, even—and I knew I was in for it.

But Caroline just had the staff bring her a chair and started chatting with the city officials, not even glancing my way. She was all smiles and small talk, her voice smooth as honey. If she noticed me at all, she didn’t show it. That was her real power—making you invisible with a single glance.

But Miss Hamilton looked me up and down, then snorted:

“Looks like a little tramp to me, not fit for polite company.”

Her words were sharp, cutting through the noise. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, but I kept my head high, refusing to let her see me flinch.

Caroline raised her glass and said calmly:

“I was passing the Magnolia Club with Miss Hamilton and heard my husband and the gentlemen were here, so I stopped by to say hello.” Her voice was light, but her eyes flickered to Mason, warning him not to step out of line.

“From now on, the Hamiltons and Yeagers are in business together. I hope you’ll all treat us well.”

She drained her glass in one go.

The room erupted in applause, the men raising their glasses in a toast. Even the servers paused, watching the show.

The men all praised Caroline’s nerve. They joked about her being tougher than half the men in the room, but nobody dared cross her. The respect was real, even if the laughter wasn’t.

Miss Hamilton looked at her with admiration. For a second, the mask slipped, and I saw the girl behind the legend—someone who’d grown up in the shadow of greatness, always trying to prove herself.

But I noticed Mason’s fist clenching under the table, knuckles white. He was furious, but powerless. In this room, Caroline called the shots.

My heart sank; there’d be no mercy tonight. I could feel the storm brewing, the promise of pain waiting for me at home. I braced myself, already counting the bruises I’d have to hide.

After a few rounds, Miss Hamilton suddenly stood up, saying she’d had too much and needed some air. She asked me to walk with her. Her tone was casual, but her eyes were cold. I nodded, knowing I had no choice.

I looked at Mason; he just nodded, silent. He didn’t care what happened next, as long as it didn’t touch him. That was always his way.

I had no choice but to follow her out of the private room. My heels clicked on the marble floor as we walked down the hall, the noise of the party fading behind us. My stomach churned with dread.

The moment we left, someone threw a coat over my head and dragged me into an alley. I fought, but strong hands held me fast. The world went dark and muffled, the smell of cheap perfume and asphalt filling my nose.

After a flurry of blows, the coat was yanked off. I gasped for air, blinking against the sudden light. My cheek stung, and I tasted blood in my mouth.

The alley was dark, but Miss Hamilton’s righteous fury was plain as day. She stood over me, breathing hard, her face twisted with anger. The other women flanked her, ready to do her bidding.

“I can’t stand sluts like you—always chasing after men. Can’t you survive without one?” Her words were like slaps, each one sharper than the last. I bit my tongue, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response.

“You dare show your face here? If Caroline wasn’t so soft-hearted, I’d strip you naked and toss you in the river!” She spat the words, her voice shaking with rage. I saw the glint of a ring on her finger, the kind you only get from old money.

“As a woman, you’ve got no self-respect. Tonight I’ll teach you a lesson for your parents!” She told the older women with her to keep hitting me, while she hung back, afraid I’d dirty her hands.

They moved in, fists and curses raining down. I curled up, shielding my face, letting them beat and curse me.

The pain blurred after a while, replaced by a numbness that settled deep in my bones. I let the insults wash over me, each one another stone in the wall I built around my heart.

Eventually, the pain faded; only the bitterness and shame made my tears fall. I tasted salt on my lips, felt the sting of humiliation more than any bruise. It was the kind of hurt that didn’t fade with time.

How could I explain?

I wanted to scream, to make them understand, but the words stuck in my throat. There was no point. They’d already decided who I was.

If dignity could feed me, if dignity could bury my father and care for my broken mother,

I’d have clung to it with both hands. But dignity didn’t pay the bills, didn’t buy medicine or keep the lights on.

Maybe I’d have more dignity than anyone.

In another life, maybe I would’ve been someone to be proud of. But this was the hand I’d been dealt.

But I couldn’t afford it.

I swallowed the last of my pride, letting it go like a prayer into the night.

Caroline showed up then. She waved off the women, her voice flat:

“Why are you so mad, Miss Hamilton? She’s just a servant, not even as good as the dancers here. If she died, it’d just dirty your hands.”

Her words were ice-cold, meant to wound. I could see the calculation in her eyes—she knew exactly how to twist the knife.

That sent Miss Hamilton over the edge. She yelled, forgetting her composure:

“Caroline, why are you so soft on trash like her? Tonight, I, Harper Hamilton, want her gone!” Her voice echoed off the brick, her anger boiling over. The women behind her shifted, uncertain.

Caroline Yeager—always the mastermind—knew how to let someone else do her dirty work. She stood back, arms folded, watching the scene play out. I realized then that nothing happened in this town without her say-so.

Harper whipped out a curved hunting knife, the jeweled handle flashing in the alley light.

The blade caught the moonlight, sending a shiver down my spine. For a second, I thought this was the end.

I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking maybe dying would be a relief.

It would’ve been easy, in that moment, to just let go. But something inside me refused to break.

But my body dropped to the ground, and I started begging, forehead pressed to the cold pavement. I sobbed, voice hoarse, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. I didn’t care who heard—I just wanted to live.

“Please, please, let me go. Treat me like a stray dog, a beggar—I just want to live…”

My voice cracked, raw and desperate. The silence that followed was heavier than any blow.

Footsteps stopped; the alley went quiet, my sobs echoing off the brick.

Even the women seemed unsure now, glancing at each other. I kept my head down, too ashamed to look up.

I don’t know how long I begged, until Harper grabbed my chin and forced me to look up.