Chapter 1

I, Charlotte Quinn, was the legitimate daughter of General Grant Quinn, but my stepmother, Simone Quinn, sold me into the Pleasure House.

As she signed the indenture, she smirked with satisfaction. "You're the daughter of a wretch. How could you possibly belong in Ironhold Manor?"

I silently vowed to remember this.

The madam at the Pleasure House complained that I couldn't smile, so she beat me every day. So I taught myself to smile just enough to please, but never enough to look cheap.

Three months later, the Northern Prince, Alistair Northgate, arrived in Venton and singled me out to pour his wine.

The hall was packed with nobles, all eager to watch me embarrass myself.

I lifted my glass and inclined my head to Alistair. "Your Grace. I drink to you."

He raised his own glass in return and then paused. "Do you remember me?"

I was caught off guard.

He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper, meant only for me. "That snowy night... You gave me a bun."

My hand shook, and the cup dropped to the floor.

He rose to his feet and addressed the hall. "Today, I take this woman as my wife. As my Duchess."

*****

I was Charlotte Quinn, the legitimate daughter of General Grant Quinn. But today, I became a laughingstock.

My stepmother, Simone, clutched a piece of paper, grinning so wide the wrinkles practically danced across her face.

It was my indenture.

She was sending me straight to the Pleasure House. A place where disgraced daughters of noble families, prostitutes, and slaves all washed up. The foulest cesspool in Venton.

The matron beside her gripped a thick rope, her eyes sizing me up like a lamb marked for slaughter.

"Ms. Quinn, if you please." She deliberately stressed the words "Ms. Quinn," loading every syllable with ridicule.

I did not bother looking at her. My gaze stayed locked on Simone's triumphant face.

"Charlotte, I don't want this either." Simone pressed a handkerchief to the corner of her lips. "If you want someone to blame, blame your mother, yes, that harlot. What right did her daughter have to live in Ironhold Manor?"

Every word she spoke was a needle dipped in venom. Each one stabbed straight into my heart. And each one burned itself deep into my memory.

I swore in silence to remember it all.

When Simone saw I was not crying or throwing a fit, a flicker of unease crossed her face.

Her voice turned shrill. "What are you waiting for? Drag her out! We sheltered you for sixteen years. That alone was more mercy than you deserved!"

Two stout maids stepped forward, seizing my arms on either side.

I did not resist. I kept my eyes fixed on Simone and asked, biting off each word. "Where is Father?"

Simone's smile faltered for a heartbeat and then snapped back into place. "He is occupied with official business. Why trouble him over something so trivial? Besides, he has already given his tacit consent."

Tacit consent? The words burned in my chest.

My father, Grant, was a man who once lifted me high above his head and promised me the world. And now, he had quietly permitted his second wife to sell his own daughter into ruin.

At that instant, a coldness spread through me, deep and relentless, leaving no trace of warmth.

The maids held me with rough hands, their nails biting into my skin.

I was dragged across the manor that had been my home for sixteen years.

The parrot called my name. "Charlotte! Charlotte!"

It was the last gift my mother left me before she passed.

Simone's daughter, my half-sister Isabelle Quinn, stood there. She wore a fresh pink gown with jewels. Catching sight of me in such a sorry state, she covered her mouth, her laughter bright and lively.

"Charlotte, where are you headed? I heard the girls at the Pleasure House know how to please a man. Better pay close attention," Isabelle mocked. "When I marry, perhaps I'll have you perform at the wedding. Give the guests a proper show."

I looked at her. She was just a clown. Next to her mother, her act was amateur at best. I paid her no mind.

As they dragged me out the gates, I looked back once at the Quinn crest gleaming above the door. It had once been my greatest honor. Now I just felt embarrassed.

I turned away and left every last shred of attachment behind.

From this day on, I was just Charlotte. A woman who would claw her way out of hell and make every one of them pay.

The Pleasure House doors loomed black before me. They groaned as I opened them, the air inside thick with the stench of cheap perfume and stale ale.

Sheila, a woman past her prime but still carrying a hint of charm, stepped out to meet me. She was the manager here.

She looked me over, her gaze cold and calculating, like she was sizing up cattle for sale. "From Ironhold Manor?"

The ones who had dragged me here bowed low, eager to please. "Yes, Madam Sheila. We leave her in your care," one of them replied.

Sheila gave a short snort. "A general's legitimate daughter. A rare find, I'll admit. Too bad. You're all skin and bones, and that face of yours is nothing remarkable."

She reached out, her long fingers lacquered red, and pinched my chin. "But the real problem is those eyes. Cold as ice. What man would want that?"

I let her look me over and kept my mouth shut.

Sheila released my chin and waved the attendants away. "She's mine now. Get out."

The moment they were gone, Sheila's face went cold. She landed a stinging slap across my cheek.

My cheek burned.

"You're here now. You play by our rules. You used to be some fine young lady. Here, you're nothing but merchandise. When I say smile, you smile. When I say cry, you cry. You understand me?" she barked.

I touched my stinging cheek and met her eyes without tears or anger, only a flat emptiness.

My stare unsettled her. I could see it. It actually unnerved her.

"How stubborn. Beat her. Do not stop until she learns the rules," Sheila ordered.

Thick canes came down from all sides, striking without mercy.

It hurt. The pain cut deep. I did not make a sound.

I knew this was only the start. I would survive. I would carve every blow into my memory. Because one day, I would make them pay for every single blow.

I do not know how long it lasted before the enforcers finally tired. I lay crumpled on the ground, limp and broken.

Sheila walked over and nudged me with her toe. "Dead yet?"

I pushed myself up slowly from the floor and looked at her. My lips twisted into something that barely passed for a smile. "Madam Sheila, I understand."