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WELCOME, PRETTY GIRL THE MONSTER’S PRETTY GIRL TRILOGY – BOOK 1 JANE WILD   Copyright © 2025 by Jane Wild All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.   AUTHOR’S NOTE This is not a safe love story. It’s a twisted, spicy, enemies-to-lovers, paranormal dark romance with extreme themes, and a villain at its core. I did not write this book for comfort—I wrote it because the characters demanded it, especially the villain, whose will bent the pages themselves. I’d rather have a few readers fully warned than a thousand who stumble in unprepared. If you’re looking for a redeemable bad boy, stop here. The male lead is not a hidden hero. He is a true monster, cruel and obsessive. This book will not coddle you. But if you want to step into the abyss, into toxic obsession and ruin, ending with a “WTF did I just read?”, then welcome. This trilogy doesn’t fit neatly into one box—it’s a natural fusion of dark contemporary romance, paranormal elements, gothic horror, and supernatural vibes. Some elements can’t be revealed yet… but trust me, they’re worth the wait. Enter at your own risk 🖤   TRIGGER WARNINGS ⚠️ This book contains graphic violence, non-consensual sexual content, extreme kinks, horror elements, and other disturbing themes. It is intended for mature audiences only. Complete and detailed Trigger Warnings are available at www.janewildauthor.com   SAMPLE FOR MY DEVILISH READER <3 ENJOY!  Chapter 3 - Ana My name is Ana. I’m twenty-three years old, a redhead, average height, with a few curves. I recently earned my master’s degree in psychology, with a specialization in psychopathology and clinical psychology. Psychology has fascinated me since I was a teenager, because the darker side of human nature has always drawn me in: understanding the human psyche, its inner conflicts, the repression of buried desires, and the consequences these have on a life lived in society. I’m one of those who believe good and evil are inseparable. That doesn’t mean I sympathize with the cruelest and darkest beings in this world. But knowing why a condemnable act happens, and trying to “heal” twisted, tortured minds—that’s what drives me. Even if the why is never enough to justify immoral acts. After all, we live in society. As the saying goes: My freedom ends where another’s begins. Tonight, I’m supposed to see my boyfriend at his tiny studio. We met at the University of Rouen, though we weren’t in the same program. We’ve been together for a year now. Yesterday, I discovered he was cheating on me. I admit, the truth hit me like a punch to the gut. But then I realized something: he separated his feelings for me from the sex he had with other women. We never made love. To me, he was more of a friend than a lover. With him, I never felt that raw desire that makes you want to give yourself instantly. That kind of irresistible sexual impulse that makes two people tear into each other the moment they meet, sometimes before they even really know each other. Because I know that exists. I don’t know if I’m the complicated one, or if the men I meet simply don’t spark much in me. Because yes, I masturbate often enough. The day I meet a man who makes me want to fuck him, I think I’ll finally understand what people mean when they talk about having a high libido. Attraction is irrational. You can’t force it. I arrive at my boyfriend’s place, furious, determined to break up today. I can’t stay with a cheater. Maybe I haven’t been around much lately because I was preparing for my thesis defense. That was my priority—so many interviews, so much research, endless hours of work. But what I haven’t mentioned yet about my boyfriend is this: he’s hit me before. Three times. Sure, I’ve never kept my mouth shut—I always speak my mind. But what I don’t understand is why I didn’t leave the very first time he raised his hand to me. Sometimes I think I’m an idiot for giving people the benefit of the doubt, trying to understand the why behind their behavior. The worst part? I actually believed I could change him, make him less violent. I continued searching for logical explanations for his outbursts, but nothing seemed to work. Because in the end, do people we stubbornly try to change ever really change? Alex—my boyfriend—opens the door. I step inside but stay standing near the entrance. He slouches onto the sofa. “Why are you just standing there? Aren’t you going to sit down?” he asks. “No need, I won’t be long,” I retort, staring at him with pure contempt and disgust. “Why are you being insolent again? Watch your tone or you’ll regret it!” “I came to tell you it’s over.” I see the surprise on his face. He wasn’t expecting that. But then he smiles. I don’t understand why. “Can I know what happened? Why so suddenly? Without even trying to talk it through?” he says. “Alex, stop pretending to be innocent. Everyone at the university knew you were cheating on me! Everyone except me. I was too wrapped up in my studies to notice. But now you’ve fallen so low in my eyes. You’re just like all the other worthless men with no respect for women. The only thing keeping me from spitting in your face is the memory of what we once had.” He stands suddenly and comes toward me. “You dare insult me, Ana? You dare?!” he shouts, his hand clamping around my throat. I admit, he’s terrifying when he gets angry. But this time, I’m not letting him get away with it. I pull my head back with all the strength I have, then slam it forward, smashing my forehead into his. Instantly, he lets go. He stumbles, holding his head in pain. Mine throbs even worse, but I spin around, yank the door open, and run. He comes after me. I sprint down the hallway, bursting into the street outside. At least out here, with people around, he won’t dare hit me. Relief floods me for a second. I’m outside. Free. I glance back and see him at the entrance, glaring at me with burning hatred. But I don’t care. Between the two of us, I’m the one most hurt. But this isn’t over. That would be too easy. Sure, I can endure. I can take blows. But waking up my vengeful side is a mistake. Being vindictive is my greatest flaw. And Alex has pushed me past my limit. I won’t let him get away so easily. It’s time to make him pay for everything he’s done to me. I find a gang and pay them half my savings to beat the living hell out of that bastard. They execute the job perfectly. The gang leader even sends me a video of Alex collapsing to the ground, face bloody, unrecognizable, beaten senseless. He ended up in the hospital for a week. It felt incredible. Justice. And yet, sometimes I think back on our relationship. We had some good moments, I must admit. But I’ll let time erase those memories. Memories I don’t want anymore. Because Alex betrayed my trust.   Chapter 4 – Ana After my ex-boyfriend, now it’s my landlord’s turn to piss me off. He wants to kick me out of the studio I’ve been renting. For the past two years, I lived there with my little sister, Carla—a tiny place: one bedroom, a bathroom, and a little space for cooking. But after spending half my savings to pay the gang, I’m in serious financial trouble now. That’ll teach me for next time. I stand in my studio, facing my landlord, who looks like he’s in his thirties. But his hair is already completely white. I can’t help wondering what he does with all the money he collects each month. And for someone his age, he has this old-fashioned way of speaking, I don’t even know how to explain it. “Miss Duval. Today is the tenth of the month. And I still haven’t received a thing. I’m afraid I can’t let this slide this time.” “Oh, please, I’ve always paid on time.” “You mean you’ve often paid late, don’t you? How many times have I tolerated your requests for extensions? This time, you’re three months behind!” “Mister Laporte, you know very well that I lost my little sister. Since then, I’ve had no rest—expenses with the police, the court, paperwork, traveling from one city to another. Don’t you have the slightest heart to at least understand my situation a little?” “Miss Duval, don’t try to play on my feelings to fool me. I see right through your little game.” “My game? What game? I’m serious, for fuck’s sake!” He raises his eyebrows. Damn. I spoke faster than I thought. He must think I’m being disrespectful. I need to cover that up quickly. “I meant—for heaven’s sake,” I add, forcing an innocent little smile. But he ignores me, pulls out his phone, and calls his team to come throw out my things. I’m stunned. “What are you doing?! You don’t have the right to evict me! According to the Law, it doesn’t work like that!” I shout. He smiles calmly at my words. What, does he have friends who are judges? Or lawyers? Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if he did—probably buddies in the corrupt justice system, since he clearly doesn’t respect my rights as a tenant. “I could call my team back and give you one more week,” he says suddenly. Seriously? Really? That would be a relief. But why change his mind all of a sudden? Did my threats about the lease contract scare him? “On one condition,” he adds. I knew it was too good to be true. “I’m listening, Mister Laporte…” I say, my voice tinged with despair. “Give me a blowjob, and I’ll grant you one more week.” God, the man is insane. “It’s up to you. Either you spend the night outside starting today, or you keep this studio for another week while you pull the money together.” “You want me to suck your dick? That’s it?” I snap. “That’s it, Miss Duval.” So, I get down to it. I kneel while that bastard of a landlord pulls down his pants and his briefs—old-fashioned, of course. He pulls out his dick—small and limp. I move closer, though I feel like vomiting, because this act is against my will. If it were a man I actually desired, that would be no problem. But it’s not. So, I start sucking his dick. I imagine I’m sucking on a candy, something oval-shaped. I’ve had plenty of lollipops in my mouth before. Without that mental trick—picturing a caramel candy I’m licking—I’d throw up instantly. Then suddenly, I bite him. Hard. On purpose. Even though I’d never given a blowjob before, I had read enough to know most men find it excruciating when a woman brings teeth into it—their dicks are far too sensitive. As soon as my teeth sink in, the landlord screams in pain and yanks his penis out of my mouth, blood dripping. Inside, I’m laughing my head off. Serves him right. He ended up in the hospital, bleeding, his genitals injured. But what did I gain from it in the end? Nothing. Because I wound up outside, with all my bags. And the truth is, it saddens me. What the hell am I going to do now?   Chapter 5 - Ana I know just because I graduated with a degree in psychology doesn’t mean my first job will automatically be in a clinic. Still, I had pictured my future differently. Ending up homeless? I never imagined that. I have to pull myself together and erase those childish dreams. Life isn’t rosy, and it never unfolds the way we expect. I need to be more realistic. For example, maybe I could start with a job completely unrelated to my passion—even though the thought alone makes me want to cry. A waitress in a restaurant? A stripper in a bar? Start a little business? Basically, something I have no passion for at all. One thing is certain: I need to find work as quickly as possible so that I can get a roof over my head again. Otherwise, am I supposed to sleep on the street? No way. I have to move fast. And my mother mustn’t know what happened to me. If she did, I know she wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. Speaking of her—she’s calling now. “Hello, Ana. I hardly hear from you these days. I hope everything’s fine?” “It’s nothing, Mom, don’t worry. Just a little busy with a lot happening in my life.” “Oh, really? Like what? I hope nothing serious?” “Not at all. And how are you? Are you taking your medication properly? Where’s Uncle Jean? Is he taking good care of you?” “Yes, don’t worry. I take good care of my health,” she says kindly. As soon as my mother hangs up, sadness weighs me down again. And loneliness. I’ve been in Rouen since my first year at university, but my mother lives in Brussels. I remember when she heard that my little sister Carla had died—she ended up in the hospital for two weeks with severe depression. My father abandoned my mother when she was pregnant with Carla. Yes—my father is an asshole. Now that I’m grown, I see it clearly. Since he left us, I’ve neither seen nor heard from him. That’s why I developed a kind of hatred and suspicion toward men, especially the ones who think they’re superior and entitled—you know, those so-called “alpha males” women seem to fantasize about. Hopefully, they only fantasize. As for my mother, she is a powerful and courageous woman. She’s my greatest idol. No—my only idol. I admire her so much. Despite everything she endured, she fought to raise my sister and me, to give us the best conditions she could. She sacrificed herself to ensure we attended the best schools. And now, she’ll soon retire. Her salary was never great, but she worked little jobs here and there, cooked for us, took us to school, then rushed to work, then came back to pick us up. When I think about it now, my mother really is incredible. Today, things have started to reverse. During my university studies, I worked part-time jobs, and half my earnings went (proudly) to my mother. And I want to keep doing that. To give back everything she gave us. To give her a peaceful, comfortable old age, free from financial worries. She is my biggest motivation. That’s why I must work hard, make a lot of money, and make her happy for the rest of her life. Even though we didn’t come from a wealthy family, my mother always taught my sister and me to hold our heads high, regardless of our situation. She instilled in us two essential values every woman should carry: dignity and willpower. With dignity, wherever you go, respect follows naturally. With willpower, any goal you set in life, you can reach. I’ve always seen my mother as someone with an extraordinary strength of character. And I’ve learned that to survive in this cruel world, strength of character is all that matters. So yes—I always felt mentally strong. Until the day I lost my little sister Carla… One winter evening, I found a letter on the doorstep of the studio Carla and I shared. A single sentence written on the paper: “Good news: sold to My Lord George Mikael de Sade.” My hands shook with rage as I read those words. For a month, I locked myself in and cried endlessly. Not only because I had lost my sister, but also because of the injustice surrounding me, this gnawing feeling of powerlessness: I filed a complaint with the police, but nothing came of it. I did everything I could to denounce that bastard George Mikael de Sade. What a long, boring name. Just saying it out loud burns as many calories as a thirty-minute power walk. But over time, I realized one thing: in this world, when you have no money and no family connections, you’re powerless against injustice. Why would people in power help me if they saw nothing to gain from it? They’d rather protect the crimes of a rich, deranged man than respond to the pleas of a young woman with nothing to offer—like me. Unless what I provided was my body. Because there are plenty of bastards in this society. But no. I refuse to submit like that. Consistently reducing women to nothing but their bodies. Idiots. Corrupt fools. That’s why, as much as I love humanity, I sincerely hate society. Today marks the anniversary of Carla’s death. One year ago, she disappeared forever. Even after trying everything to denounce the notorious George Mikael de Sade, to no avail, I decided I would no longer rely on anyone but myself. I’ve always been vengeful. I remember back in high school, I was the quiet loner, always keeping to myself. But disturb me, provoke me, and you’d unleash the woman on fire. When the mean girls tried to mess with me, I always took my time, carefully plotting my revenge—and I always achieved it. Something is intoxicating about preparing revenge. At university, they called me a feminist. I don’t know if my definition matches everyone else’s, but to me, a feminist is nothing more than a humanist—someone who wants equality for all humans, whether man, woman, both, or neither. So yes—what enrages me about this monster is that he’s allowed to keep abusing poor women for the rest of his life. No. I will not stand by and watch. No way. That bastard! I hate him from the bottom of my soul, even before meeting him. Just thinking of him makes my heart burn with rage. Quick, I need water. Cold water. The first step of my revenge plan? Infiltrating that demon’s manor. How? By preparing myself, at least enough to stand a chance. So, I took half my savings (again). I’m broke now. But as they say, you gain nothing without losing something first. I enrolled in Krav Maga, a comprehensive combat and advanced self-defense system. I have to be able to defend myself against the enemy. No way will I let myself become a victim of that rapist monster once inside his home. For a year, I fought and sweated. I trained relentlessly, pushing myself in this demanding combat sport. I even entered competitions—and won. To earn money on the side, I worked as a cleaner for the institute’s gyms. With that small salary, I managed day by day, while sending part of it to my mother in Brussels for her expensive diabetes treatment—so many medications, and above all, the healthy, quality food she needed. When my instructor finally told me, “Congratulations, Ana. You’ve reached the next level,” I was overwhelmed with joy. Of course, knowing combat techniques doesn’t guarantee I’ll get my revenge more easily. But at least it gives me confidence. It strengthens the mind. It’s a weapon I won’t underestimate. One week later, the day of the interview arrives—the one that could get me into the manor. I decided to apply as a servant, since that was the only position available for women. From would-be psychologist to servant—I’ll have a lot to tell my future children. If I survive the manor, that is. But I will give everything to be chosen. To step into that monster’s residence. And kill him.   Chapter 6 - Ana I’m on my way to the manor for the interview for a servant position. There isn’t a single mode of transportation that leads directly to this residence—it’s unbelievable. This monster doesn’t live in a simple manor; no, he has an entire district to himself. I wonder if he even pays taxes to the State? Or is that why he’s so “protected”? I walk the whole way until I finally arrive. The size of the manor stuns me. Enormous. Now I understand why this monster needs so many employees to maintain it. I stop before the iron gate—five times my height. Two guards step toward me. “Yes? What do you want?” Pfft. Whatever happened to “hello”? Rude. But of course, what else can you expect from employees of a satanic man like him? “Good morning. I’m here for the interview.” “Show us your summons.” “Of course, one moment.” I dig through my shoulder bag, pull out my smartphone, and show them the image of my summons for today. “We only accept paper. Sorry. Thanks for coming.” “What do you mean, only paper? Isn’t it the same thing? We’re living in the digital age, aren’t we? And paper is such a waste. Do you realize how many trees are cut down every day? Don’t you care we live in the same collapsing world, with climate change and all its consequences?” As I continue to speak, the guards completely ignore me and return to their posts. Fine. They want paper. It’s not the end of the world. I’ll just print the damn thing. An hour later, after struggling to find a nearby print shop, I returned to the same gate and presented the printed summons. Finally, they let me enter the manor. As soon as I step inside, I see a dozen servant girls lined up in rows. The one at the front approaches me. She seems nice. However, I know better than to trust appearances in a place like this. “Hello and welcome,” she says with a smile. “Hello, thank you. Could you please show me where the interview is being held?” “Of course. That’s why we’re here today,” she replies warmly. I walk behind her. Around me, a guard stands every few steps. This place appears to be heavily guarded. It feels like a head of state lives here, which isn’t the case. I’m sure George Mikael de Sade isn’t president of any country—or else World War III would already have broken out. As we walk down the endless path, lined with perfectly trimmed trees on both sides, the servant leading me starts a conversation. “My name’s Nadia. And yours?” Oh, that’s kind of her, introducing herself. “I’m Ana. Nice to meet you. And no need for formality.” “All right, Ana.” “How long have you been here? If you don’t mind me asking,” I say. “I’ve been here for three months now,” she tells me. “Ah, cool. And… do you like it here?” Nadia hesitates. She takes a while to answer. I guess that means no. With a boss who’s a rapist, how could anyone enjoy working here? “I’m here because I need the money. The salary paid to servants here is a thousand times higher than what engineers earn at big companies.” I blink. I didn’t know that. This monster must have money to burn. “But the work here is far from easy. The downside is that the manor is full of rules. With every misstep, you could lose your life.” Okay, she’s already scaring me, and I haven’t even started the interview yet. “When you work here, you must devote yourself entirely to My Lord. You must live only for him, swear to serve him for life. You won’t go out anymore. You won’t talk to your family. In fact, none of the servants are allowed cell phones.” That’s it. I suddenly want to turn around and leave. No phone? Absolutely not. No one will take away my baby—my everything. That phone holds my to-do lists, my ideas, my secrets, my future projects, my codes, and so much more. And nobody will stop me from calling my mother to check on her. Oh, Ana, what are you getting yourself into? I can already feel that it won’t be easy. But I must not forget why I came here. After a long walk, we finally reach the entrance of a building. Honestly, my daily metro commute is shorter than the distance I just walked with Nadia. The architect of this gigantic manor seriously overdid it. At the door, Nadia turns to me with an important remark: “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to hide your hair color immediately.” “Uh, why? Besides turning us into hermits, are we supposed to cover our heads indoors, too?” Nadia smiles. Does she find me funny? I don’t even feel like joking. “Red hair is strictly forbidden inside this manor. Anyone with red hair—whether real or a wig—will be executed on the spot. Article 2 of the manor’s internal regulations.” Wow. Nadia must have been a good student at one point. And this monster has an actual rulebook to terrorize his employees? “But what am I supposed to do about it?” I ask her. “Well, I can lend you a brunette wig.” “All right, that’ll work. Thank you, Nadia, that’s really kind.” Nadia smiles, then leads me inside the building. The first thing I see? Long, pitch-black corridors. Has Mikael got a fear of light or something? It’s so dark inside. The contrast after being outdoors is shocking—it feels like night. I keep following Nadia down the corridor, lit only by rows of candles. No electric lights anywhere. It’s as if this monster time-traveled straight from antiquity. Why doesn’t anyone tell him how terrifying and depressing his interior is? We stop at a closed door. Nadia enters first. I wait in the hallway. Then she calls me in. It’s a dormitory with three bunk beds. Only Nadia and I are inside. I guess this must be her room, shared with other servants. Nadia hands me a long brunette wig. I take the time to cut off my copper-red hair. It hurts to do it—but I have no choice. Nadia helps me adjust the wig until it sits perfectly.   Chapter 7 - Ana After fixing my appearance, Nadia leads me to the room where the interview is taking place. I wait in the reception area, sitting beside about ten other young candidates. When my turn comes, I get up and knock on the office door. Then I step inside. A woman is sitting in an armchair across from a desk, facing a single chair. I sit down opposite her. She’s a beautiful blonde with an hourglass figure, full breasts, and a perfectly—maybe too perfectly—slender waist. I’d say I look somewhat like her, except my waist isn’t nearly that slim. And my breasts aren’t that huge either. Anyway, why am I lingering on appearances? Am I starting to sound like all those people I used to call “superficial”? “Hello, I’m Cecile, the manor’s governess and the recruiter for the servants.” “Nice to meet you, Cecile. I’m Ana,” I reply with a smile. “Thank you for coming. But you are automatically eliminated. Thank you for applying for the servant position at My Lord George Mikael de Sade’s manor.” This woman is worse than a robot. It’s like she’s reciting a memorized line. “I don’t understand, ma’am. Why am I automatically eliminated?” I ask her. “I’m sorry. But your appearance doesn’t match the manor’s code of ethics.” Okay… what a ridiculous remark from this governess. And what does appearance have to do with morality anyway? “My appearance doesn’t fit? What exactly do I have to do to make it fit? Lose weight? Gain weight? Flatten my stomach? I’ll admit it’s not that flat. Or maybe wear bright red lipstick? Paint my whole face? Get fake tits? Go for liposuction on my ass and hips? What next?!” “I see red strands peeking through your brown hair. Really!” “Oh, really? What? Did you just say strands? Just strands, and you’re making it into such a problem?! Seriously! Whatever. I’ll fix it right away.” I pull out my smartphone, switch to selfie mode, and check my reflection as I adjust my wig to cover my red hair. “No need to fix anything, miss. From your attitude, inappropriate response, and lack of discipline, I can already see that your personality doesn’t match the position. Every servant in this manor must be submissive and docile—and you are not!” Oh no. I need to recover fast. It’s true, I sometimes snap back impulsively, in the heat of the moment. I need to learn from that mistake. “I’m ready to obey your every order, to satisfy your every demand, just to prove how docile and submissive I really am,” I say, forcing a fake smile. “Oh, really? Let me think… Bend down, take off my heels, and lick my feet,” she says. What? Oh no. Not that. I’m standing in front of a real witch, apparently. But at this point, I can’t afford to mess up. I have to be chosen. Lick her feet? That can’t be so hard, right? Oh God, just imagining it already makes me sick. I stop picturing it in my head, or I’ll never manage to go through with it. I crouch down. The governess looks surprised—she didn’t expect me to obey, this wicked witch. I pull off her stiletto heels. Don’t tell me all the servants have to wear heels this high? I’ll end up tripping every single day. The governess stands and walks barefoot, takes ten steps forward, then comes back to sit at her desk. What game is she playing? That bitch did it on purpose—walking across the tiles just to dirty her feet and discourage me. She disgusts me. She’s vile. And if I’m hired, she’ll be my boss? I can already tell it won’t be peaceful… I force myself to keep going. I watch her feet. No, I can’t. I can’t do it. Then I decide—enough hesitation. I close my eyes and force myself. But our vile governess doesn’t stop there. She pushes her big toe into my mouth, shoving it in. She even dares to laugh. I want to gag, but I hold it in, trying not to show my disgust, trying not to pull her toe out of my mouth. Then she pulls it away. I can’t even swallow my own saliva. All I want is to spit it out and rinse my mouth. Unfortunately, that’s impossible. I can’t walk out of this interview. And if I have to answer her, I’ll have to swallow. The nausea twists inside me, but I hold on. The interview continues. Cecile fires questions at me, and I answer them as best I can—or at least I think I do. In any case, she must have understood the essentials from our conversation: cooking, cleaning, washing dishes, scrubbing floors—any domestic task that exists in this world, I can do it. Flawlessly, efficiently, with speed. There’s just one last step in the process: verifying that I have no sexually transmitted diseases and that I am still a virgin. I was speechless when I heard those criteria. Especially that—virginity? This is the first time I’ve ever seen something like this in an interview. I really am in the home of a madman. When I leave the office, Nadia escorts me to the gynecologist’s office, which is in another building. Honestly, this manor is like a miniature city. Nothing is missing here. The consultation goes smoothly. I have nothing to fear in that regard, since I’m still a virgin. On my way out, Nadia says goodbye before returning to her duties. Meanwhile, I don’t leave the manor just yet. I stay alone outside, in the garden, waiting until evening. Who knows? Maybe George Mikael de Sade—the man known worldwide by name but never by face—might pass through here. I could spot him already, though I doubt it. All day, I haven’t seen a shadow of that monster. How do I know? Bodyguards must surround him if he ever walks around here or anywhere else on the grounds. Not long after, I got good news by text: I’ve been selected. Relief rushes through me. I’ll start work tomorrow. I head back to my new studio, my replacement home after being thrown out by that perverted landlord. I pack up all my things to take with me for my stay at the manor. For an indefinite time, I’m going to live in the manor of a criminal. The next morning, at dawn, I arrive and sign my work contract. Then, in the courtyard, Cecile—the governess—lays out the first rules: “Rule number one: never go into the basement. Don’t even try. It’s a forbidden zone for every employee in the manor.” Thanks for sparking my curiosity and giving me this irresistible urge to find out what your monster of a master is hiding in the basement. “Work hours: five in the morning until nine at night. Two days off each week. Dress code: every servant wears the same short, tight black dress, fitted to her body, with red stiletto heels—only to be removed at night when going to bed.” This My Lord is a pure pervert, unbelievable. Does he think women are robots or what? How can he expect us to walk around in stilettos from five in the morning until nine at night? And as for labor law—eighteen hours a day? Even subtracting breaks, that’s nowhere near the standard eight hours. At least he granted two days off. Still, once I get out of this manor, I’ll report him. No, when I have enough social or political power, then I’ll expose him. For now, I know no authority will listen. I already saw that when I tried to get justice for my sister Carla. But what am I saying? How could I report him if I’ve already killed him? Since there are so many rules in this manor, and Cecile can’t list them all, she hands me the internal regulations: a massive tome. I’m speechless. I already know I’ll never have the patience to read all those pages, honestly. Then Cecile seizes my smartphone, pulls out the SIM card, and destroys it. I’m shocked.   Chapter 8 - Ana My first day of work went smoothly, except that I ended up with blisters on my feet. I guess, with time, I’ll adapt to wearing these heels we’re forced into. But I still haven’t met the cursed master of this manor. When night falls, I return to my bedroom—the dorm where Nadia stays. Great. I share it with her, along with four other servants. At least it’s comforting to have Nadia nearby. The other servants I met today weren’t welcoming or friendly, unlike Nadia. But why are all the rooms in this manor lit only by candles? Enormous, black candles at that. Does the owner not realize the world has moved on? And in this castle, it’s nearly impossible to tell day from night. Only in rooms with large windows can sunlight seep in. And those are rare. After taking a shower, I lie down in the bunk bed. I’m on the bottom, Nadia on the top. She starts telling me things: “Servants here never last more than six months,” she says. “Oh, really? Why?” “They disappear. One by one.” My eyes widen. That answer terrifies me. “And they say My Lord comes from a noble, wealthy, powerful family. But rumor has it that for years now, he has fled from them. He shut himself away here, never going out during the day.” “Oh? And why?” “I don’t know. Even the employees who’ve lasted here never learned the truth.” Wow. George Mikael de Sade really is mysterious. Of course. A criminal has no choice but to hide. A week passes, and I feel like I’m not moving forward in the mission that brought me here. This morning, I get up determined—I must find a way to meet Mikael. Otherwise, if things keep going like this, I’ll never even see the man I came to kill. But the day starts badly: Nadia broke a dish in the kitchen. Just that, and Cecile drags her into the punishment room. She beats Nadia with a wooden stick—Nadia kneels, receiving blow after blow from Cecile standing behind her. I decide to interfere. No way am I letting this vile governess abuse her power. I step into the room and block Cecile’s arm mid-swing. Nadia looks at me, shocked and worried. “Ana! Please, don’t get yourself into trouble—you just started…” Cecile struggles to free herself from my grip, but I hold her tight, immobilizing her. I fling the stick across the room. Cecile, furious, slaps me hard with her free hand. Two other servants rush in. I thought they’d be on my side—wrong. One of them picks up the stick and hands it back to Cecile. I release her, quickly pull Nadia to her feet, and push her gently aside. Then I kneel in her place, ready to take the blows. “So you want to play saint? Loyal friend? Let’s see how far your loyalty goes. Hypocrite!” Cecile sneers. She beats me with the stick. It hurts like hell, but I grit my teeth and refuse to scream. Nadia cries out my name, trying to run to me, but the other two servants hold her back. Finally, Cecile tosses the stick aside and leaves with her accomplices. Nadia, eyes brimming with tears, rushes to me. “Ana, are you okay?” “Perfectly fine,” I say, smiling. Nadia grabs my arm and helps me stand. Yes, I’m fine. Even if my back is burning in pain. I came here for revenge, and I know one thing: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I must be ready. But beyond all that, Nadia matters to me—even if we’ve only known each other briefly. Her warm welcome on my first day, her kindness, her smile—they comfort me in this depressing place. I won’t let anyone hurt her. I’ve never tolerated anyone harming the people I care about. Nadia throws her arms around me, hugging me tightly, and thanks me. I hug her back. When night falls, it’s time to bring dinner to Mikael. I volunteer to this witch of a governess, so that I can see the monster and learn more about the place where he spends his time, as part of my plan for revenge. “Miss Duval, how’s your back?” Cecile asks. I want to kill this woman, too. She infuriates me. I don’t answer because she’s provoking me. She continues: “A simple servant is not allowed to enter My Lord’s bedroom—have you forgotten? Or perhaps you haven’t yet read the manor’s rules? Well, let me remind you: It is strictly forbidden for any servant to enter My Lord George Mikael de Sade’s bedroom, unless he personally requests it. Only the governess and the VIP servant may enter.” Then she struts away, smug. When am I finally going to meet this monster? Damn it. But revenge must be carefully planned. Nothing improvised. Every detail calculated. I’ll learn more about him. Maybe even get close enough… to put a knife in his back. So I dig around for information on how to become a VIP servant—there’s only one in the whole manor. And she alone has the right to be near Mikael: to enter his private parlor, his bedroom. Aside from Miss Barbie, a.k.a. the governess, of course. Each month, there’s a competition for the role of VIP servant. Apparently, this My Lord loves seeing new female faces around him. On top of being a pervert, he’s fickle. I pity the woman who’d ever marry him—hoping he never does. He deserves no woman in this world. At lunch break, I sit on a bench in the servants’ courtyard beside Nadia. I tell her about my desire to enter the VIP servant competition, hoping to get more information to improve my chances. “What? You want to apply? To become the VIP servant?” she asks, shocked. “Why that reaction? Is applying difficult?” “No—or yes… It’s full of rivalry and cruelty, because every candidate wants the position. But thankfully, the rules have changed.” Honestly, I don’t see why they fight to serve such a bastard of the worst kind. “Oh yeah? What do you mean?” I ask. “Only two criteria matter now: you must have been a servant for at least two weeks, and you must be under thirty.” “So, I’m eligible?” I say, happy to hear it. Then I add: “But on what basis is the winner chosen? How does the competition actually work?” “My Lord chooses the VIP servant himself, from those who present themselves to him.” Oh no. If that’s the case, he’ll never pick me. I mean, it’s not like I’m some ultra-sexy woman who’d stand out thanks to an obvious asset. I’m not slim like a model. I have curves—unfortunately, I guess. I know the trend is all about being skinny, tall, and graceful. I’m average height. Neither slim nor fat. In short, I’d never be recruited as a model. Still, I’ll make myself beautiful. I’ll do my makeup, put effort into looking my best—because if the goal is to “charm” that bastard Mikael and win first place, then so be it. Forward, Ana. Without delay, I will go sign up for the list. There are only five of us candidates. I thought there would be more, but I guess the last recruitment didn’t bring in many new servants. Honestly, if it weren’t for my persistence, I might never have been selected at all.   Chapter 9 - Ana Today is the big day—the selection for the VIP servant. I’m excited, but also nervous. If I’m chosen, it will be a step forward in my mission. And finally, I’ll see what this monster actually looks like. I imagine he must be hideous.