Chaos In His Embrace

[On a beautiful morning in Dovenshire-Castell Mansion, New York. Time - 6:14 am...]

Splash!

Ice-cold water slammed against Annalise's face! She jolted awake like a ghost, gasping, and her hair plastered to her cheeks. Her nightgown clung to her shivering body so desperately, sucking out all her body heat. Laughter echoed in the dark as Annalise's lips wobbled with immeasurable sorrow. This was how she woke up Every. Single. Day.

"That's what you get for not cooking breakfast for us, little sister!" Her stepsisters, Esther and Eve, grinned like devils of a kind. Their aura scares Annalise. She hated them around. But after her father left, who else was left for her to love? Actually, no one.

Annalise's teeth clattered like a squirrel as she clutched the sheets to her chest. She was twenty years old, yet they still treated her like a servant! Twenty-four themselves, pampered heiresses of the Castell Group, and still cruel enough to drag their younger sister out of bed for fun.

Annalise's birth mother had only been laid in the soil for three years. Cancer had stolen her warmth, her love. Her father hadn't mourned completely. He believed he'd find his dead wife's love awake in someone else's soul. He had married Dorothy Castell, a rich widow, within weeks of his loving wife's death. Surprise was...he didn't even ask his own child if she liked the thought or not. Aaron Dovenshire was confident that his sweet child would accept anyone with open arms and a warm heart—like her mother.

Dorothy Castell wed Aaron Dovenshire and brought her daughters, her wealth, and her venom to the Dovenshire house. Once known for its shine like beauty and aura, it was now painted in brown and mould. Annalise saw the stark, bizarre difference in their home. She didn't like it much, but was too afraid her sisters would not 'love and accept' her if she said her words aloud.

"Move, you useless girl!" Dorothy's voice thundered as she entered the room. Annalise's little, pale figure shook in the sheets. Before she scrambled to her feet, Dorothy had already done something.

Annalise flinched just as a scorching pain seared her arm raw! A hot pan pressed against her forearm, the metal biting into her flesh!

"Why aren't you in the kitchen already? Cook while the pan is still hot!" Dorothy instructed, throwing the pan on the bed. Annalise's screams filled the room. The sisters clapped and laughed at her agony.

Tears blurred her vision. The smell of burnt skin filled her nose. Her entire world had become cruel, endless and sharp. Something broke inside her that night horribly.

Annalise Devonshire decided she would never serve them again.

And days later, Annalise stood under a flickering neon sign.

A brothel.

Her stomach growled. Her feet ached. The streets of New York had chewed her up and spit her out raw. She had nowhere else to go. The Castell mansion (Dovenshire estate) had long forgotten her.

Inside, the air reeked of perfume and liquor heavily. Red lights painted every corner of every room. Yet, each room to one 'owner' was designed to her liking. Annalise was new. Men's eyes slid over her like wolves sizing up a lamb, determined for a taste. Word spreads fast because...

"New girl," the madam smirked, draping silk across Annalise's shoulders. She controlled all activity in the house of women. Annalise blinked, "From today, you're the Pink Panther." Annalise said nothing. She pulled the robe tighter, her mind sharper than her fragile body. The madam of the house knew Annalise's scars would attract more men. Maybe...to impart more.

And on her first night, HE appeared. A tall figure stepped through the doors, commanding silence. Men straightened under his gaze. Women whispered. His presence was a storm wrapped in a tailored suit.

His eyes found her instantly. Almost as if his search had come to an end.

"I'm buying her. $ 1.5 million." His voice was calm, final.

The madam's jaw dropped. "S-sir, she's new. Not worth—"

"You don't tell me what's worth it." His gaze never left Annalise. "The girl. Or I walk away rich, and you, 1.5 million poorer than me."

"Two million," the madam tried, greed glinting in her eyes. "While we are at it, why don't you buy her off from me for 2 million? She's very, very new." Her rotten teeth barred her from smiling at him.

"Done."

Before Annalise could blink, her wrists were tied. A blindfold slid over her eyes. The man whose face was turned away from hers the whole time handled her with so much care. And then...The world became leather seats, the hum of a luxury engine, and the faint scent of cologne. He was right beside her, seizing her body's shape with his eyes.

She hadn't even seen his face. And yet she knew—this man was dangerous. Rich and dangerous. She sensed the car coming to a halt after a while. She took a deep breath in, hoping some sort of smell would hit her nose through the silk black bag put over her head. Fragrant, rich aroma of roses—indicating luxury. Or rotting, asphalt and woody smells—indicating her torment. None came. Except for some kind of...laundry detergent.

The bed beneath her was soft, too soft. The sheets smelled of money, power, and danger unlike the rest of the house. She could tell with just the smell that the bed was imported from a rich house rather than being bought. Then, a hand brushed her cheek.

"First time?" His voice was velvety, rich, smooth like chocolate. She gulped.

"Yes." Her body stiffened, but her mind stayed alert. The difference in the rooms and smells called for unpredictability.

His fingers tangled in her hair. She was being prepped like a man should be for a woman. Never dive down first. Warm her up like an engine before going to a race. He was a womaniser, and she could tell. However, when he tried to remove the silk draped over her face, she jerked away!

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't look at me. I'm not worth it."

A low chuckle escaped his lips. She was amusing to him. "I didn't buy you to enslave you."

"Then.. why?"

Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Then his words fell like a blade.

"I need an heir. My woman can't give me one." Her lips parted in shock. An heir? This was not lust. This was a calculation. A...transaction. What else was she expecting of him?

Her heart pounded. She felt the heat of a thousand suns in her core. But... Survival or ruin- were her only remaining choices.

And so Annalise agreed to the former. She would carry the child of a man whose name she still didn't know.

[Six months later....]

A tiny studio apartment.

A belly heavy with life.

A single candle flickered on a cheap cake.

"Happy birthday to me~" Annalise whispered, smiling faintly as she blew out the flame. She hadn't smiled for a long time. The house he gifted her with the surrogacy was lonelier than she expected. But the nanny hired to care for her kept her from going insane.

The nanny was asleep on the couch. Annalise didn't want to wake her up to celebrate her birthday with her. She walked into the kitchen to fetch a plate, spoon and fork.

The scent of smoke suddenly changed. Plastic. Wood. Burning. Her smile vanished. Her eyes widened as she realised the table caught on fire. Suddenly, all the water in the pipes across the house was...over?

She staggered toward the door. It was locked. She rushed to the windows. They were sealed shut. Her chest tightened. The nanny was...way too fast asleep. The apartment reeked of kerosene. She knew what was happening.

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME, PLEASE! FIRE! FIRE!" She screamed to deaf houses and walls. In her desperation, she had forgotten that the father had soundproofed everything to keep her from sleeping soundly each night.

Her nails clawed at the frame until her palm split open. Blood smeared the glass. Smoke poured down her throat. And through the roar of fire, she heard it. The vicious sounds lodged in her memory.

A laugh. A phone call.

"Good thing he finally made a decision. Burn the wh*r* alive. Can't let a b*st*rd into the Lannister family, Terry!"

Annalise froze...

Lannister?

Her child's father... was a Lannister? Her father's business partner?

Betrayal stung hotter than the flames surrounding her. She ran towards the kitchen. Her survival instinct spiked up after that call. With one last desperate scream, she smashed the glass. Shards tore her skin as she tumbled into the backyard. She wanted to scream, but was afraid it would call attention to the ones trying to murder her!

Pain ripped through her belly. Her knees buckled against the grass of the backyard.

Labor.

The fire swallowed the night as Annalise gave birth in the dirt, her cries lost beneath sirens. A baby's weak cry pierced the chaos. A tiny, fragile preemie. Covered in blood and smoke...

Annalise held the child, trembling like a burning leaf. The fire raged behind her. The sirens of an ambulance and firetrucks grew louder. They arrived so conveniently, fashionably late, didn't they?

But her attention was on the little life in her hands. Her heart cracked. She couldn't give this baby a future. Not here. Not with devils hunting her. Tears blurred her eyes as she kissed the child's forehead one last time.

"I'm sorry, little one..."

She placed the infant on a cold patch of grass, where rescuers would find it. Then she stole everything she could—documents, jewelry, cash. Nearly one million in assets.

And she ran. Far away. Unreachable.

London knew her as a stranger in a new city. And days later, a doctor frowned at her charts. Dr. Rogan, a kind, old and experienced doctor, took one look at the movement in her ultrasound imaging.

"You're... still pregnant." He declared...Her world tilted.

"You were carrying twins, Ms. Annalise. Are you aware?"

****

Back in New York, Arne Lannister knelt before the ashes of the apartment. A velvet box slipped from his hand, the diamond inside catching the firelight like a lore told by itself.

"It was her birthday today..." His voice broke. His chest heaved. The firefighters carried out a tiny life, barely clinging to existence. The preemie she left him with. Their only reason for contact, perhaps.

Arne Lannister rushed into the hospital with the little life in his hands. He knew the baby boy, weighing barely a pound, was Pink Panther's son.

"Do we keep it?" asked his uncles, Terry and Terro, eyes glinting with cold amusement. Of course, they were amused. Their voices were what Annalise heard while her world was being crumbled by fire! Arne's gaze locked on the premature baby in the incubator. His heart clenched.

"Yes." He didn't see the smirks exchanged behind his back. Nor the bribes passed to the forensic. The world believed the Pink Panther had died.

But Annalise still lived.

And she carried his second child.

[3 days later, Dovenshire-Castell Mansion, New York. Tie - 3:14 pm...]

The Castells made sure the whispers spread like wildfire.

"She sold herself to a brothel!" Dorothy Castell wailed, gripping her handkerchief as if she were the 'grieving mother of the year'—Top class acting. "A rich man bought her! She's vanished! A shameful end for a girl of her bloodline! The Dovenshires were always cursed when she was born!"

It wasn't all lies. That was what made it deadly.

Aaron Devonshire, Annalise's father, sat motionless in his chair as the words tore into him. His eyes brimmed with tears. Betrayal. Loss. Helplessness. How would he face the world knowing his daughter had sold herself away to someone?

Had he not gone to so many business trips and stayed at home, stayed by his Daughter's side...would she still give herself away like that? What changed? Where was the little girl who laughed at the sound of popping bubble wraps?

It was gettin