A week later, Tess quietly departed while the morning mist had not yet faded from the windowpanes. Vena was the only one who knew the true reason behind that solitary figure. To the rest of the maids, Vena simply conveyed with an indifferent tone that Tess had resigned and received a decent allowance, enough for her to live comfortably for the rest of her life. Those poor women, after all, would never be able to escape the four confining walls of the mansion in their lifetime; thus, no matter how the truth was distorted or reshaped, in the end, no one cared or bothered to verify it.
Tess walked behind a tall bodyguard, the crisp clicking of his leather shoes echoing on the pavement, before she vanished into the backseat of a sleek, polished car. She left empty-handed, absolutely bringing no luggage with her. Partly because she owned nothing of value to begin with, and partly because at her next destination, Silas would buy her an entirely new set of belongings—his way of reshaping a newly acquired toy that caught his fancy. The car pulled up in front of a colossal villa, standing looming and suffocatingly majestic; it was ten times larger than the old mansion where she used to work. Although Tess knew her former workplace was merely a pen built primarily for Silas to harbor his wild wolves and crossbred beasts, even in her wildest dreams, she could not have imagined the terrifying scale of this grand estate.
The deeper Tess walked into the endless, marble-lined corridors, the more her chest tightened, trapped by a profound sense of inferiority at her own utterly mediocre existence. Unlike the old villa—a dwelling for the slum class with rough, coarse-featured faces—everyone here belonged to the upper echelon, possessing flawless, radiant countenances. The people bustling about, though their origins were mere servants or slaves, exuded the demeanor of the nobility. Every single face was beautiful, bright, and cold. Tess realized with a jolt of astonishment that she was nothing more than a faded blossom in a vibrant, fragrant garden; once inside this place, her modest beauty was instantly swallowed whole, without leaving a single trace of distinction. Every step she took was tinged with dread; her fragile confidence in conquering Silas's heart completely shattered as she confronted the reality that she was far more ordinary than she had ever deluded herself into believing.
The bodyguard led her through a small, secluded area where numerous luxurious rooms stood side by side. The moment she stepped through the arched doorway, a pungent, headache-inducing scent of luxury perfume assaulted her nostrils. Dozens of fashionable girls, draped in expensive silks, were gathered and gossiping. They chatted in groups, eyeing one another with mocking glances. As Tess walked past, the whispering abruptly died down, replaced by dozens of eyes locking onto her—sharp, piercing glares filled with the hostility and scrutiny of predators guarding their territory. Tess shuddered as a harsh reality dawned on her: this was the "harem"—the hiding place for Silas's passing mistresses.
In this post-apocalyptic era, where the antiquated moral standards and laws of the civilized world had completely turned to ash, the one who held absolute power was naturally the one to rewrite the rules. Fidelity or monogamous relationships had now become an excessively rare luxury, even ridiculed by the world as naive and foolish. Tess understood this ruthless law of survival all too well. Yet, this was the first time she had officially set foot into the high society world—one riddled with decay beneath a magnificent facade—and deep down in her soul, she still could not find a way to adapt.
The bedroom door clicked shut, returning Tess to a startlingly quiet space. She slowly surveyed her new quarters. The room was not overly spacious, its size just about matching her old bedroom before she was dragged into this vortex, yet the difference lay in every minor detail. The walls and floors were lined with premium materials; the smooth wood grain and dark stone slabs exuded an aura of enduring, timeless quality. The vanity was already fully stocked with high-end cosmetics and personal care products. Tess walked over to the wardrobe and gently pulled open the oak door. Inside, it was filled with casual attire made of soft, elegant fabrics—completely devoid of the vibrant, daringly cut evening gowns like those worn by the mistresses Silas kept outside.
Tess did not think Silas was stingy. A leader of the underworld like him would not care about a few expensive pieces of clothing. This unusual simplicity only made her more guarded; she could not yet see through his purpose and the deeper implication behind this action.
A soft knock on the door cut through her train of thought. A middle-aged woman stepped in. She wore a servant's uniform, but the stitching and premium fabric far surpassed ordinary attire, exuding the demeanor of someone holding considerable power within the estate. Accompanying her from behind was one of Silas's close bodyguards, who introduced her briefly: "This is Mrs. Linda, the head maid in charge of this communal residential area. If you have any issues in the future, you can ask her directly."
Tess bowed her head slightly, offering a well-mannered greeting. Mrs. Linda replied with a calm smile, her gaze gently assessing rather than carrying the malice or greed she had seen in some of the people here. After a few brief instructions, she turned and left. Although she had not yet had the chance to interact with all the servants here, Linda's appearance brought Tess a rare sense of comfort; this woman clearly knew how to exercise restraint and conduct herself more civilly than anyone she had encountered since stepping through the mansion gates.
Time crawled by under the dying twilight of the North. At exactly eight in the evening, a knock echoed at the door. A bodyguard stood waiting to escort her to Silas's quarters.
Tess had no splendid gowns to flaunt. She chose the most ordinary outfit from her new wardrobe—simple, modest, and utterly devoid of highlights. As she walked along the long corridor, she had to pass through the side lounge where dozens of other girls were gathered. They were draped in flamboyant attire, the heavy scent of their expensive perfumes blending into a suffocating haze. Sharp glares, brimming with envy and hostility, locked onto Tess as if wanting to devour the young girl alive.
"Stop right there."
One of the girls, unable to contain her jealousy, rushed forward and gripped Tess's wrist tightly, giving it a violent yank. She leaned close to her ear, spitting out a bitter, venomous mock: "Don't think you're special. Countless bitches who thought they were special have ended up here, and in the end, their fate was no different from ours. When you return from his room, make sure you remember your place!"
Her wrist throbbed with pain, but what shocked Tess even more was the attitude of the escorting bodyguard. He stepped up, using force to brush the girl's hand away to protect Tess and keep moving, but there was absolutely no reprimand, warning, or deterrent directed at the troublemaker. In fact, a flicker of implicit respect briefly crossed the bodyguard's eyes as he looked at that woman.
That fleeting incident was like a dagger thrust straight into Tess's newly kindled confidence. She was violently shaken. An invisible dread began to choke her chest as she dimly perceived the ruthless, unspoken rules of this place. The bodyguards' tolerance toward those who came before was the clearest proof: here, no one was irreplaceable. In the future, would she too become a ruined creature, clinging to whatever scraps of favor Silas chose to bestow upon her, just like them?
No matter how hard she braced herself to appear resilient, Tess was, at her core, still far too young. Her origin in the muck of the slums left her without a proper, comprehensive education or the profound life experience needed to counter these insidious psychological blows. Sitting in the estate's shuttle vehicle, a belated regret surged like a bitter wave. She regretted her past arrogance and her delusion regarding her own beauty; she blamed herself for being too hasty and aggressively ambitious when choosing to plunge into this path riddled with dark schemes. Regret, fear, and a tinge of despair intertwined, making her hands tremble uncontrollably.
Tess squeezed her eyes shut, trying to breathe in deeply to find a shred of air. She reminded herself that she was not like them—she possessed the ability to manipulate animals. That was her trump card, her sole anchor, and the only path to survival that would keep her from being crushed in this silk-wrapped meat grinder.
The door to Silas's quarters swung open. In stark contrast to her compact living space, his room was overwhelmingly massive and opulent. The room was designed in a classical color palette dominated by the deep brown of precious wood and the rich green of premium carpets and silk drapes. A strange contradiction existed here: while Silas himself always exuded a cold, ruthless, and utterly unapproachable aura, his private sanctuary offered an atmosphere that felt elegant, warm, and somewhat inviting.
Silas was sitting at the dining table, his suit jacket already discarded, leaving only a white dress shirt with the top buttons casually undone. He did not even need to look up to ask, yet the razor-sharp perception of a leader seemed to instantly read Tess's abysmal mood. He lightly nudged a glass of fresh juice toward the opposite side, his deep voice resounding: "Drink."
Tess had no reason to refuse, and she knew she was in no position to do so anyway. She stepped closer, picked up the glass, and took small sips to conceal the anxiety clawing at her heart. However, her demeanor at this moment was stiff and awkward, exactly like a robot awaiting orders from its master. The reluctance was glaringly evident in her every gesture and every frantic breath.
Seeing that extreme tension, Silas slowly stood up. He took long strides toward her. As his shadow loomed over Tess, she instinctively held her breath, mentally bracing herself for an interrogation or a sudden outburst of rage. But no, Silas merely reached out, gently placing his warm palm on her shoulder. It was a very light pressure, conveying reassurance rather than coercion.
"There are no outsiders here. Make yourself at home."
Silas dropped that single, simple sentence, his voice devoid of the daytime chill, before turning back to the dining table. He leisurely sat down and patiently waited for Tess to come over and join him.
His words, strangely enough, carried the weight of an anchor, steadying her amidst the emotional storm. Tess stood frozen for a few seconds, her mind working at full capacity, yet she still could not fathom the thoughts and motives behind his sudden gentleness. But there was one thing she was certain of: at this very moment, Silas had absolutely no reason to harm her.
The fear gradually subsided, making way for her survival instinct to kick in. Less tense now, Tess walked over to the chair opposite him and slowly sat down. Striped of the courtesy or timidness of an underdog, she picked up her utensils and began to eat her dinner. In the murky shadows of the mansion, the game between the hunter and the prey seemed to have only truly begun.