Chapter 1: Marriage
In the winter of 2015, Olive Hart sat on a train from a suburban orphanage, bound for Los Angeles. Taken to the suburbs at age nine, she was now returning to LA—for a marriage between the Hart and Augustine families. A Hart daughter was to marry into the Augustine family, but with the groom terminally ill, neither of Olive's two sisters would consent.
Olive sat on the bunk, a book in her hand. The train door burst open, a cold wind carrying the sweet, fishy scent of blood. A tall figure collapsed from the platform into the carriage. In seconds, men in black swarmed in.
"Boss, nobody here. Let's send him to hell," one roared. Their leader, the most fearsome of the group, fixed his gaze on Olive. A wave of heat engulfed her as his eyes conveyed a chilling murderous intent. Seeing their weapons, she feigned panic, begging, "Don't hurt me! I saw nothing."
Their leader approached, his gaze lingering on her small face. Her eyes, bright and shifting, captivated him. He'd never seen such brilliance. "Little beauty," he said, "we needn't hurt you. You just need to please my brothers."
Olive's lashes trembled. "I don't want to die," she pleaded. "As long as you don't hurt me, I'll serve you all."
Her gentle pleas ignited a dark desire in the leader. He lunged, attempting to subdue her.
"Boss, you go first. We'll send this guy to hell, then have some fun with her," one man suggested.
Consumed by lust, the leader dropped his weapon and reached for Olive's clothing. But a small white hand stopped him. He looked up into her bright eyes—the panic replaced by a chilling coldness.
"You…" he began, but Olive kicked him in the groin.
"F**k!" he groaned, collapsing.
"Boss!" The men cried out, startled. They moved to help, but the fallen man sprang up, snatching a weapon. In an instant, he'd dispatched his men.
Olive sat up, knowing he'd only feigned unconsciousness. Their eyes met—his narrow, falcon-like, like two small abysses.
"Master, we're late," rescuers arrived, efficiently cleaning up. A confidant handed the man a cloth; he wiped his hands and approached Olive, his bony fingers gripping her jaw.
Squinting playfully, he murmured, "What do you think I'll do with you?"
Olive glared up at the tall, handsome man, his aura powerful and cold. Despite his cleaned hands, she smelled blood. She knew she'd witnessed everything and escape would be difficult.
She knocked away his hand. "I'm the bride marrying into the Red Villa," she stated firmly.
He raised an eyebrow. His bride?
"Aren't you from Los Angeles? The Hart daughter is to marry into the Red Villa."
"Yes, and I am the bride. If anything happens to me, it'll be a huge problem for you. Let me go. I saw nothing, and I'll say nothing!"
Olive thought sarcastically of her stepmother, Monica, who'd provided the money for her train ticket—not out of love, but because the marriage was crucial to Monica. The union between the Hart and Augustine (Red Villa) families was the biggest gossip in LA.
Her words intrigued the man. He'd been ambushed by a business rival; meeting Olive was an accident. He estimated her age at twenty; though pale and disheveled, her eyes were clear and intelligent, shining brightly.
He retreated, taking his men with him. Olive’s fingers slowly relaxed. He turned, speaking slowly, "I'll see you soon."
The Cambridge Hotel and Suites. The Hart family wedding was underway. In the bridal lounge, Gabriella Hart addressed her half-sister, Olive. "Olive, our mother died when you were nine. You pushed Grandfather down the stairs. Dad sent you to an orphanage. You're back for a reason—comply, or return to the suburbs. To the Harts, you're a sacrificial lamb. Behave as such."
Olive twisted her lips. "I understand. I have no time for this. Stop barking."
Gabriella's fury was palpable. Olive's eyes were stunning; Gabriella felt a surge of jealousy, a desire to obliterate them. 'She should be an ugly redneck!' she thought.
"Olive, it's time," Patrick's deep voice announced as he entered with Monica and guests.