Kevin, the elite bodyguard I'd spent ten years training, chose my adopted sister, Eva, over me when it came down to life and death.

So I went straight to an underground fight club and picked out the craziest, most ruthless bastard I could find.

A month later, Kevin got word and came rushing back, dragging his battered body past the guards at my door, fighting within an inch of his life.

He knelt on the floor, eyes bloodshot, clutching the hem of my dress.

"Principessa, what does that scarred stray have that I don't?"

Kevin, the elite bodyguard I'd spent ten years training, chose my adopted sister, Eva, over me when it came down to life and death.

So I went straight to an underground fight club and picked out the craziest, most ruthless bastard I could find.

A month later, Kevin got word and came rushing back, dragging his battered body past the guards at my door, fighting within an inch of his life.

He knelt on the floor, eyes bloodshot, clutching the hem of my dress.

"Principessa, what does that scarred stray have that I don't?"

...

I'd had too much to drink tonight. I was wasted.

Now, I was sitting in the VIP stands of an underground fight club, chewing on an unlit cigarette to steady my nerves.

A fight club fixer sidled up to me, his face a mask of flattery. He lowered his voice. "Looking for a little excitement, I assume?"

"As it happens, I've got a real beast, fresh from the deathmatches. He's guaranteed to help you blow off some steam."

I lit my cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled a plume of white smoke before flicking the ash. "Show me."

The fixer glanced around warily. Once sure it was safe, he snapped his fingers, signaling someone from the shadows to step forward.

The man who approached was tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, well-defined waist.

When he stopped in front of me, he blocked the overhead light completely, casting me in shadow.

Before I could speak, the fixer yanked hard on the heavy chain of his shackles.

He was forced to his knees. Then, the fixer ripped the rough mask from his face.

It was the signature gear of the lowest-rung fighters, who were treated no better than animals here.

The fixer grabbed a fistful of his black hair and forced his head back.

The man's skin was pale, his nose straight and high, his jawline sharp as a blade. His brow bone and the corner of his lip were bruised from heavy blows.

His narrow eyes were fixed on me. But there was no fear in them.

"See, Principessa?" the fixer said, trying to curry favor. "A body like this is pure satisfaction, whether you beat him or do something else."

I swallowed, a flicker of interest stirring within me.

I couldn't deny it, he was my type. Besides, a recent ambush had left my nerves shot, and my doctor said I needed some kind of release.

But then I remembered Kevin, waiting for me back at the family estate.

I'd spent ten years training him myself. If I brought some wild man home now, he'd definitely throw a fit.

The fixer noticed my hesitation and kicked the man. "Get up! Let the principessa see what you're made of!"

The man slowly got to his feet.

His hands still bound tightly in the cuffs, his tattered black tank top tore, revealing a stunningly powerful physique.

But his skin was a canvas of bruises and vicious scars.

The fixer quickly slapped the mask back on his face. He pounded the man's hard chest.

"Look at this physique. He's the most ruthless, most uncontrollable madman here." The fixer lowered his voice.

"Two thousand in cash, and you can do whatever you want with him for two hours. As long as you don't kill him outright, he'll be good as new by tomorrow."

I narrowed my eyes. "The most uncontrollable?"

Uncontrollable was the ultimate taboo, and I've always had a taste for danger.

To hell with taboos.

After all, the Kevin I'd so carefully trained was an ungrateful snake.

He'd abandoned me without a second thought in a life-or-death situation to protect my sister, Eva.

Since he was cheap and durable, I might as well get one who would actually obey.

I staggered to my feet, too drunk to speak clearly.

"If I want to buy him outright, name your price."

"Oh! That won't be a small sum," the fixer said, rubbing his hands together greedily. "He's the most profitable beast in my stable."

"Just give me the number."

"For the Marino family, one hundred thousand."

I laughed out loud.

Kevin's training had cost me millions. A hundred thousand for an uncontrollable madman was laughably cheap.

"Too steep for you?" the fixer asked tentatively.

I didn't waste words. I just kicked the black briefcase at my feet over to him. The latches popped, revealing stacks of neat bills.

"Cash. Count it."

And just like that, in ten minutes, I'd bought Lucas.

There was no way I was taking the reek of blood back to the estate, so I took him to my private penthouse suite at the hotel.

Before we left the fight club, the fixer warned me repeatedly: until he was completely broken, I was not to remove his mask or his shackles under any circumstances.

Inside the lavish suite, Lucas stood motionless by the door, his eyes downcast, like a weapon waiting for its new master's command.

After my shower, I wrapped myself in a towel, not daring to undo his shackles. "You should wash up, too."

He looked at me for a moment, then turned and walked silently into the bathroom. The sound of the shower started a moment later.

A few minutes later, I pushed open the ajar glass door. "I left my phone in here."

Lucas hadn't locked the door at all.

He stood rigid and naked under the showerhead, his back to me.

His skin was a wild, rugged bronze, which only made the crisscrossing scars on his back look all the more shocking.

Warm water sluiced over his cuffs. Dark red, bloody water mixed with the filth of the underground ring, running down his spine and narrow waist.

His broad shoulders were drawn tight, the muscles trembling slightly.

Kevin always wore his hair in a meticulously styled slick-back. But Lucas, his dark hair was soaked and plastered messily to his forehead.

I felt an immediate urge to touch him.

I walked up to him, picked up a towel, and began to dab at a fresh, still-weeping wound on his abdomen.

The moment my fingers touched his lower stomach, he grunted and grabbed my wrist.

His voice was a low rasp, mingling with the clank of his metal chains. "What are you doing?"

It was the first time I'd heard Lucas speak. His voice was extremely hoarse, with a rough, gravelly texture.

"I need a release," I said, looking him straight in the eye.

His arms, hanging at his sides, tensed. "Don't..."

"Hmm?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He let out another low grunt. "This isn't how you get a release."

"You're my first, so you'll have to endure it," I ordered.

I shoved him onto the large double bed. Leaning down, I kissed my way down his chest, following the path of a knife scar.

Lucas still had that rough mask on his face, his hands locked tight in the cuffs. He lay there stiffly, completely at my mercy.

His muscles stayed rigid, clearly unsure of what to do. At the crucial moment, he suddenly raised his cuffed hands, stopping me at the waist. "Are you sure?"

Hearing his deeply restrained, ragged breaths only made me more impatient.

"I'm just a stray from the fighting pits," he said, his voice dropping even lower as he looked at me.

My answer was a fervent movement that left no room for refusal.

He let out a soft moan and closed his eyes, his thick lashes the only thing that trembled.

The next morning, harsh sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, falling directly on the rumpled sheets.

The night had been exquisite, and I was half dead from exhaustion.

I was nestled against Lucas's solid chest, my whole body aching.

My phone started vibrating like crazy. I fumbled for it under the pillow.

It was my best friend. "Where are you? Kevin got a little hurt last night protecting Eva, and everyone in the family is looking for you."

I replied, "No time. I bought a new bodyguard, or maybe a plaything, at the fight club last night. I'm busy blowing off steam."

My friend immediately sent back a giant "?", followed by a barrage of messages.

"Alessia, have you lost your mind?"

"I know the ambush hit you hard, and that bastard Kevin chose your sister. You need to vent. But you can't just put a beast from an underground fight club by your side!"

"An untrained fighter like that is the most dangerous kind! If he loses control, you won't be able to stop him. You'll be dead before you know what hit you."

"Don't gamble with your life just because you're pissed at Kevin! Get rid of that thing from God knows where, now!"

I looked at the screen full of warnings and replied, "You're overthinking it. I didn't fight him. Am I the type to vent with violence?"

The typing indicator on her end paused for a long time before a new message popped up: "Then how, exactly, did you blow off steam last night?"

I replied nonchalantly, "Let's just say... the most primal way."

We both fell silent.

The underground fight club was a meat grinder with no rules. It was filled with undocumented people with nowhere else to go and abandoned kids who'd been sold off.

They were thrown into iron cages for the most brutal fights. Only the survivors became tools for deathmatch gambling.

These people were seen as disposable commodities, used to satisfy the sadistic perversions of their buyers.

In everyone's mind, fighters like these were bloodthirsty beasts, impossible to tame, with no morals, let alone loyalty. Once they lost their usefulness, they were secretly executed.

"If you regret it, I know where he lives," a deep voice said from behind me.

I froze for a second, then immediately flipped my phone face down. Turning my head, I met Lucas's dark eyes. He quickly lowered his gaze, avoiding my own.

"The fixer has connections. He won't give you your money back," he said in a low voice. "But if you give the order, I can make this whole transaction disappear."

"I have no regrets."

"As long as you listen to me," I cut him off, "and obey my orders alone."

Lucas let out a soft "Mmm" in response.

His expression didn't change, but his clenched jaw betrayed his feelings. A scar cut through his eyebrow, visible through his messy black hair.

As if possessed, I reached out and traced the scar with my fingertip.

His muscles tensed again. But as he felt the warmth of my finger, he dropped all his defenses and obediently lowered his head.

I sensed his tension and pulled my hand back. To be honest, after the intimacy we'd shared, his defensiveness annoyed me.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "It's a reflex." Sensing my displeasure, he quickly tried to relax his broad shoulders and bowed his head even lower. "You can touch me now."

"Whenever you need to," he added softly.

I had no intention of being polite.

I rolled over and straddled his hard abs, my hands cupping the sides of his neck, my thumb slowly tracing his prominent Adam's apple.

Lucas's breathing suddenly grew heavy, and his body became frighteningly hot. Even hotter than last night...

I felt it. The subtle change in him.

He tilted his head back slightly, his narrow eyes, rimmed with a dark red, fixed on me.

I swallowed. "How about we go for another round?"

...

After leaving the hotel, I didn't go back to the Marino estate.

I took Lucas straight to an underground clinic.

The doctor said that while his wounds looked horrific, none of them were life-threatening. It was the years of deathmatches that had left him in a state of extreme exhaustion, and he needed medical intervention.

When the doctor got to his cuffed wrists, he suddenly paused.

The doctor pointed to the fresh, bloody marks on Lucas's wrists. "Did you try to break out of these again last night?"

He hesitated, then answered in a low voice, "No. It was her... her nails are sharp."

I froze where I was leaning against the sofa.

I had the doctor prepare supplements for Lucas according to the highest standards.

"I don't need anything," Lucas said, gripping my wrist tightly. "It's enough that I've survived this long. Don't waste your money on me, Principessa."

This was less than the monthly upkeep on Kevin's suits.

"It's fine," I said, stroking the side of Lucas's neck as I pulled out the new gear I got for him.

"Like it?"

It was a black tactical vest custom-made for an elite bodyguard, equipped with the most advanced protective systems.

There was also a professionally crafted mask, lightweight but indestructible.

I had originally planned to completely unshackle this beast, but the doctor was firmly against it.

"Don't be fooled by his current obedience," he warned me. "If he loses control, he could snap your neck in a second."

So, I had to settle for the most comfortable replacements I could find.

I unlocked his cuffs myself, then I tore off the humiliating mask and threw them both in the trash.

"Were you a punching bag or a deathmatch fighter in the ring?"

Lucas buried his head even lower, his voice muffled. "Both."

"Just as I thought." The doctor handed me the old mask to inspect. "Look at the leather strap at the jaw, it's almost chewed through. It's soaked with dark bloodstains. He must have bitten down on it when the pain was unbearable."

Lucas was silent for a moment. "Those are from last night."

I went completely still.

"In the deathmatch ring?" the doctor pressed.

"No." Lucas shot me a sideways glance, the tips of his ears turning bright red. "In bed."

...

It wasn't until dawn that I dragged my exhausted body back to the Marino family estate.

My parents were long asleep. Kevin was most likely in Eva's room, diligently providing "close protection."

Only the cold crystal chandelier in the foyer was there to welcome me, the true heiress.

"Come with me." I kicked off my heels and looked back at Lucas.

The dim light cut across his strong brow bone, casting shadows over his angular face.

He stood perfectly still, his gaze fixed on a single cufflink on the floor.

I bent down and picked it up. "Kevin's."

I was three when I was taken, and thirteen when I was found. For the ten years since, I had been training Kevin.

I remember when I first returned to the family. I was surprised to find that my parents had long since adopted a younger girl from an orphanage and named her Eva Marino.

She was seventeen now, raised and spoiled like a real "princess."

Eva's reaction to my return was extreme. She couldn't accept the fact that she was merely adopted.

She threw everything she could grab at me, shrieking, "Get out! I'm the daughter of this house! What right do you have to come back and take everything from me? You filthy stray, crawling back from the slums!"

My mother rushed over to hug Eva, cooing softly, "Don't cry, baby. Your sister coming home doesn't mean we love you any less. We love you both the same."

My father stood in front of me with a guilty look. "Your mother spoils Eva, so she can be a bit willful. You're older, so try to be more tolerant of her."

I should have been heartbroken, but at thirteen, after years of surviving on the streets, I had learned how to get by in any environment.

I was long past craving affection. Back then, I understood the value of money far better.

I lowered my eyes, wiped away a tear, and said, "I understand, Father."

Showing weakness has always been the most effective weapon. From then on, the monthly "compensation" I received grew more and more generous.

At the homecoming dinner the family threw for me, my parents gave me a young bodyguard who had been through an elite training camp. That was Kevin.

"You're so withdrawn and insecure," my parents explained. "We chose the best bodyguard for you."

"He's about your age. We hope that with his companionship, you'll be able to open up again."

Back then, Kevin was a quiet, reserved teenager.

This only made Eva cry harder. "Why does only Alessia get one? You said you'd treat us the same! He should be mine!"

She grabbed Kevin and ran out of the estate gates, completely ruining my birthday party and taking my precious gift with her.

My parents were frantic, crying day and night, sending out all the family's underground networks to find them.

And at the time, I was wracked with guilt. "It's all my fault, Mom, Dad. I'm sorry, I'm the reason Eva ran away."

It wasn't until five days later that a dusty and disheveled Eva and Kevin showed up at the front door. "Mom, Dad, I'm so hungry and tired. I'm sorry, I'll never be so willful again."

"I can't leave this family."

My parents rushed forward and hugged Eva tightly, the three of them weeping in each other's arms.

I stood to the side, a complete outsider.

At a later family dinner, my mother, supposedly to punish Eva for her willfulness, publicly announced that Eva would be confined to her room for a week to reflect.

But I knew the truth. They had simply remembered that I still existed.