The Billionaire's Captive: Debt Of Love

The sky didn't just rain; it screamed.

Jagged veins of lightning tore through the charcoal clouds above Burke Manor, illuminating the gothic spires in strobe-light flashes of white and gray. It was the kind of storm that made the air taste like ozone and impending disaster.

Harper was eight years old. She was wearing a pink tulle dress that scratched her skin, a hand-me-down from another girl in the system, and she was hiding.

The balcony on the second floor of the banquet hall was her sanctuary. Inside, the air was thick with the cloying scent of expensive perfume and the sound of crystal glasses clinking-a symphony of wealth she didn't belong to. Out here, the wind whipped her hair across her face, stinging her cheeks. It felt real.

The glass door slid open.

Harper flinched, backing into the shadows of a large stone planter.

A girl stepped out first. Ciera. She was ten, a blur of white silk and malice, her eyes already scanning the darkness for Harper. Behind her, Finn Burke followed. He was twelve, dressed in a custom tuxedo that fit his slender frame perfectly. He didn't look like a child. He looked like a bored emperor surveying a kingdom he already despised.

"There you are, little charity case," Ciera sneered, her voice sharp enough to cut through the wind. "Hiding with the gargoyles. How fitting."

Harper pressed herself further into the shadows. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Finn sighed, a sound of profound weariness. "Ciera, leave her alone."

"Why? She doesn't belong here," Ciera stepped toward Harper, her pretty face twisted with contempt. "My uncle only lets you stay because he feels sorry for you. You're an orphan. A stray."

The words were meant to hurt, and they did. Harper shrank back, but her heel caught the edge of a clay pot. It tipped over.

Crash.

The sound of shattering terracotta was louder than the thunder.

Ciera's eyes lit up with a cruel glee. "Clumsy," she drawled. "Just like your deadbeat parents."

That was it. A dam broke inside Harper. "Don't talk about them!" she cried, her voice small but fierce.

"Or what?" Ciera lunged, not at Finn, but at Harper. She shoved Harper hard against the stone balustrade.

It happened in slow motion. The physics of it didn't make sense to her eight-year-old brain. Her back hit the stone railing. It should have held. It was stone. It was permanent.

But the mortar had rotted away years ago, hidden by ivy and neglect.

The stone gave way with a sickening, grinding crunch.

Harper was falling. Her hands flailed, grasping at the wet air. The world turned upside down.

"Harper!" Finn's voice was a roar of panic.

He lunged forward. His hand shot out, fingers stretching until his tendons burned. He caught her wrist. For a breathtaking second, she dangled over the abyss, his grip the only thing tethering her to the world.

But he was only twelve. Harper's body was