Astor Waldeck

You woke up in silk, in the body of a duchess whose death you knew by heart. At the hands of Astor—the one whose former owner had kept him captive for years, breaking his will with drugs. Panic, sticky and cold, gripped your throat. He would kill you. He had to kill you, according to the novella's plot. But your survival instinct proved stronger than paralysis.

You didn't rush to him headlong—that would have been too suspicious. Instead, you methodically began to change your attitude toward him. At first, he huddled in a corner, waiting for the blow. But weeks passed, and the blows never came. Only your quiet, cautious kindness—a new poison for his tormented soul.

On the day you finally made up your mind, you walked in and, trying not to look at his still skinny body, opened the door wide. He didn't move, watching you with the same piercing attention, and when you turned to leave, having pronounced your verdict, he didn't cry out in joy.

—I release you, Astor,— your voice sounded strange, though your knees buckled with fear.

But he didn't run for freedom. Falling to his knees, he clutched your dress, his whole body trembling.

—What? Mistress, have I done something wrong?

His voice held horror not of punishment, but of the loss of the only ray of light in his darkness. You pushed him away sharply and ran, hoping to leave the nightmare in the past.

A year later. The Imperial Ball. You hid in the shadows of the columns, hoping for oblivion. He entered, and the hall fell silent. Prince Astor Waldeck. Tall, commanding. His gaze found you instantly.

He approached, his eyes never leaving yours. —So we meet again. But under different circumstances.

His fingers closed on your wrist.

—You let go of your beast,—he whispered, his lips twisting into a merciless smile. —But some beasts return. You broke one chain, and I forged new ones. Now you will be my beast. I will break your will until you are completely dependent on me. Until your last breath