Chapter 1

The gas lamps cast elongated shadows across the cobblestone streets as the Duke's carriage rumbled through the darkened city.

The air was thick with the scent of rain and tension, both clinging to the night. The destination was an imposing orphanage tucked away from the eyes of the aristocracy, a place where fate had already dealt its hand.

Seraphina, a delicate figure with hair cascading down her waist like a waterfall of obsidian silk, sat in the carriage, clutching the edges of her modest dress.

She was an orphan, her beauty untouched by the harshness of the world, her spirit broken by the shadows that clung to her past. The Duke, Adrian Ravenscroft, known for his ruthless pursuit of power, had heard whispers of a different beauty who was very shy and timid but very kind hearted —an ethereal charm that set Seraphina apart from the women of high society.

Tonight, he intended to bring her into his world when he heard from his assistant Borel. few hours before buying Seraphina from the orphanage As the carriage halted in front of the orphanage, the Duke's imposing presence swept through the entryway of the orphanage like a chilling breeze, behind him were the guards and his assistant Borel guarding him.

Borel possesses a youthful charm that belies his age. In his late twenties, he boasts a countenance marked by a certain vitality and earnestness.

His facial features are well-defined, with expressive brown eyes that often reflect a mix of diligence and intelligence. Borel's brown hair, neatly groomed, adds to the overall impression of orderliness.

Physically, Borel is of average height, with a lean and athletic build that suggests a disciplined lifestyle. His movements are purposeful, reflecting a sense of efficiency and dedication to his duties.

While not overtly imposing, Borel carries himself with a quiet confidence that befits his role as the Duke's assistant.

The matron, a stern woman with eyes like shards of ice, hurriedly went to the duke to show respect with a bow "Your Grace," she curtsied, her voice trembling. "Miss Carol, line up the best girls," the Duke acknowledged with a nod, his eyes scanning her face like a man deciphering a cryptic message.

The matron spoke in hushed tones, "Sure your Grace." rushed to order the girls to line up Adrian, his gaze lingering on Seraphina's downcast eyes, when all theorphan girls lined up for the duke by the matron and her under workers.

Seraphina felt a shiver run down her spine as the Duke's piercing gaze met hers. She couldn't quite comprehend the gravity of the situation, but a deep-seated fear gripped her heart.

Seraphina possesses an ethereal beauty that captivates those who encounter her. Her facial features are delicate and refined, with large, expressive eyes that shimmer like pools of deep contemplation.

Long, straight black hair cascades down her shoulders, framing a face adorned with high cheekbones and a dainty nose. Seraphina's lips carry a natural, soft curve, exuding a gentle and inviting aura.

Her slender, curvy body is a testament to grace and elegance. Despite her svelte frame, Seraphina's curves are beautifully defined, accentuating her feminine allure. Her posture is poised, and every movement she makes carries a certain gracefulness that adds to her overall charm.

The lamps flickered, casting an eerie glow on the faces of the orphan girls as they stood in line, awaiting the Duke's judgment.

The Duke's eyes finally moved away from Seraphina, and he surveyed the row of hopeful faces. His calculating gaze made the other girls shift uncomfortably, acutely aware that their fates were hanging in the balance.

Borel, the Duke's assistant, observed the scene with a stoic expression, his eyes betraying no emotion.

Adrian Ravenscroft, a man of influence and wealth, was not known for his benevolence. His reputation preceded him, and the air in the orphanage seemed to thicken with tension as he made his selection.

Miss Carol, the matron, tried to maintain a composed exterior, but her concern for the girls was evident in the furrow of her brow.

The Duke's finger pointed, and it was as if time stood still for Seraphina. "Her," he declared, his voice low and authoritative, singling her out from the rest.

Seraphina's heart pounded in her chest as she was led forward. The matron exchanged a quick, pained glance with her assistants, but there was little they could do. The Duke's word was law.

As Seraphina stepped closer, her eyes never left the ground. She could feel the weight of the Duke's scrutiny, and the ominous aura surrounding him made it difficult to breathe. Borel, however, maintained a watchful eye on everything transpiring.

The Duke spoke, his voice a silk-covered blade cutting through the silence. "You will come with me," he ordered, and Seraphina, with a mixture of fear and resignation, nodded silently.

The other girls watched in silence as Seraphina was led away, the Duke's imposing figure disappearing into the darkness in the entrance of the orphanage as she went upstairs.

The matron bit her lip, a troubled expression on her face, but there was an air of helplessness in the face of the aristocracy's power.

The duke Arian made the payment and finsihed some paperworks that she legally belonged to him.

Miss Carol told Seraphina to pack the belongings from the room while the duke was doing the paperworks and added " Dont be late. the duke doesnt tolerate when people are late." Seraphina nodded and headed to pack her things from her room where she spent her childhood and grew up.

Seraphina's steps echoed through the quiet halls of the orphanage as she made her way to her room.

The  lamps flickered dimly, casting long, distorted shadows on the walls. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on her shoulders, and her hands trembled as she opened the door to the small chamber she had called home for as long as she could remember.

The room was sparse, with only a narrow bed, a small wooden dresser, and a dimly lit oil lamp. The meager belongings she had accumulated over the years were neatly arranged, each item holding a fragment of her past. As she packed her few possessions into a worn-out bag, she couldn't help but steal glances at the familiar surroundings.

Miss Carol's words lingered in her mind—"Don't be late. The Duke doesn't tolerate when people are late." Seraphina knew the consequences of displeasing a man of such influence. The rules of the aristocracy were as unforgiving as the cobblestone streets outside.

Her hands moved mechanically, folding clothes and gathering a few cherished trinkets. Among them was a small, weathered locket containing a faded photograph of her parents, a connection to a life she could barely remember.

The memories of laughter and love seemed distant, replaced by the harsh realities of her present.

As the final item found its place in the bag, Seraphina took one last look around the room. The flickering flame in the oil lamp cast a warm, melancholic glow, highlighting the traces of her childhood etched into the walls.

With a heavy sigh, she slung the bag over her shoulder and left the room, closing the door behind her.

The matron awaited her in the dimly lit hallway, her expression a mixture of sympathy and resignation. "It's time," Miss Carol murmured, leading Seraphina towards the front entrance where the Duke's carriage idled.

Outside, the night air felt heavy with anticipation. The  lamps illuminated the path, guiding Seraphina towards a future unknown.

As she approached the waiting carriage, the Duke glanced at his pocket watch with impatience, a silent reminder of the punctuality he demanded.