Eleven. A name. A title. A sentence passed. If you aren’t a Beauty, you’re less than a person. You’re a commodity known as a Potential… and you only have so many chances to qualify as a human being.
In her seventeen years, Eleven has seen the best and worst in humanity. She’s been passed around and abused by the bad. She’s hoped and dreamed for the good. And she’s despaired for the hand she’s been dealt. Now she’s been purchased by a wealthy man who has the ability to improve her life and help her become a Beauty – if she can put up with his erratic and controlling personality for long enough, that is. Complicating things is the appearance of a stunningly beautiful young man with amethyst eyes who treats Eleven to the rarest form of attention for a Potential: kindness.
Does Eleven trust her powerful owner to help her escape this life of servitude and enslavement, or does she gamble everything on the enigmatic young man who seems to offer her more than she could ever imagine possible?
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I hate how beauty permits enslaving the beasts.
With money and a sponsor, even the ugliest person can have flawlessness and receive anything they’d want out of life. With good looks, they can live a full life. The old days when anyone could be ugly and still live happily and normally are long gone. Flawlessness and beauty is the only way to survive. Flawlessness comes naturally with good genes or money. By any means possible, Potentials have to find a way to obtain beauty.
This new life offers five chances to earn the title of Beauty. Five measly chances to prove your worth to people who hold the right to exist peacefully in this cruel world in their porcelain-like hands.
Play by the rules when dealing with Beauties. That is the only way to survive.
My true name isn’t Eleven, but, I’ll let my new family decide what they’ll call me.
Here I am – seventeen years old and an Eleven. So close and yet so far from being beautiful.
I tug on the chain hanging from my neck in irritation and bite my lower lip for a second before looking up towards the tiny hole in my cell door, my only source of light.
I may be a Potential, but my true name is Grace. And I will achieve beauty by any means possible.
“I want to see you. Won’t you please lift your head?”
His kind voice and false modesty are making me sick. He only wants to look at me to satisfy himself. He only wants to see what I look like because he’s flawless. He’s sicker than the other ones. Maybe not as sick as Shawn – I have the scabs on my lips to prove that – but being less sadistic than a controlling megalomaniac isn’t that impressive.
But before I can tell my body to resist, I jerk up my head and focus my sharp hazel eyes on his.
Recognition. A long-forgotten memory surges into my mind, but it is driven away by a sharp pain at my neck. As the memory retreats, waves of pain replace it until the world is made of agony and darkness.
Then only darkness.