Have you learned your lesson?

Sherry was staring at Dallion, listening to his serious words about the plants in front of them. The topic had shifted from the weeds to the plants she had mistakenly pulled out. There was a certain earnestness in his voice, as if he had planted them himself. Narcissist, she thought.

This was her punishment, but here he was, crouching next to her, though in far better condition. Her drenched clothes clung to her body, heavy with moisture, and she felt like she was freezing in the middle of winter. She glanced at his muddy hands, which were busy replanting the uprooted plant. "Did you get it?" he asked, flicking his hand across her forehead, sending specks of mud onto her nose. "Stop daydreaming and staring at me. I know I’m handsome."

Narcissist man, Sherry thought again, only to see Dallion narrow his eyes as if he had heard her. Could he read her mind? She gulped when his intense gaze didn’t leave her face.

"I apologize for my rudeness," she said, ducking her head, wishing his hand would move away. It was better to have him keep his distance—anything to avoid further punishment.

"Why does it feel like your apology is not sincere?" He tipped his head. Rising from his crouched position, he stood tall, looking down at her. "Don’t try to play me, little mouse. I can sense a lie a mile away."

"I wouldn’t dare," Sherry replied, keeping her voice calm and submissive.

"Look at your hand, clutching the dirt beside you," he said, pointing out how tense she was. "Passive-aggressive much? Did you know that seventy-four percent of passive-aggressive people are more likely to kill someone than those who are outright expressive? They’re the ones to watch out for, bottling up their anger until it explodes." He tapped the side of his temple.

Was he implying she’d kill him one day? Maybe she would, Sherry mused to herself, considering how he'd dragged her out here in the rain. Dallion’s grin widened, making her heart skip a beat—but not for romantic reasons.

"Are you thinking that I deserve what’s coming, huh?" he said, and her eyes widened at how accurately he’d guessed her thoughts. "I should probably kill you right now. You’d make great fertilizer for the plants you so brutally tore out." He stepped closer to her, and Sherry backed away, falling flat on the muddy ground.

"I didn’t mean to offend you, Dallion," she stammered, fear starting to set in. He crouched back down, but this time, he was facing her. The glint in his eyes made her heart race—he seemed to enjoy her fear.

"Everyone says that," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "But don’t worry, little mouse. I’ll make it quick." When his hand reached for her, Sherry instinctively closed her eyes, bracing herself for what was to come. "Not only did you tear up the plants, but you got me involved. A peasant making her master do her work," he scoffed.

"You were educating me," she blurted out, eyes still shut. "I’ll do anything, please!"

"Anything is vague," he mused. "Would you dedicate your life to serving me?"

"Yes!" she answered like an arrow released from a bow.

"You’ll never disobey me? Full sentences, Sherry. My patience is limited," he said with a tut, clearly enjoying her desperation. Sherry knew better than to test him—his earlier threat felt far too real.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. When she felt the heat from his hand near her cheek, she gulped. Though people often said mafiosos like Dallion had cold brutality in their blood, his touch was surprisingly warm—a testament to his pureblooded mafia lineage.

When his fingers grazed her cheek, turning it muddy, Sherry’s eyes snapped open. Dallion’s smile had faded, and his gaze had softened. It confused her to no end. He was toying with her, and she was too worn out from fear to make sense of it. His hand lingered on her face, a calm warmth settling in.

"Aren’t you cold?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" she blinked, thrown off by the question. Of course, she was freezing! But the way he looked at her made her wonder if she had misunderstood.

With his hand still on her cheek, Sherry found it difficult to speak, like a butterfly afraid to move lest it get caught. When he finally moved his hand away, she managed to answer, "Yes. I am cold."

He nodded, mischief returning to his eyes. "Did you learn your lesson, or should I make you pull more weeds?" His playful tone made her stomach twist.

"I’ve learned, Dallion. Please forgive me. I won’t repeat my mistakes," she said, bowing her head. She was soaked, covered in mud, and starving. All she wanted was something warm to eat, though she doubted she’d get it. She wasn’t even treated like a servant here—more like an animal.

But weren’t pets supposed to be loved by their masters?

Sherry glanced at him again, her thoughts drifting. She shook her head, banishing the image of herself being petted by this dark, possessive man. Finally, she stood, shivering in the cold.

"Go through the back entrance," Dallion said as he walked away. "We wouldn’t want you dirtying the halls of Cross Manor, would we?" He stopped at the door, turning to look at her over his shoulder. "Sherryl."

Sherry froze at the mention of her full name. "Don’t follow the wrong people in this mansion with an empty head. You’ll be dead before you know it." His smile sent a chill down her spine, and she watched him disappear into the manor.

She made her way to the back, entering through the kitchen where the staff bustled about. Nickison was nowhere to be seen, but a group of maids caught sight of her.

"Look at that, it’s the master’s little mouse," one of the maids, Mary, sneered. Sherry ignored her, but Mary wasn't’t done. "I heard he paid a thousand dollars for her. Can you believe it?"

"She doesn’t look like much," another maid chimed in, eyeing Sherry up and down. "Probably overpriced."

Sherry stopped in her tracks. "You’ve got it wrong."

"What?" Mary asked, her tone mocking.

"I said, you’ve got it wrong," Sherry repeated, turning to face her. "I was bought for five hundred thousand dollars." She spread her fingers to emphasize.

The maids gaped at her. "No cheap captive costs that much!" Mary shot back, eyes narrowing.

"Guess I must be special," Sherry replied with a sweet smile. "But even if it were a thousand, that still makes between as two, you cheaper."