05. You Own Me, Remember?

RAINE’S POV.

I’m scared to pinch myself and realize I’m not in a dream. But I know I’m not. I can see the teardrops that had fallen on my design book.

“Indie sold you to me.”

It shouldn’t be true. There’s no way a mother would sell her daughter. But I know damn well it’s true. I was probably nothing more than some high-yielding investment to my mom. Or maybe a collateral.

Just tell some horny bastard she had a young child so she could get some money and be on her way to being absent again.

But Cyril…

I allowed the book to fall as I curled under my covers. There’s a reason why I had a crush on him at thirteen. I had worked on a set with him when I was thirteen, and Cyril was just like the rumors. Aloof, competent and didn’t give a fuck.

He didn’t have to. Even then, at twenty five, he had hundreds of millions to his name and two Academy awards. But I can remember the first time he saw me.

It felt like I was being seen for the first time, and for once, someone finally realized that the assistant director was holding me inappropriately.

Cyril had delivered one solid punch to him and then made me stay in his trailer for the rest of the day. After that day, my mom didn’t take me to the set again, and somehow, I believed that had something to do with Cyril.

Yet, two years later, Cyril. My very own knight in shining armor got married to my mom.

Nobody in their right mind married my mom. It was either some good-for-nothing marrying her so he could have somewhere to sleep or some asshole marrying her because she had me.

Cyril had to be the other, and I should have known. Only that, at some point, I started to get comfortable.

Even after my mom vanished for one year, Cyril never crossed the line. Only that I hated how his eyes looked at me with so much pity.

And then he had gone ahead to ship me off to some damned boarding school.

I should have been happy, thrilled even, that for once, I had a stepfather that didn’t sneak into my room in the middle of the night. But it made me even angrier. I wanted Cyril’s attention.

And in the dumbest way, I hated that he didn’t want me.

But now that I knew he did, I was disgusted that he wanted me the wrong way.

That he thought I was nothing more than some silly transaction he could own with some cheques and a contract.

“Damn you! Cyril!” I yelled and hoped that my voice would carry through the walls even though I knew they wouldn’t.

Cyril must have believed that I would sit quietly and obey like some well-trained pet. That must have been why he told me.

So I’d know my place.

Screw that.

I sprang to my feet, yanking off my bikini and letting it fall to the ground. The chill against my bare skin was sharp, but I didn’t mind. Seizing the first shirt I could find, I yanked it on and left my room.

I went downstairs, and moved towards the dining room. The chandeliers above the dining room shed a warm golden glow as Martha set the silverware out on the table delicately.

She smiled warmly when she saw me. “You’re just in time, dear. I made your favorite.”

I mumbled some thanks as I took a seat and absently reached for my fork, picking at the food with little excitement since I wasn't hungry.

Martha lingered nearby. “You should be kinder to Cyril,” she said gently. “He does more for you than you realize.”

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped me. “Oh? You mean like buying me?”

Her eyes widened for a second and then turned stern. “Don’t joke around, Nena. He’s not like that.”

I laughed and tossed the fork onto my plate before shoving it away. "Has he eaten?"

She hesitated and then shook her head. “No. He’s in his study. Working, as usual.”

Of course, he was acting all normal after messing up my mental health. Well, time to make sure that changed. I pushed back my chair and stood.

“Where’re you going?” Martha asked.

“To be kinder to him,” I air-quoted.

I did not wait for a reply and just climbed the stairs in a hurry. My heart was pounding against my ribs by the time I got to his study on the third floor.

Instead of knocking and waiting for permission, I pushed the door open just a fraction. Stepping inside, I saw Cyril sitting behind his massive desk with his hands folded together. 

His eyes narrowed the second he saw me.

“What…”

I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. Letting it slip from my fingers, it dropped onto the floor. That was all it took to cut him off mid-sentence. His reaction was immediate. His entire body went rigid, fists clenching against the desk.

My smile widened as I watched him inhale while his jaw clenched. Good. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He demanded, voice low. “Put your damn shirt back on, Raine.”

I crossed my arms over my bare chest, unbothered by his demand. “Why?” I asked, my tone dripping with sarcasm. 

“This is what you paid for, isn’t it? No need to hold back. Do whatever you want.”

Cyril's expression darkened the instant the words left my lips. He got up from his chair and the scraping of the legs on the floor was the only noise heard in the room. I watched him moving behind the desk to stand before me, and for a second, I thought he was going to put his hands on me.

But then he simply bent over and wrapped his fingers around the shirt that I had thrown to the floor. I blinked when he stood again and pushed it into my arms.

“Put it on.” He ordered roughly.

Instead of doing as he said, I just kept staring at him.

He tightened his grip around the shirt. “Now, Raine.”

I scoffed. “Why? Afraid you might actually take what’s already yours?”

His nostrils flared. "That’s not what this is."

"Isn't this what you wanted?" I continued, pouring venom into my words. 

"Why pretend anymore?” I jabbed my finger at his chest, challenging him.

“You own me, remember?”