Take off your clothes

Abigail shivered as she stepped inside Edward ’s penthouse, the warmth of the air-conditioning hitting her rain-soaked skin like a cruel reminder of how out of place she was.

Edward walked ahead, his steps unhurried, his hands in his pockets as if this moment was just another casual evening for him.

She hesitated at the entrance, her pulse roaring in her ears. Her shoes left wet imprints on the pristine marble floor, but she was too numb to care.

“Close the door,” Edward ordered without turning around.

Abigail clenched her fists. Every instinct told her to run, but there was nowhere left to go.

She reached behind her and shut the door. The soft click felt like a prison gate locking her in.

Edward stopped at the corridor, his head tilting slightly as he studied her, those sharp blue eyes scanning every inch of her drenched, trembling form.

“You’re a mess,” he remarked, voice smooth, detached.

Abigail forced herself to meet his gaze. “And whose fault is that?”

Edward smirked. “Yours.”

Her chest tightened.

He turned slightly. “Maria.”

A middle-aged maid appeared almost instantly from the side hall, her head bowed. “Yes, sir?”

“Bring a change of clothes for Miss Salvador.”

Maria nodded quickly and disappeared down the hall.

Abigail’s breathing grew uneven. Her skin was ice-cold, but the fire of humiliation burned deep inside her.

Edward leaned against the wall, watching her with the same detached amusement he had when she first walked in. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect you so soon.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t come here for your games, Edward .”

“No?” He arched a brow. “Then why are you here?”

Abigail opened her mouth, then closed it.

She knew why.

Her father was in the hospital. The business was ruined. Her mother had blamed her. Her sister had turned against her.

She had nowhere else to go.

Maria returned with a neatly folded set of clothes, placing them on a nearby chair before bowing again and stepping back.

Edward didn’t even glance at her. “Leave us.”

The maid hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. Then, without another word, she turned and disappeared.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Edward exhaled slowly, tilting his head as he examined her. “Take off your clothes.”

Abigail’s heart nearly stopped. “What?”

His eyes darkened. “You heard me.”

Her stomach twisted. “You’re joking.”

Edward stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Her breath hitched.

She shook her head, taking a step back. “You can’t be serious.”

He chuckled, slow and deliberate. “You don’t get to say no, Abigail.”

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “You’re sick.”

Edward smirked. “And you’re in no position to judge.”

Abigail’s hands trembled. Her mind screamed at her to fight, to push back, to do something.

But then she saw her father’s face in her mind.

Saw him lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to machines.

Saw her mother’s tear-streaked face, saw Sophia’s resentment.

Saw everything that had been ripped away from her.

And she realized...

She had no choice.

Her fingers curled into the hem of her soaked blouse, her entire body stiff.

Edward watched her, his expression unreadable. “Slower.”

A tear slipped down her cheek as she peeled the blouse away, the wet fabric clinging to her skin before dropping to the floor with a soft plop.

Her arms instinctively wrapped around herself, shielding what little she could.

Edward tsked. “All of it.”

Her stomach twisted.

Her hands moved sluggishly, numb with shame, as she unzipped her skirt. It pooled around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but her undergarments.

Edward let out a low hum, his gaze dragging over her like she was nothing more than a possession.

She wanted to scream.

To slap him again.

To run.

But she couldn’t.

She was trapped.

“Now,” Edward murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “Get on your knees.”

Abigail’s breath hitched.

She stared at him, unable to move.

Edward sighed. “You’re still pretending you have a choice.”

Her chest tightened.

She had no dignity left. No power.

And he knew it.

Her father was dying. The business was beyond saving. Her mother hated her. Her sister resented her.

And Edward ?

Edward was waiting.

Abigail lowered herself onto the floor.

The marble was freezing against her bare skin, but the pain barely registered over the suffocating weight of humiliation.

Edward took a step forward, the tips of his polished shoes almost touching her trembling hands.

“Crawl to me.”

Abigail’s vision blurred.

This was it.

This was the moment she truly lost.

The moment she surrendered.

She pressed her palms against the smooth floor, her knees scraping against the hard surface as she moved.

Each inch forward felt like another piece of her soul shattering.

Edward watched in silence, his face unreadable.

By the time she reached him, her breath was uneven, her body shaking from exhaustion and humiliation.

He crouched slightly, tilting her chin up with a single finger.

His eyes gleamed with something dark.

“I told you,” he murmured.

Abigail swallowed back a sob.

Edward smirked. “You’ll come to me on your knees.”

And he was right.

He had won.