Chapter 10: The Woman of His House

“I can do it myself,” I said while watching Letty’s reflection in the mirror as she drew the comb slowly through my damp hair.

Her hand paused for only a brief second before she met my eyes through the glass. “It is the Master’s order,” she answered in the same composed tone she had been using since they brought me into this room, and then she resumed combing as though that explanation should have been enough to silence all further protest.

I let out a slow breath and remained seated.

Arguing with these people was beginning to feel like arguing with walls. They had already insisted on bathing me despite my repeated refusals, and now I sat wrapped in nothing but a towel while they continued to handle me with the strange delicacy reserved for someone far above them. The attention did not make me feel cared for. It made me feel managed, arranged, and quietly controlled.

The room itself only deepened that sensation. It was far too spacious to be called an ordinary dressing room. Tall mirrored closets covered almost every wall, each one gleaming beneath the soft golden lights overhead. Dresses hung in endless organized rows behind polished glass, while drawers of jewelry, shoes, scarves, and cosmetics occupied the remaining spaces with frightening neatness. This was not a room built for necessity. It was a room built for someone who had the luxury of choosing identities according to mood.

Letty finally set the comb down and adjusted the towel more securely over my chest before stepping back. From this close, I could study her better. She looked to be around her sixties, but age had not bent her posture nor slowed her movements. Fine wrinkles rested around her eyes and mouth, yet they did little to diminish the striking morena beauty that still lingered in her features. There was a steadiness in her, the kind that comes from years of discipline rather than years of comfort.

“You should remain here until the Master returns,” she said.

At the mention of Reign, Elliott’s last warning came flooding back with uncomfortable clarity. He had looked far too serious when he said Reign was more ruthless than the devil. The humor had vanished entirely from his face at that point, and I remembered the brief paleness that touched him, as though even speaking too freely about his cousin came with consequences. I had wanted more answers, but Thraia had interrupted before I could press him further, leaving me with only those unfinished warnings and my own growing impatience.

I lifted my chin slightly and looked at Letty through the mirror again. “I have no plans of waiting for your master. You may all be under his orders because you work for him, but I do not belong to this household. I was brought here without my permission, and no amount of expensive rooms or obedient maids will change that.”

Letty inhaled slowly.

When she turned to face me, there was no irritation in her expression, only something firmer and more unsettling because of how calm it looked.

“You will not enjoy what follows if you attempt to leave without his knowledge,” she said. “No one walks beyond the Master’s reach simply because they decide to.”

I frowned. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

For the first time, Letty looked as though she had already said more than she intended, but she did not correct herself. Instead, she moved toward the double doors and opened them.

A line of maids stood waiting outside.

The moment they saw her, all of them bowed.

“Dress her properly,” Letty instructed without turning back to me. “Complete everything as the Master ordered until he returns. If any of you still wish to continue breathing comfortably in this house, do not make a mistake with her.”

“Yes, Madam,” they answered together.

The synchronized response sent a strange chill over me. It was not the obedience itself that unsettled me. It was the fear hidden beneath the obedience. Every person in this house moved as though one wrong step could cost them dearly.

Letty stepped out, Thraia following after her, and the remaining maids entered in silence. They closed the doors, lined themselves before me, and once again lowered their heads.

“You can raise your heads,” I said, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the ritual. “I am not someone who requires that.”

The maid closest to me answered carefully. “The Master instructed us to treat you as the woman of this house, Miss. We cannot do otherwise.”

I stared at her.

The woman of this house.

The title sat heavily in my chest.

I did not know what sort of madness was moving inside Reign’s head, but the thought of being labeled under his household in such a way made me instinctively recoil. He had bought me from an auction, dragged me into this mansion, commanded everyone around him to care for me, and then vanished while leaving orders that wrapped around me like invisible chains. Nothing about this arrangement felt temporary, and that was precisely what made me uneasy.

One of the maids walked to the mirrored closet and opened it. Her eyes moved over rows upon rows of dresses before she selected several and then hesitated. Turning toward me, she bowed again.

“Would you prefer to choose for yourself, Miss? I do not know what style suits your liking.”

I looked at the dresses.

Silk.

Chiffon.

Fine embroidered pieces that probably cost more than a year of my tuition.

A bitter feeling passed through me. I was not raised for this kind of treatment. I did not know what it meant to stand still while other people dressed me, served me, and spoke to me with rehearsed politeness. My life had always been built around moving, doing, surviving, and making sure every peso had a purpose. Looking at these women did not make me feel superior. It made me feel like I was standing on the wrong side of a life that was never mine.

“Anything simple,” I said quietly. “I do not need anything extravagant.”

The maid nodded and began selecting again while the others prepared towels, shoes, and accessories with mechanical precision.

I remained standing in the middle of the room while they moved around me, but my mind had already stopped focusing on dresses. Information had begun arranging itself more usefully now. Elliott would be around for a week. Reign was gone. The maids feared him too much to help me directly, but fear also made people predictable. Predictable people followed routines, and routines always left openings somewhere. I did not know yet how large this mansion truly was, how many guards watched the exits, or what exactly Letty meant when she said no one could walk beyond Reign’s reach, but I knew one thing with painful certainty: if I allowed myself to settle into the softness of this place, if I allowed these people to dress me and guide me and keep me waiting like an obedient guest, then I would slowly become exactly what Reign intended me to be.

That was something I refused to let happen, no matter how many doors this mansion had or how many warnings his people threw at me. While they busied themselves choosing fabrics and fixing my hair, I stood still and let them continue, but inside my head every possible path was already beginning to form into the same conclusion. I would watch, I would wait, and before Reign returned to this house, I would find a way to disappear from it.