03- NO, IT CAN'T BE...

03- NO, IT CAN'T BE..

Roxanne Flair.

My fists rained down on the man’s rock-hard back, my knuckles bruising against the thick fabric of his suit. I kicked my legs wildly, thrashing like a wild animal caught in a trap, but it was entirely useless.

With every desperate surge I made to pull myself off his shoulder, his iron grip simply tightened around my thighs, digging into my bruised skin until I gasped.

He carried me down the steps as if I weighed nothing at all. The cool night air hit us again, and then the rear door of the black sedan clicked open. He threw me onto the leather backseat with an unceremonious thud. Before I could even scramble toward the opposite door, the two other heavily built men slid in on either side of me, sandwiching me so tightly I could barely draw a full breath.

The gravity of the situation finally settled over me like a suffocating blanket. This wasn't just another one of Kelvin’s terrifying threats. This was real. I was completely trapped.

Through the tinted window, I watched the man who had carried me stride back into the apartment building, returning a moment later with my battered suitcase and bulging duffel bag slung over his arms.

My eyes throbbed, burning intensely from the moments of crying, the mascara sticky on my lashes.

As the car purred to life and smoothly glided away from the curb, leaving the only home I knew behind, the silence inside the vehicle became deafening. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the quiet rustle of their expensive suits.

"Where... where exactly are you taking me?" I asked, my voice barely a cracked whisper as I looked at the man to my right.

He didn't even blink. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead, his jaw rigid, completely ignoring me as if I were nothing more than a piece of luggage they were paid to transport.

I leaned my head back against the leather seat, staring blindly at the roof of the car as tears silently spilled again over my temples. In the quiet darkness, another toxic wave of resentment for my late mother surged from the deepest, darkest corners of my heart.

Fresh tears burned my eyes as the memories began to flash behind my eyelids, sharp and agonizing.

Fate had been nothing but cruel to me ever since I was a little girl and my mother had remarried. I remembered the first time Kelvin had raised his hand against me, the terror that had paralyzed my young body.

I remembered running to my mother, sobbing, showing her the bruises on my arms, begging her to make him stop. But she had been too weak, too utterly cowardly to ever stand up against her tyrant husband. She would just cry with me, whisper that it would get better, and tell me not to anger him.

When Richard came along, I had foolishly harbored a tiny shred of hope. I thought that maybe, just maybe, Kelvin would focus his attention on his own son and let me breathe. But Richard didn't save me; he grew up to be an even worse version of his father, inheriting all of Kelvin's cruelty but fueling it with a younger, malicious energy.

I hated my mother in that moment. I hated her for being a foolish coward, and I hated her even more for dying and leaving me behind to face the monsters she and I kept trying to call family all by myself.

Now, they had sold me. I couldn't even begin to imagine what my future would look like with whatever stranger was waiting at the end of this drive.

The numbness finally began to take over, settling deep into my bones until my body was too exhausted to even register the physical pain from Richard's punch or the ache between my legs.

My mind spun out into terrifying scenarios. What if they had sold me off to a paralyzed old man? Was I going to spend the rest of my youth wiping drool and changing the bedpans of a cripple until I died a miserable, wasted death just like my mother had? Or worse, what if they had sold me to a complete beast? A monster even more depraved and violent than Kelvin and Richard combined?

The agonizing thoughts looped continuously in my head, a carousel of horrors, until the car suddenly horned loudly.

The sharp sound snapped me back to reality. I blinked, looking out the front windshield as a massive, ornate iron gate slowly swung inward. My jaw dropped. I was utterly marveled. I had only ever seen properties like this on television or in movies.

The sweeping lawns, the perfectly manicured hedges, the towering stone pillars—I couldn't believe an estate of this scale actually existed in the very same New York City I had grown up in all my life.

The sedan rolled down a long, winding driveway through the indescribable beauty of the estate, finally stopping in front of a colossal mansion bathed in soft, warm lighting.

The door was opened for me, and I stumbled out onto the cobblestone on shaky legs. Immediately, two young, uniformed maids rushed over. They bowed low to me—a gesture that made me pull back in sheer confusion—before quickly grabbing my battered bags from the trunk.

Another maid, her expression perfectly polite and professional, stepped up to my side.

"Good morning, miss. Please, allow me to take you to your room," she said softly.

I couldn't even find my voice to reply. I just followed her through the grand foyer, past towering marble columns and crystal chandeliers that looked like frozen water droplets. When we reached the room, I stepped inside and was left completely short of words.

Everything about the space spelled old money. The deep mahogany furniture, the silk drapes, the massive king-sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets. It was a world entirely detached from the grim reality I had lived in just hours ago.

"I have prepped a bath for you, miss," the maid said, bowing slightly before turning to walk out.

My arm was still outstretched trying to call her back. I needed to really ask questions about this place, but the door was already shut.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the absolute exhaustion of the night caught up to me. I didn't even make it to the bathroom. The very second my back hit the plush, cloud-like surface of the bed, my eyelids turned to lead. I dozed off instantly, sinking into a deep, dreamless sleep.

A rhythmic, heavy thudding woke me.

I opened my eyes, disoriented by the sheer size of the ceiling above me. The sound of walking footsteps echoed faintly from the hallway outside. I scrambled to find a clock, my eyes landing on a sleek digital face resting on the bedside table.

7:26 AM.

My breath hitched. The last time I had checked the time—right when I first walked into this room before collapsing—it had been 1:50 AM. I had been asleep for nearly seven hours.

As I sat up, a sudden, foul stench hit my nostrils. I looked down at myself and almost threw up. The scent of stale sweat, dried alcohol from the club, and the heavy, unmistakable smell of the stranger’s semen still caked on my skin and clothes was completely overwhelming.

I rushed into the adjoining bathroom, turning the shower dial to boiling hot. I scrubbed my skin raw, desperate to wash away every single trace of the club, of the VIP booth, and of the horrific confrontation in my old apartment.

When I finally walked back into the bedroom, wrapped in a plush towel, I noticed someone had entered while I was in the shower. Resting neatly at the foot of the bed was a stunning, limited-edition designer dress. I slipped into it, the expensive silk gliding over my freshly washed skin like a second skin.

A sharp, polite knock echoed through the room. I opened the door to find an older, stately woman standing there with her hands clasped in front of her.

"Good morning," she said warmly. "It is breakfast time. Please follow me downstairs."

I followed her down the grand sweeping staircase, my heart doing anxious flips in my chest. When we reached the dining room, my eyes widened. The long table was laid out with a spread of food I never thought I would taste in this lifetime, let alone before I died—exotic fruits, delicate pastries, smoked meats, and freshly squeezed juices.

I hesitated, then slowly took a seat at the middle of the table. A moment later, the sound of footsteps approached, and a handsome young man walked into the dining room. He wore a crisp button-down shirt and had a sharp, structured face.

Hoping to break the agonizing tension, I raised a hand and gave a small, tentative wave. He didn't even look my way.

He slid into the seat directly across from me. I cleared my dry throat.

"Good morning," I offered softly.

This time, he finally looked up from his plate. He didn't smile. He didn't greet me back. Instead, his sharp eyes scanned me up and down, examining me quietly as if I were some sort of fascinating biology specimen under a microscope. After a long, agonizing silence, he simply looked back down and began eating his meal in complete quiet.

I sat there, utterly lost on what to do. I picked up a fork and began digging into my meal quietly, my mind racing with a singular, terrifying thought. What if this is him? What if this is the husband they sold me to? I watched him out of the corner of my eye. Well, at least he wasn't a helpless cripple. But he was undeniably an arrogant jerk.

Suddenly, the heavy, deliberate sound of slow footsteps echoed from the arched entryway of the dining room.

I raised my head, expecting to see another older servant or perhaps an elderly patriarch.

Instead, my fork slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the fine china. The blood completely drained from my face, and the shock of my life hit me so hard my vision swam.

The man walking over to take his place at the head of the table was tall, broad-shouldered, with silver threading through his dark, perfectly styled hair like expensive silk. He wore a flawless tailored suit that perfectly accentuated his imposing frame.

No. My mind screamed, my heart slamming heavily against my ribs like a trapped bird. No, it can't be. It's impossible.

He pulled out the grand chair at the head of the table, his dark eyes finally shifting over to land squarely on mine. A dangerous glint flashed in his gaze.

"Good morning, dear," he said.

The voice was low, raspy, like gravel wrapped in velvet. It was the exact same voice from the VIP booth last night.

The piece of pastry I had just swallowed lodged sideways in my throat, and I choked violently, my hands flying to my neck as the room tilted completely off its axis.