Chapter 3

No screaming. No theatrics. Just… sadness. Anguish. Despair.

She murmured, her voice breaking:

“I didn’t want this. Not this life. Not this suffering. I just tried to survive. I just wanted to protect what was left of me.” Ilyès was motionless. Her hand hung a few inches from his body.

And for the first time… he hesitated.

“Be quiet,” he whispered. “Don’t do this to me.”

But she couldn’t be silent any longer.

“I have no one left, Ilyès. My mother is dead. My father sold me. And you… you want to extinguish me. Why? For a slap?” Her voice trembled.

“Is it really worth it?” He stepped back. One step. Then another. As if his own actions had suddenly filled him with horror. “Shit…” He turned his back. His jaw was clenched. His fists were tightly pressed together. Lena fell to her knees, her breath trembling. She hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t bitten. Hadn’t begged. She had cried.

And that had stopped him.

“You can hate me,” she whispered. “But never forget that I’m not your toy. Even broken… I don’t belong to you.” Ilyès didn’t answer.

He left. Without a word. Leaving the door wide open.

This time, he hadn’t locked her in. But something in his eyes had changed.

And Lena understood that it wasn’t her he had come to break.

It was himself he was trying to save. In his own way. Dirty. Twisted. Terrifying.

And that deep down… he didn’t know how to love any other way.

The living room shimmered under the crystal chandeliers. Glasses clinked. Soft laughter rose. But inside Lena, everything was frozen.

She sat to Ilyes's right, wearing a red dress that her fingers didn't even dare touch. The fabric clung to her skin like a mark of possession. Too low-cut. Too slit. Too sheer.

She would never have dared wear such an outfit. But it wasn't her choice.

It was the dress he had had delivered in a black box an hour earlier, without a word. That was all it took to understand. "Sit down. Smile. Don't speak." Ilyes, on the other hand, was in his element. Impeccable. Icy. Untouchable. He discussed business with his investors, as if he hadn't dragged a young woman into a gilded cage just a few days before. As if he hadn't almost forced her to give herself to him.

He wasn't even looking at her.

And yet, his hand rested on her thigh. Firm. Possessive. Like a silent reminder: You're here because I decided you were.

"Ilyès," murmured one of the men on the left, a glass in his hand. "Aren't you going to introduce us to this silent beauty?" Léna felt all eyes turn towards her.

She lowered her gaze.

She didn't want to be seen. Not like this. Not like an object.

But he smiled, without even turning his head towards her.

"Oh, her? Just a pastime, my new toy." A small, polite laugh.

"I like to change things up often." A cold shiver ran down Léna's spine. She bit her lip to keep from reacting. He had humiliated her. Deliberately. Publicly.

And she… she wasn’t allowed to speak.

“Ravishing,” murmured a woman a little further away. “It’s a shame she doesn’t speak.”

“That’s what makes her precious,” replied Ilyès. “She knows her place.”

Muffled laughter. Champagne. But Léna couldn’t hear anything anymore.

She stared at her glass. Empty. Like her.

She didn’t understand how she could still feel ashamed. After all, he’d already taken everything, hadn’t he? Her free will, her voice, her body. And yet, this evening was breaking her in another way.

Because here, in this world, she wasn’t even a woman.

She was possession. And she accepted it. She let him. Because he had planned everything. Locked everything down. Trapped everything.

And she didn’t know how to escape.

Later, after the guests had left, the silence was heavy. Lena hadn't said a word. She walked behind him down the hall like a shadow. Her heels hurt, her dress clung to her skin, but she didn't dare complain.

They entered the room. He closed the door behind her.

"You were perfect," he murmured.

She didn't reply.

He approached slowly. He ran his fingers along her cheek.

"Obedient. Silent. Beautiful."

She shivered at his touch.

"You didn't even cry tonight. That's good."

His fingers moved down to her throat, then to her shoulder.

She trembled. But she didn't back away.

He liked it. This mixture of fear and submission.

"They watched you. They wanted you. And yet you stayed there. In your place. To my right." His hand rested on her waist. Then it stopped just above her hips.

“You belong to me, Lena. Do you understand now?”

She nodded gently. Just once.

She couldn’t speak.

Her throat was tight.

He kissed her. Slowly. As if he were taking his time to savor her. To imprint her. To remind her that everything she was… existed under his control.

Then he stepped back.

“Sleep.”

And he left, without looking back.

Leaving behind a motionless Lena. Silent. Suffocated.

She sat slowly on the edge of the bed. Her hands were trembling.

She didn’t cry.

She no longer had the strength.

That night, she understood that humiliation wasn’t the cruellest weapon. No. The most terrible thing was the position he had given her.

And which she, slowly… had begun to accept.

The manor was silent, as always.

Too silent.

Lena walked slowly down the corridor, arms crossed, her shoulders bare beneath the oversized sweater she'd found in the closet. She hadn't eaten that morning. She wasn't hungry. Or perhaps she'd forgotten.

She stopped in front of a double door. Her heart pounded.

This was his office.

Since she'd been brought here, she'd never dared knock on this door. This was Ilyès's space. The heart of his power. His lair. She knew that showing up uninvited was risky. But today, she needed to talk.

Just to ask.

She took a breath, then knocked softly. No sound.

She waited a few seconds, then slowly pushed the door open. It was ajar. He hadn't locked it.

He was there. Ilyès sat behind his mahogany desk, hunched over files. Dark suit, expensive watch, hair pulled back. Immutable. Unwavering.

He barely glanced up at her.

"What are you doing here?" Léna took a step forward. Then another.

She kept her hands folded in front of her.

"I don't want to bother you…" she began.

He looked up this time. A dark look. Impatient.

"Too late."

She swallowed hard.

"I just wanted… a phone. Not to leave. Just… to be able to call my father. To know if he's alive."

Silence.

He stared at her for a long moment.

"You want a phone?" he repeated, his tone neutral.

She nodded gently. “I don’t know anyone here. I’m all alone. I just wanted to talk to someone. Even briefly. That’s all.” A dry laugh escaped her lips.

“You want to talk? That’s new.”