CHAPTER 3: HOPE

Solange woke slowly, her body aching in all the ways that made her heart flutter and a strange humming in her chest. Her head was foggy, but she felt a calm she had never known, like she was connected to something that had been missing all her life. She felt… claimed, as if the night had somehow given her a small taste of home.

She pushed herself up, careful not to wake Alistair, and padded to the bathroom. As steam filled the small space, she let the water run over her shoulders, breasts, and arms, enjoying the scent of soap mingling with the faint perfume of sandalwood that still clung to her. Her hands started tracing the places his had touched, wondering how one man could leave marks that weren’t only visible but also imprinted themselves on her soul.

Her hand drifted down her body, following the path his fingers had taken as she remembered the weight of his hand around her neck, her humming with a current that wouldn’t fade.

Growing up in the brothels, she should have been terrified, having seen what men did with that kind of power. But with Alistair, it hadn't felt like a threat or caused her any bit of fear or panic; it had felt like being anchored… as if nothing bad could ever happen to her again.

Her fingers found her already slick pussy, still swollen from the night’s activities. She began to rub her clit, her movements slow and exploratory, feeling the phantom sensation of his thick cock stretching her, the way his thrusts had hit that deep, hidden spot that filled her world with pleasure.

She let out a soft, jagged moan as she pictured his dark blue eyes filled with a hunger that was entirely for her, locked on hers as his calloused fingers slid inside her, stretching her walls just the way he had. Her breath hitched, her heartbeat thundering in her ears as she pushed her hips forward, chasing the memory of his gravelly voice calling her “good girl” in a way that had turned her brain to liquid.

The tension coiled tight in her belly, hotter and faster than she had ever managed on her own, and with a sharp, stifled cry, she shattered. Her clit throbbed as a powerful, toe-curling orgasm left her knees weak and her mind floating.

She leaned against the shower wall, panting, a blissful smile tugging at her lips. She felt… cherished. Like she finally belonged to someone.

For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine that maybe, just maybe, her life had changed. That maybe the nightmare of being invisible, poor, and unwanted had finally ended.

When she stepped back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, she smiled as she saw a shirtless Alistair sitting on the edge of the bed, his defined muscles gleaming in the soft morning light.

His intoxicating scent of sandalwood and musk hit her, and her body reacted instantly, sending a shiver running down her spine.

Then he stiffened, and for a crazy second she could have sworn his eyes flashed gold.

Alistair slowly raised his head, eyes widening with shock, glowing with a light that was raw and terrifying, as if he had just realized something. Then his face wrinkled with what looked like anger. "Wh... what? H... how..." He stammered, surprising her, because since when do men like him ever stammer?

He cleared his throat and continued. "Why do you smell like that?”