Chapter 6: A beautiful prison

Breakfast was already waiting when I came out. A spread meant for royalty, and yet it sat untouched, mocking me with its elegance. Croissants, glazed strawberries, jasmine tea steeping in white-gold china. It should’ve felt like luxury. It felt like a funeral.

I ate slowly, forcing every bite past a lump in my throat. The maids moved around me like I wasn’t there. Not a single glance. Not a word.

It was only when one of them returned to clear the table that I gathered the courage to ask, “Is this all for me?”

She paused, like she hadn’t expected me to speak. Then she nodded.

“Master’s orders.”

Master.

The word crawled down my spine like a chill. I nodded, but the name clung to my skin like a bruise. For some reason anytime I heard it my brain assumed I was the slave. For a master to exist there has to be a slave, or isn’t that right?

After breakfast, I roamed.

The penthouse was quiet, way too quiet. With no signs of footsteps or voices. Just the distant hum of the city I was no longer a part of.

Room after room, hallway after hallway… the place was enormous. I found a sitting room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a skyline I didn’t recognize. Below me, the world looked small but free.

I sat near the glass and pulled out the new phone he gave me. Kyle’s name stared back at me from my favorites list.

God.

What would I even say?

“Hi. I’ve been auctioned off. Legally bought. I signed the contract. I belong to someone else now. But how are you?”

I stared at the screen so long my vision blurred. I wanted to hear his voice, but I was terrified of what it might do to me.

In the end I didn’t call, I just couldn’t.

The sun dipped low. The sky turned a deep orange. Eventually, I fell asleep curled on the smooth leather sofa, hugging the phone like it was a lifeline.

When the knock came, it was soft. Too soft for how loud it felt in my chest.

I opened the door, and a maid gave a small bow. “Master requests the signed contract.”

Of course he does.

I slipped into the silk robe over my nightdress and grabbed the folder from the table. The fabric clung to my skin like it belonged there. The lace neckline felt too low, but I didn’t have the energy to change. Maybe he wouldn’t even look at me.

Maybe.

I walked into his room like I was walking into a storm.

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed like the weight of the world was on his back. His black shirt was unbuttoned halfway, sleeves rolled to the elbows. There was a drink in his hand. His jacket was discarded on the floor.

My legs moved forward slowly. The plan was to drop the contract and get out.

But then I saw something. A dark, drying stain on his collar.

It was blood.

My body moved before I could think. My hand lifted to the cut on his neck, not because I cared. But because I couldn’t stop myself.

Was he hurt? Was it deep? Had someone tried to kill him?

I reached for the fabric, two fingers brushing it softly. But things went awfully south when he grabbed me.

Fast.

His hand caught my wrist and in one fluid motion I was pulled forward and off-balance, landing against him. My body slammed into his hard chest. He was unbelievably warm.

My heart pondered like a drum.“Don’t touch me unless you’re ready to be touched back,” he murmured.

My breath caught. “I didn’t mean—”

Just then, the world spun in one terrifying second, I was on the bed, pinned under him. My gasp got caught in my throat. My heart? Gone. It had leapt straight out of my chest in horror.

He didn’t even speak. He just looked down at me like he was trying to decide if I was prey or poison.

“Why did you touch me?” His voice was low and unsteady, like he was fighting an invisible restrain.

“I… saw blood. I just wanted to see if—”

“I didn’t ask for care,” he said, voice hardening. “And I sure as hell didn’t buy it.”

I froze, short of words. The proximity was killing me and as if that wasn’t enough, he leaned in closer. I felt his breath on my cheek.

“You walked in here,” he murmured, “In silk, tight, sweet. Looking like you wanted something.”

“I didn’t,” I breathed. “I just came to—”

“Bullshit.”

My robe slipped at the worst timing and his gaze dragged down like a match over gasoline.

“If you didn’t want to fuck me, you wouldn’t have come dressed like that.”

“I didn’t choose this!” I snapped, voice cracking. “It’s what your staff gave me. I just wanted to drop the contract and leave.”

“Liar.”

He grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head, his body pressing into mine. I could smell the liquor on his breath. Expensive, bitter and sharp, invading my nostrils without mercy. My legs were trembling, but I couldn’t move.

He bent his head, mouth ghosting over my collarbone. Then to my neck. I gasped when I felt his lips, the sting of a kiss too close but he continued.

Again, lower this time. I could feel his tongue leave behind heat that sank into my skin.

“No,” I said. But it barely came out.

He kissed the side of my throat again. His teeth scraped lightly, and I knew. He was marking me.

A hickey bloomed just above my pulse.

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting everything rising in me. Not just fear. Not just shame. But helplessness and guilt.

Kyle’s face burned in the back of my mind. His laughter. His promises. I was supposed to wait for him. I was supposed to be his.

And now look at me. Pinned by another man, bought like an object and owned like a toy.

I felt the tears before I even realized I was crying. It was silent at first. Then full and fast.

I sobbed uncontrollably and that’s what made him stop. His eyes locked on mine. Something shifted in his gaze like the fog cleared, just a little.

He cursed under his breath and pushed off me.

“Get out,” he said, voice low and deep.

I couldn’t move. I sat up slowly, wrapping the robe tighter around myself, still shaking. Still crying.

“Now, Avelyn.”

I stood. My legs didn’t feel like mine. The contract slipped from my hands to the floor, forgotten. I couldn’t give a damn about it.

I walked out the door without looking back.

And this time… he didn’t stop me.