Chapter 3 Fears Cold Grip

Elara's pov

“Change into this,” he ordered, dropping a neatly folded dress on the bed.

With that, he turned sharply and left, slamming the door behind him.

I hesitated for a moment before picking up the dress. It was made with satin, sleek black in color.

It was short and fitted, hugging my body perfectly.

The neckline dipped just enough, making me feel exposed, and a small white apron completed the outfit. 

It wasn’t just any cloth—it was a uniform, proof that I'd been bought.

A few moments after I had slipped into the dress, the man returned.

“Follow me,” he ordered.

I clutched the apron tightly, following

him closely as he led me through the hallways. The distant sound of laughter and music grew louder until we arrived at a large luxurious room.

The scene was overwhelming. A glittering chandelier was hanging at the high ceiling, casting a glittering golden glow over the crowd of wealthy guests. 

Men in sharp suits and women in gorgeous gowns mingled happily in the room, enjoying their wine and sharing soft laughs with each other.

The air was filled with the scent of expensive perfume and cigar smoke.

“Take that tray,” the man beside me said, pointing to a table where glasses of wine lined up ready. “Serve the guests. Don't make any mistakes.”

I nodded, my hands trembling as I picked up the tray. The weight felt heavy in my shaking hand, but I forced myself to move through the crowd.

The guests barely noticed me as I offered them glasses, their conversations continuing as if I wasn't there. For a brief moment, I felt like I could get through this night unnoticed. But then my luck ran out.

I approached a tall man in a plain white suit, who stood chatting with another guest. He reached for a glass, but my shaking hand betrayed me. The tray slanted slightly and before I could react, the wine in the glass splashed across his suit, staining it.

The man turned sharply, his face mixed with shock and anger as his gaze shifted between me and the stain.

“What the hell is this?” he barked, brushing at the stain.

“I—I’m so sorry,” I stammered, stepping back in panic.

The room grew quieter as eyes turned toward us. The man glared at me before turning his anger on the don, who had been watching from across the room.

“This is how you run things?” the man snapped. If this is the standard of your people, I wonder how you manage your business. I am disappointed, Marco.”

His face gleamed with satisfaction as he noticed the don was furious.

The don’s silver eyes were cold and unbothered as he approached. He didn’t offer an apology, nor did he look at me. 

“She’s new,” he said simply, his tone calm but dismissive. “I just brought her in.”

The man scoffed, muttering something under his breath before heading towards the bathroom, still trying to clean the stain on his suit.

The don turned his attention to me, and I felt my knees weaken under his chilly glare. Without a word, he grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the room.

The music and laughter faded as we entered a dark hallway. The silence was suffocating. When he stopped, he pushed me against the wall, gripping my arm tightly.

“You’ve embarrassed me in front of my competitor,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you understand what you’ve done?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Silence!” he snapped, cutting me off.

His hand moved to my face, squeezing my cheeks tightly into his palm. His grip was firm and his silver eyes bore into mine.

“You don’t get to talk while I am still talking,” he spat. “And you don’t get to make mistakes here. Not ever.”

I locked eyes with him as his words sliced through me like a knife.

“Do you know what happens to people who embarrass me?” he whispered, his voice calm but threatening. “They disappear.”

I stood still on, my breath stuck in my throat. He held on for a moment longer before finally letting go, pulling my face to the side and almost twisting my neck.

Adjusting his suit, he turned and walked away without another word. His footsteps faded as he left, leaving me trembling in the dark hallway.

I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face. 

His words kept repeating: “They disappear.”

The noise from the party down the hall felt distant now. Sadness consumed me as I thought of my father—the man who had handed me over without hesitation. Memories of our small, warm home now felt cruelly distant, like a fading dream.

I pictured our small home—the cool air from the yard and the warmth of my tiny room. It all felt like a cruel memory now.

I stayed there in the hallway for what felt like hours, my mind spinning with hopeless thoughts. One idea kept coming back to me, louder than the rest.

The idea of living under his control was too much. I couldn't keep going–couldn't survive this constant fear.

Finally, I wiped my face and stood, my legs shaky but steady enough to carry me forward as I made my way to the kitchen.

The remains of the party were scattered all around the counters of the kitchen. My eyes locked on a knife in the rack, its blade shining in the light.

My hand shook as I reached for it, gripping the handle tightly.

The weight of it settled on my hand.

For a moment, I just stood there holding it, doubt settling in.

“This is the only way out,” the louder voice insisted. “No more pain. Just silence.”

Tears blurred my vision as I lifted the knife.

“It's better this way,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Better than letting him do it.”

I shut my eyes, ready for the pain but then the door creaks open.