She was taken into the mansion of Ivanov where armed men scattered around the seemingly palace of her owner. She wasn't given any clothes to get warmed nor was she given any privacy when she was pulled out of the car. His people, though, never dare to spare a glance at the stranger in their house. They knew better than to anger their leader.
Her owner pushed her against an old, petite woman. "Bring her to one of the guest rooms and clean her up. I want her in the dining room at eleven. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," said the middle-age woman who nodded her head politely to the young boss.
Margarette watched as he walked away upstairs. His back was so lean and ripped against his tux. She gulped. There was no doubt he was a wealthy man.
"Let's go, ma'am," the said woman.
She nodded her head and let the woman take her to one of the rooms. She was ushered towards the bathroom and was bathed before being dressed into an oversized shirt and a loose short. It was comfortable enough for her not to get cold even though it strips down on her skinny body every time.
"My name is Margarette..." she said, opting a conversation towards the woman. The old woman nodded her head briefly and didn't even bother to reply to her. "Uhm, w-what's your name?"
"Apologies, but I am not permitted to talk to you, miss."
"Huh? Why?" she asked dumbly, earning another silence from the woman. She sighed as she fidgeted her fingers. Why was she here in the first place again? Ah, Margarette remembered. She escaped and was abducted, and now she was being purchased.
"The boss wanted you downstairs at five. Let's go."
The woman who's name was still unknown to Margarette, yanked her up gently by the arm and pulled her down to the dining room. There, waiting at the head of the table was her owner. She locked gaze with her and she offered a kind smile to him, which earned a glare from him.
"Sit down."
Margarette was about to sit down when her owner tapped his lap almost boringly. She tilted head innocently, confusion plastered on her face. She walked towards him instinctively. When she was a few inches from him, she let out a squeal of shock when she was pulled unceremoniously into the man's lap.
"Stop moving," he said gruffly against her ear, making her shiver and quiet down. His strong arm was wrapped around her small waist. He took a deep breath, as if sniffing her.
She unconsciously shivered upon hearing his voice and feeling his breath against her skin.
"Am I not going to eat?" she asked innocently after seeing there's only one plate on the table. She was disappointed but she kept her mouth shut to ask for food, afraid to anger her owner. She's really hungry, and just seeing the food on the table makes her stomach grumble.
"Eat." Her owner, who's name was still unknown to her, pushed the plate closer to her. It was filled with food.
Margarette's eyes widened. She looked over her shoulder and met his eyes. With a bright smile, she said, "For real?"
He clenched his jaw, nodding his head. In his head, he thought that the woman was just too skinny and needed a little nutrients. He doesn't like skinny women, a little healthier is enough with him.
"Yes."
By hearing that, Margarette spent no time eating. She ate as if she hadn't eaten for decades. She hums at her every intake of food, as if she was raised in a cave and wasn't able to have these privileges. Unconsciously, her owner's lip twitched into a smirk.
Margarette was so lost in the moment. She felt like she was in ecstasy upon tasting the five-star-like food. It was made by her owner's personal chef.
After filling her stomach full, she let out a giggle. With a huge grin, she turned to look at him and smiled sweetly, oh so genuinely.
"Thank you!" she cheered, oblivious to the boner she gave to the male she was sitting on the lap with. She kept moving as she ate and hums whenever the food tastes good in her mouth. Her owner thinks that she's probably doing it on favour.
To be fucked thoroughly and get paid.
Her owner already knew what kind of person she was like. She's one of those women who doesn't mind getting sold to black market as long as they benefit from it.
Money, jewellery, and luxury.
'Tsk. Typical women,' Her owner thought.
After the late dinner, they went up to his office. He sat down on his swivel chair and she sat down in front of him. She roamed her eyes around, curious at what she was seeing. It was really nice here. It screams wealth.
"I guess you already know what role you will be playing here, little slut," he spoke harshly.
Margarette jumped, startled. But it was not because of his harsh tone or for his offensive words, but because he had spoken words longer than he had earlier.
"My name is Xavier. Xavier Ivanov. And you will be calling me 'sir' every damn time. Do you understand?" he said, his voice cold, his face was void of any emotion.
She nodded her head and smiled. "Yes, sir."
He smirked. "Good girl. Now, tell me about yourself."
She pursed her lips before taking a deep breath. "First, I want to thank you for purchasing me—" he cut her off.
"Thank me?" he said, chuckling darkly.
She nodded her head, brows knitting in confusion. "Yes. I want to thank you for buying me and giving me food. I'm grateful."
Now, it was his turn to get confused. 'Is this woman a nut, isn't she?' he thought.
He tilted his head and looked at her from her head and down to her bare feet. She really is beautiful.
"My name is Margarette, but you can call me Flower. That's my nickname. I'm nineteen years old."
"Flower..." he uttered, smirking.
She smiled approvingly. "Yes, it sounds much better."
Suddenly, the smirk on his face dropped as if it was never there before. "You speak when I allow you to. Do not speak unless I tell you so. Remember this, I own you and I do what I please."
Margarette was taken aback. Her heart slightly throb. She looked down on her feet shamefully.
"Sorry..." she whispered as she took a glance at him.
"Tsk."
She flinched upon hearing and seeing his disappointed face. He just literally told her not to speak unless spoken to, but there she goes, breaking it immediately.
"You're a bad girl, Margarette. Not obeying what her sir told her to do. Now, the next time you disobey me I will receive a punishment. Understood?"
She nodded her head.
He let out a low growl. "Words."
She flinched, suddenly lost. He told her not to speak and now he wants her to speak?
"B-But you said—"
"Answer me when I ask."
Her lips pouted so childishly. "Okay—"
"Answer me."
"Y-Yes, sir..." she said, fidgeting her fingers nervously.
"Good girl," he praised, and surprisingly it made her heart suddenly flutter. "Come over here."
She obeyed reluctantly. She stood beside his chair and waited for further instruction.
He pulled her to his lap and pressed his lips against her earlobe, making the hair on her name stand up. He, then, whispered against her skin, "From now on, you will be my doll... Flower."
Emma left the room to give us some space and privacy. I clenched my fist as the tension between us thicken. I didn’t expect him to be back all of a sudden. Perhaps, it is a good thing as well."I don't want to stay here anymore," I declared with a steely gaze, my determination to leave this house firm in my mind. The sense of betrayal had eroded my trust in everyone around me, leaving me with a deep-seated desire to escape. "I will leave this house," I added, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions within.His eyes sharpened, and the tension in the room heightened as he gritted his teeth. My heart raced, but I maintained a composed exterior, unwilling to let him perceive any vulnerability. "Leave, you say? Ophelia, this is our house," he retorted after a brief pause, his voice laced with controlled intensity as if he were suppressing an inner turmoil. "You cannot leave."“Why not?” I hissed, my gaze narrowing into slits as I gritted my teeth. “Why can’t I leave?”“Because I don’
Emma left the room to give us some space and privacy. I clenched my fist as the tension between us thicken. I didn’t expect him to be back all of a sudden. Perhaps, it is a good thing as well."I don't want to stay here anymore," I declared with a steely gaze, my determination to leave this house firm in my mind. The sense of betrayal had eroded my trust in everyone around me, leaving me with a deep-seated desire to escape. "I will leave this house," I added, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions within.His eyes sharpened, and the tension in the room heightened as he gritted his teeth. My heart raced, but I maintained a composed exterior, unwilling to let him perceive any vulnerability. "Leave, you say? Ophelia, this is our house," he retorted after a brief pause, his voice laced with controlled intensity as if he were suppressing an inner turmoil. "You cannot leave."“Why not?” I hissed, my gaze narrowing into slits as I gritted my teeth. “Why can’t I leave?”“Because I don’
I've already made up my mind. I'll leave this place. I don't think there was a reason to stay. They were all lying to me, blatantly telling me lies that were obvious. They were deceiving me.Staying became increasingly challenging, especially since my husband, the supposed anchor for my presence here, was consistently absent. Despite their claims of my marriage, their inability to provide any evidence, not even a picture from my own wedding, added to my growing sense of disillusionment.I hung around for a while, hopeful that they'd eventually come clean. Unfortunately, that never happened – not even a bit.It became disheartening and hard to trust anyone.Disappointment settled in, directed at every individual under this roof.Leaving now feels not just necessary but also freeing. Staying doesn't do anything for me anymore. The lies have unraveled, showing a truth that lines up with what I've been feeling.I waited until everyone in the mansion was sound asleep before putting my esca
“Ma’am, your husband has already left,” Emma said, her tone cautious as she addressed me. These days, I wasn't in the best of moods, not because of any lingering sickness, but due to the nagging feeling that something was being kept from me. “He has left for work, and he’ll probably be back a week from now or so.” I nodded silently, then took a sip of the tea she had prepared for me. The revelation that my husband had left bothered me, but I chose not to show it. Why should I care or worry? After all, he didn’t even come to bid farewell himself, so why should I react as if I were genuinely disappointed. “Tell me, Emma,” I uttered, my tone seeking answers. “What were we like as a married couple before I lost my memories?” Caught off guard, Emma hesitated, her usually composed demeanor faltering for a moment. I closed my eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to steady myself before opening them again to face her. “I-I really didn’t know much, ma’am," she admitted, her words coming out
I was back to square one. My husband appeared to be keeping something from me, and I couldn't shake that feeling.When I inquired if he was worried, he didn't respond. Instead, he abruptly left the room, seemingly ignoring my question completely. I felt bewildered and offended. Is he truly my husband? Why isn't he behaving like one?Following that incident, he didn't visit or contact me to check on my well-being. I felt disappointed.But then again, it couldn't be helped.Days passed, and the absence of my husband weighed on me. The unanswered questions and the growing void in our interactions left me grappling with a sense of isolation. I yearned for some connection, for reassurance, but he remained elusive."He hasn't visited or even checked on me. Is this how a husband should act?" I questioned, my voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and sadness.Emma, always composed, offered a reassuring smile. "People cope with difficult situations in different ways, Miss Ophelia. Perhaps
I took a deep breath as I followed him into his office. The man, who claimed to be my husband, seated himself at the desk with casual ease. I stood there, feeling like a fool, waiting for his next command. His expression soured when he saw me hesitating. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his jaws clenching in annoyance. I blinked, my mind still trying to process the overwhelming information he had just laid upon me. I was shocked and utterly disoriented, unable to pull myself together and act with a rational mind. I felt like a leaf, caught in the unpredictable currents of this surreal situation. "What?" he snapped. "Come here." I slowly and reluctantly walked over to his side, my thoughts still swirling with the revelations. When I was close enough, my husband extended his arms towards me. I hesitated, glancing at his outstretched arm. "I won't hurt you, okay? So come here now," he said, annoyance evident in his voice. Biting my lower lip, cheeks burning with embarrassment, I g