All Chapters of Switched at the Mafia Auction: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The morning came hastily. Xander’s room was silent, save for the faint rustle of fabric and the clink of polished steel.It was silence, yet not empty. It was the kind of silence that bent to him.Xander sat at the edge of his vast bed while two maids fastened the cuffs of his black silk shirt. Another was on her knees, smoothing the crimson carpet as if a wrinkle in it would earn her death. By the far wall, two others moved in harmony, changing the sheets of his massive bed. A bed carved from mahogany towering, royal, the kind of furniture that belonged in an emperor’s palace, not a penthouse but here it was.The chamber itself reflected him. It was dark, grand and merciless. With velvet floor-to-ceiling drapes covered the windows and swallowing daylight whole. Chandeliers blazed like captured stars, bathing the room in warm gold. Gilded mirrors lined the walls reflecting the figure of their master seated like a king receiving worship.The door opened.Dominic stepped in with the qu

~ Xander ~I pushed off her, Veronica’s perfume invaded my nostrils as I walked further into the room. It smelled of roses drowned in smoke heady and cloying. She leaned back against the wall as though she owned it, her red gown painted onto her body and her smile sharp enough to draw blood.“You should have seen their faces,” she purred behind me. “All it took was me walking in, and your council of wolves turned into lambs.”I didn’t answer. I hung my jacket on the chair unhurried, deliberate. Let her fill the air with her performance. Let her believe she could dictate the tempo.She mistook my silence for invitation. In two strides, she pressed herself against my back, her manicured nails grazing the collar of my shirt. “You’re still avoiding me, Mio,” she whispered, dragging the word like honey. “That’s cruel, when I’ve been so patient.”My hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. It wasn’t gentle, her body stilled. I turned, and with the same motion slammed her against the wall. Her ga

~ Avelyn ~Who cares if Xander was home. My body was a geography of hurt. Every muscle felt like it had been mapped, marked, and left to ache with tiny pain points that shouted whenever I shifted. The mirror on the wall gave me back a woman I barely recognized. My hair plastered to my skull with sweat, skin blotchy, shorts clinging to thighs that trembled when I tried to stand. I had moved like a puppet all morning and every string had been pulled too tight.Ms. Freda had a way of finishing a lesson like someone closing a book on another person’s life. She folded her fan with the same slow, precise motion she used to slice through conversation, and she didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Class dismissed,” she said, crisp and final as a snapped branch. Then she strode toward the doors, voice barely a murmur to the maid nearest the threshold. I heard only the thread of one order. Take me to him. I bet she was going to report and say I was a lost cause. I stayed where I had collapsed, sti

~ Avelyn ~The silence stretched like a noose tightening around my throat.Xander’s words, his condition hung in the air, daring me to accept, daring me to resist.No one moved. The guards stood like statues, broad shoulders squared, hands resting near their weapons. The maids kept their heads bowed, trembling in quiet unison, while the one on her knees wept openly, tears carving frantic rivers down her cheeks. Her sobs echoed against the marble walls, raw and desperate.And me? I couldn’t answer. My mouth parted, but nothing came out. My body was locked, caught between terror and disbelief.I had seen cruelty before, back home, in the house I should have called mine. The maids there never once treated me as their superior. To them, I wasn’t a daughter of the house. I was the bastard mistake of a maid and a master who should have known better. They told me so to my face, smirking as they did it. “You’re no better than us,” they would whisper, shoving plates into my hands. “You’re fil

~ Avelyn ~The silence stretched so long I could hear my own pulse in my ears. I didn’t answer him. Not that his words required an answer, but still, if there was anyone who wanted this, it was him.I stared at the monster-sized bed that had already eaten my evening and realized something. That maid wasn’t the only one who used to make this bed. How could she have been? The damn thing was an Alaskan King, it needed at least three sets of hands. Yet suddenly, only I had to do it. It became obvious to me that the was some sort of twisted punishment. A way to make me suffer.I glared at him, my fists balling at my sides. He knew exactly what he was doing. He enjoyed it, the thrill of tormenting me, of watching me run myself ragged over something so stupid as folding sheets.And then he scoffed, that smirk stretching his perfect lips like he’d just read my thoughts.“Pathetic,” he said smoothly, eyes flicking to the mess I’d made. “A girl who can’t even make a bed wants to play savior.”