7

Mirella pov

I eventually fainted on his chair. After taking a shower, he got into bed and didn't say anything to me. I don't know why, but when I woke up, I was back in his bed.

I'm relieved that he's not here with me when I wake up and go to my luggage to get some fresh clothes before taking a shower. He's brushing his teeth while standing at the washbasin when I go into the bathroom. He looks through the mirror at me.

He's adept at simply looking instead of talking.

He is unlike anybody I have ever met.

I suppose I'm grateful for it.

I promise you, I've encountered some very unscrupulous characters in my time.

I turn to face him, set my belongings down, and turn on the shower before starting to undress. I don't feel self-conscious about my appearance. From an early age, my parents instilled in me the belief that beauty is subjective, meaning that if you have a persistent notion that something has to be altered, you will continue to dwell on it until you come to despise it.

When I was unable to get pregnant, I detested my body.

But I'm falling in love with her again, gently.

She is still me, and I am still her, even after I hurt her and placed the blame on her. I have to treat her well since I only had one body.

I feel his gaze on my back as the steam fills the room, but I don't check to be sure of it since I'm washing myself and turning my back on him. When I finish, I go to get the towel, but it's gone. Ernest is holding it out to me instead.

"I'm grateful." He won't let it go even when I accept it. "Ernest." The first time I utter his name, he gives me a suspicious look and then lets go of the towel so I can wrap it around my body.

"I have never before desired to fuck one of my captives."

I am so shocked by what he says that I instantly freeze.

I'm not sure whether he's waiting for me to say something, but he leaves me to change after realising I won't.

And I swear, just as he turned to go, I saw him smile.

There's my phone on the bed. That's what comes to mind when I eventually succeed in leaving the toilet. I took my time and am fully clothed. I even contemplated what to say to him while sitting on the toilet.

I mean, I saw him shoot my spouse without even batting an eyelid.

It's obvious that I don't want to annoy this guy.

Ernest is a guy you should avoid at all costs.

Why, therefore, do I think about inappropriate things while I'm with him?

Sexual.

However, when was the last time I had sex?

A fortnight ago? Most likely longer.

To be honest, I have no memory of being passionately touched. Every time Dillan and I had sex, it was brief and ended. There was no longer any passion in us. Perhaps selling me to Ernest was a favour he performed for me. I could never have managed to let go of him.

I grab my phone and dial my attorney's number, telling her to draft my divorce papers as all I want from Dillan is what I have already taken. I take a seat back on the bed and begin to browse through all of the missed emails and texts on my phone. I took great satisfaction in being dependable and punctual. Thus, I believe they have a right to be concerned when I read my customers' messages and realise how concerned they have been for my safety. I continued to write even when I was in the hospital. That's just my nature.

After spending many hours on the bed catching up on work without using a computer, I eventually lift my head to stretch my neck and see Robin waiting at the door.

He looks around and says, "You missed breakfast."

"I was at work."

"You're not required to work."

His statements make me snort. Oh, I do, indeed. I would be foolish to damage my sole source of income. I demonstrate him by shaking my phone, then return to it right away.

"You need to eat something; it's lunchtime." Without further word, he walks away, but I return to my job. I once got up to stretch my legs and walked around the room before opening a book that a client had requested me to read to her. Before I know it, the sun has fallen, I'm halfway done, and I still haven't left the room.

The notion of eating makes my stomach rumble uncontrollably.

"What the hell have you been up to?" When the door opens, Ernest is standing there looking sharp in a black suit and carrying a revolver around his hips.

He looks fantastic, extremely, extremely nice.

I'm not blind after all, I thought he looked fine before, but maybe it's the romance novel I'm reading or the agony he seemed to be promising. I grinned at what he said.

He shakes his head, his countenance soured. It's obvious that you are incapable of managing your own food. Get dressed after getting up. You're joining us here. He leaves no opportunity for debate as he walks out the door.

Outfitted?

I glance down at my attire. I'm dressed. I peek out the door and see the kid standing there.

"Hey, sort of.." I look down the corridor. "Do you know what I should wear?" I asked.

All he offers me is, "Something nice, Miss."

Alright, sorry. Searching through my wardrobe, I choose a black leather skirt and wear it with a loose top that I tie up at the back to reveal my stomach. I also brush my fingers through my untidy hair and apply oil to manage the frizz. I put my bra on and slip my phone in before going to the front door. He's waiting for me when I arrive.