Chapter 4

A shower is what I need before whatever comes next. The place is too much of an upgrade to pass up a moment of comfort plus I need to think. I push the bathroom door open and enter, the luxuriousness of it almost brings me to tears, I haven't seen a real bathroom in so long. Back at the pit, all the girls shared a communal shower under the perverted gaze of guards. Now standing here, the sleek countertop and the giant tub feels like a distant dream. The marble floors and soft lighting is almost too much to take in. 

I close the door behind me, the quiet sound of the lock clicks in place in the otherwise silent room. I stand for a moment and just take in the space. The shower looks like something straight out of a magazine that is wide, open and with floor-to-ceiling glass and a rainfall showerhead. This is the kind of privacy I've craved for the longest.  

I run my hands over the smooth stone of the sink. For a second I think about just getting on with it and go downstairs like he wants but that's not how this is going to go. I need to clear my head and right now the water might be the only thing that will bring some semblance of peace, even if only for a few seconds. 

My fingers freeze for a moment has they settle on the dress I am in. The dress from the auction. The memory of it, of how I ended up in that twisted place still lingers like a bad taste in my mouth. As the fabric slips down my body, I can't help but notice how it feels foreign against my skin. It's not just a dress but a reminder of how powerless I was, of how easy my fate was decided. 

I toss it aside and let it crump into a heap onto the floor. My pulse quickens as I turn towards the shower trying to block out image of the auction, the bidding, his eyes on me. 

I turn on the water and step under the spray letting it wash away the remnants of the feeling. But it's not enough, I can't just scrub away everything. It all still lingers beneath the surface waiting to catch up with me. 

As the hot water flows over my skin, I focus on the present of the water flowing over my skin and soothe my sore muscles. It's not a perfect escape but a moment of control. A brief second where I am not someone else's property. Not someone's pawn in a fucked-up game. 

When I finally finish, I wrap the towel around my body then look at myself in the mirror. The person staring back is stronger, more resilient, a fighter even if the scars are still there. I am not the woman who was sold at an auction, I refuse to be. 

Taking a deep breath, I step out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Once dry, I pull the black dress over my body. As I look at myself, I catch a glimpse of the bruises and marks that still lingers on my skin. The sight of them makes my blood simmer, but for now I suppress it and focus on the task ahead. They'll pay for this. They all will. 

 I throw my weave up into a loose bun, not caring if it's messy. It's just a way to keep it out of my face. I don't need to look perfect for him, I don't need to look perfect for anyone. 

I leave the room and make my way down the long hall. The house is large--- too large--- and eerily quiet with a silence that presses in on me with every step I take. Cool air brushes my skin but it feels heavier here, suffocating even. 

As I round the corner, I find myself facing a set of wooden doors where I hear muffled voices on the other side. I take a deep breath and push down the nerves that threaten to rise. When I open the door, I step into something that can only be described as an imposing dining room. The dim light cast shadows over the long, polished table set with fine china, crystal glasses and cutlery that gleams under the soft light. 

At the head of the table, the man sits with one hand on the stem of a wine glass and the other draped across the armrest of his chair. His dark eyes lift the second I step in as he scans me with unreadable intention. 

Beside him another man is seated, who leans forward with a casual arrogance that makes my skin prickles. He's older with streaks of sliver running through is perfectly combed hair, a scar runs from his temple down to his jaw. His suit is sharp, tailored but there is something predatory in the way he looks at me. 

"You took your time," the man who brought me says. His voice is m=smooth, almost bored but there is an edge to it. 

I don't respond, instead I pull out a chair across from them not waiting for permission. If he expects me to act timid, he's in for one hell of a disappointment. 

The other man smirks as he sets down his glass. "She's got fire. Didn't think you had the taste for that,"

The man who brought me doesn't reply right away. He simply watches me with a calculating gaze, then an almost imperceptible smirk. "You'd be surprised,"

The tension between them is thick and I get the sense of this conversation is far beyond me. 

I glance at the table, the perfectly arranged dishes are untouched, the crystal glasses are filled with deep red wine. A dinner meant for three but something tells me that I am not here to eat. 

"You must be wondering why you're here," the older man says in a voice that is smooth like silk laced with poison. 

I hold the man gaze, keeping my expression neutral. "I have a few guesses,"

He chuckles, slow and amused, then looks back at the woman who bought me. "She's smart, that's dangerous,"

The man smirks, "Well keep your eyes off. She's mine,"

As the words settle between us, something snaps within me. 

I lean forward, resting my hand flat against the polished wood and meet his dark gaze head-on. "I am not your plaything,"

The older man chuckles swirling his wine in his glass like this is some grand entertainment for him. "Oh, I like her."

The man across me doesn't react away. His expression remains unreadable, the only sign that my words affect him is the way his finger tightens slightly around the stem of the glass. 

"Is that so?" he says finally in a low and calculated voice. 

I don't look away. "I don't care what kind of power game you think you're playing, but I am not a pawn. Whatever reason why I'm here, whatever sick deal y'all have, I want no part in it."

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but he still doesn't answer. 

The silence sets my nerves on edge. 

The older man exhales, tilting his head at me. "Tell me something, sweetheart. Do you think you're sitting at the table my accident?"

My stomach tightens because the way he says it, with so much certainty tells me one thing. This was never random. I was always meant to be here and that realization makes my blood boil.  

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