Don't sulk little mouse

Sherry kept a careful distance from Dallion as the black SUV jostled over the potholed road of Bone Lake City. Every bump made her feel more trapped in this twisted life she never asked for. She longed to return to the life she once knew, yet deep down, she questioned if she ever truly had a life before. The words of a woman in the dimly lit cell echoed in her mind, casting shadows over her thoughts. Her adoptive parents had sold her, she silently cursed Uncle Larry and Aunt May for being so heartless with her, despite her efforts to help them run their small workshop.

Despite her desire to believe that her relatives hadn’t sold her off to the underworld, the likelihood of it gnawed at her insides. The timing of her disappearance felt all too coincidental; it was as if fate had conspired against her. If she had been sold by those who were supposed to care for her, where could she even go now? Friends? She barely had any left. The ones she knew back in the city while she was still somebody with a name would likely slam their doors shut rather than offer her sanctuary.

As the thoughts of her isolation pressed down on her again, her mood darkened. She slowly slumped herself in the corner of the vehicle, sulking quietly, trying to blend into the shadows that surrounded her.

Was staying here truly the best option? No, she scolded herself. She didn’t belong in this brutal world. The thought of living as a pawn in someone else’s game repulsed her, but the more she pondered her fate, the more uncertain she felt.

Dallion, the enigmatic man sitting next to her, was a constant reminder of her predicament. He had this twisted sense of humor, and when he turned to her with a playful smirk, she recoiled instinctively.

"What are you doing? Trying to meld with the seat? There are other things you can get comfortable with," he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Sherry pursed her lips, choosing silence over engaging with his jibes.

“Where’s that feisty little mouse I found?” Dallion prodded, leaning in closer. To her horror, he poked her cheek with his finger, eliciting an involuntary swat of her hand, which he caught effortlessly, his grin widening in amusement.

“Tell me about your family,” he demanded, shifting the conversation with an unsettling ease.

“I thought you already knew,” she replied, defensive.

“Curiosity goes both ways,” he countered, his tone teasing, yet laced with a darker undertone.

“The Bluebeard,” she muttered, wondering how much he truly knew about her. The feeling of vulnerability washed over her like ice water.

“Did you see me act?” Sherry asked, attempting to regain some semblance of control. During the auction the auctioneers had tried to force her to touch herself in seductive ways.

“What if I said yes?”

“Why ask a question after mine?” Sherry forgot who she was talking to and asked him in an uncontrolled slightly higher tone

“Did you forget who holds the power here, little mouse?” Dallion quickly snapped at her

“No,” she whispered, taking a breath to steady herself.

“Are you angry?” His playful tone was maddening, and she felt her heart race as he leaned closer to her, his eyes were a total reflection of amusement, but also something colder.

His demeanor had shifted when their conversation had shifted to the lady he had been with earlier—it was an unexpected shift that made her wonder about his nature. Was he like this with everyone, or was it just her? He didn't even bother to hide the fact he'd just fucked another Don's daughter and left her fainted.

But as he continued to smile, she remembered that he hadn’t smiled like that with Rose and Madam Cross. The tension in that room during their breakfast earlier in the morning was palpable, a stark contrast to the playfulness he showed her.

“Don’t sulk, mouse. No, I didn’t see you perform,” he said, his voice suddenly serious as he ordered his chauffeur to stop the car. “I have a place to visit.”

When the SUV came to a stop, he stepped out onto the rain-slicked ground. “Stay here,” he instructed, a command laced with authority. Sherry straightened, feeling a rush of defiance, but held her ground.

She leaned forward to peek out the tinted window, watching as he walked away toward a big cemetery. To her it didn't seem like a public cemetery. The looming cemetery before them felt ominous, with its ancient wrought-iron gates and weathered gravestones. A sense of foreboding wrapped around her like a shroud.

Was he visiting his mother? What kind of family was this? The air had been thick with tension at the mansion earlier in the morning. The dynamics in the family were so twisted that she couldn’t grasp them. Dallion had exchanged cold barbs with Madam Cross, while his younger stepsister, Rose, appeared to blend into the background like a silent observer.

When they got back to the mansion after spending the day outside with Dallion, he'd locked her up again. Days in this prison felt like weeks. Dallion hadn’t taken her anywhere else; instead, he had locked her in a secluded room in the ancestral home where no one seemed to fancy her—not even a little bit. She had seen their obvious disgust about her during that family breakfast, and now Dallion was leaving her isolated with nothing but her thoughts.

The room he'd locked her in was moderately sized—bare, with only a bed and a small adjoining bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, gazing out of a grime-coated window at the drizzling rain. There was no warmth from a fire, no light to brighten her despair. The gloomy skies seemed to match her mood.

Her eyes drifted over the garden around the ancestral home, with flowers that seemed to have once been beautifully manicured but now appeared overgrown, like no one cared. It was a simple reflection of the chaos inside the mansion that she had to keep in her mind. There were statues adorned at the front yard, like grotesque figures frozen in torment, and she shivered at the sight. Only a family like the Cross family, steeped in darkness, could find beauty in such despair.

The mansion itself was a fortress, surrounded by tall iron gates and overgrown hedges, cut off from the world. She wondered how long it would take to escape from this suffocating existence. If she remained, she’d be doomed to languish in this room, trapped by the whims of her captors.

The door creaked open, and Sherry braced herself for Dallion’s return. Instead, it was Grace, his elder sister, stepping in with a curious expression.

“Good afternoon, Miss Cross,” Sherry greeted, bowing her head respectfully.

“It’s still early afternoon,” Grace replied, her smile softening her fierce red gaze.

“I was looking for you,” she continued, her tone unexpectedly gentle. “I went to find Dallion and discovered he locked you away like a forgotten toy.”

“Is there something I can do for you?” Sherry asked cautiously.

“Would you mind keeping me company? I could use a distraction,” Grace offered, surprising her yet again.

Sherry hesitated but felt a flicker of hope. Grace hadn't been kind, just like the others, but after Dallion had insisted on not sharing her with anyone else, it occurred to Sherry that Grace had accepted this fact, and maybe this was her chance to forge a connection.

“Come with me,” Grace instructed, her voice warm and inviting. Sherry followed, her heart pounding in her chest as they ascended the staircase to the attic. Dust swirled around them, like the remnants of forgotten memories filling the space with an eerie sense of abandonment.

Grace picked up a couple of dusty cloths and handed one to Sherry. “I have a few things to clean. Most of the staff are busy, and I’d prefer not to do this alone. Don’t worry; I’ll help.”

As they began to work, Sherry couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Grace’s visit than simple companionship.

The dark shadows of the mansion loomed larger as she glanced at the intricate carvings on the walls, wondering what secrets they held. Little did she know, the real games were only just beginning.