Pet care

Though Sherry told the man in front of her that she was feeling better, both of them knew the truth. Her shivering body and unsteady movements betrayed her. She wasn’t better—she was far from it. The sickness clawed at her insides, but the cold dread of being trapped here in this gilded cage kept her standing, barely. When she heard his demand, she stopped, unable to help herself. She turned to look at him.

Dallion Cross. The man looking at her blankly was a devil disguised as a mafia kingpin, Sherry silently thought . No matter what he called himself—Master, Don, boss, or whatever title he assumed—he was nothing more than a demon in a suit, feeding off from the misery of others.

“What are you waiting for?” Dallion taunted, his voice rough and unrelenting, like sandpaper scraping her nerves. He leaned back, the dim light casting shadows over his sharp features. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement, the kind that made her skin crawl. "It's hot. A good bath would make me feel better. And your soft hands would help me relax, Sherry. I'm sure of it."

Sherry's heart raced as she weighed her options. If she kept claiming to be better, he’d keep pushing her. His idea of "helping" was making her bend to his will, a puppet on his strings. But if she admitted she wasn’t well, there was no doubt in her mind that this sadistic monster would use it against her—strip her bare, expose her vulnerability even more, maybe even turn it into one of his twisted games. The third option? Fighting back. But how far could she go with so little strength left within her tired muscles?

Dallion shifted in the middle of the room, his black shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing glimpses of a well-sculpted chest. His every move was calculated, smooth like a predator stalking prey. He sat on the bed and then folded one leg on the bed, letting the other dangle off, as if inviting her to come closer, to obey him.

Sherry couldn’t meet his gaze. She had fought against many people this past week. She had been brave. But the world she had entered was darker, more brutal than anything she had ever known. This wasn’t fearlessness—this was ignorance. Until now, she hadn’t realized what true fear was.

She had never been touched by a man before. Sure, she’d had innocent crushes growing up, but she had never dared speak to any of them. And even if she had, those men were leagues away from the likes of Dallion Cross. They were decent school teenage boy, but Dallion? He was a brutal force of nature—cruel, powerful, and unpredictable. He didn't just own the city; he controlled its lifeblood.

Her trembling hands reached for his shirt, the first button slipping through her fingers. She fumbled with it for a few moments before finally unbuttoning it, revealing his taut muscles beneath. The scars that came on her sight were marred on his skin like they were symbols of battles fought and won, a constant reminder of who he was—a conqueror in the underworld. One particularly nasty scar ran across his ribs, the stitches still visible in the dim light.

Her eyes roamed up, almost unconsciously, over his muscles, his collarbones, his neck, until finally, they met his gaze. Dallion's dark eyes were locked onto hers, and it felt like he was peering straight into her soul. His smile faded, replaced by a look of cold intensity that drained the courage from her body.

Her heart pounded. Why was he doing this? First, he starved her. Then he allowed her to sleep in his bed just because she was sick, treating her like a plaything. Now, he was making her undress him like she was some sort of servant. Was he trying to break her spirit? Or was it worse—was this all just some sick game to him?

"Master Dallion..." she whispered, her voice weak and innocent. But the moment those words left her lips, something dark stirred in Dallion's eyes. Before she could say anything more, her body gave out, and she collapsed against his chest, unconscious.

Dallion's jaw clenched as he looked down at her limp body, his lips twitching in irritation. The audacity of this weak little girl—to pass out in his arms before even finishing the job. His eyes narrowed. She was nothing more than a mouse, a pet to be trained and disciplined. Yet, for reasons beyond his understanding, she intrigued him.

He gently laid her back onto the bed, her head resting on the pillow. As he did, the door creaked open, and his right-hand man in the mansion, Nickson, entered, pushing a trolley filled with food.

Nickson's eyes flickered between his boss and the unconscious girl. “Master Dallion,” he began, his tone carefully neutral, “Shall I bring the food back later when she wakes?”

“Give it to the dogs,” Dallion replied coldly, flipping through the pages of reports he had been reading. “Prepare another meal when she’s conscious.”

Nickison nodded, his expression impassive. As he moved to leave, Dallion hurled the pen he was holding at him. Nickison caught it with ease.

“What the hell is this garbage? The company that produces these pens is pathetic,” Dallion sneered.

Curious, Nickson glanced at the Pen on his hand. "It’s from a pet care shop, sir," he muttered.

Dallion smirked. “Pet care. How appropriate. Maybe I should produce my own version, send it to the pet shops. Teach people how to create logo on their commodities with discipline properly.” His smile was cruel, but Nickson didn’t react. He was used to Dallion's sadistic humor.

Once Nickison had left, and the room returned to silence, Sherry's dreams turned into nightmares. She was back in the Bluebeard auction house, where the shadows of her past refused to let her go. The scent of burning wood filled her senses, and she screamed as a hot iron brand was pressed into her skin. She begged and pleaded, but no one listened. The pain was searing, tearing her apart. She could feel it, even now in her sleep, as real as the cold, hard floor she had been kept on for days.

She woke with a start, gasping for air. Sweat drenched her body, and her heart raced as if she had just run a marathon. Sherry wiped her brow with the sleeve of her tattered dress, feeling the dampness of the fabric against her skin. For a moment, she wondered if she was still in the dream, but the opulence of Dallion's room quickly reminded her where she was. The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting the room in an eerie glow.

She shifted in bed and felt the cold metal of the chain that bound her ankle. Dallion had lengthened it, but it was still there—her constant reminder that freedom was a distant dream. Her stomach growled, and for a moment, the hunger overpowered her sense of dread.

Just as she contemplated sneaking out of bed, the door opened again. A maid entered, her face set in a scowl as she pushed a trolley into the room. She ignored Sherry, acting as if she didn’t even exist.

“Excuse me,” Sherry croaked, trying to catch the maid’s attention. When the girl finally looked at her, it was with disdain. “Do you know where Master Dallion is?”

The maid rolled her eyes. “No.”

Sherry frowned. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“No.”

“What time did he leave?” Sherry persisted, hoping for at least one useful answer.

The maid stopped what she was doing, turning to face her with a sneer. “I’m not here to answer questions from a lowly captive.”

Sherry bristled at the insult. “And how are you any better than me?” she shot back. “You’re the one running errands while I just woke up from a rather comfortable sleep.”

The maid’s face flushed with anger. “Just because Master Dallion allows you to stay in his room doesn’t mean you’re anything special. You’re nothing. You’ll be back in Bluebeard house before you know it.”

With that, the maid stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Sherry let out a slow breath, her hands trembling as she pulled the blanket around her. The weight of the chain around her ankle reminding her of the life she now lived—one where her every move was controlled by a man who held her fate in his hands. The memory of Dallion's dark gaze lingered in her mind, and she couldn't shake the feeling that, no matter what she did, she was already in too deep in his dark world.