Worse than death

She had been staring at the polished black marble floor after she was done with the meal Nickison had given her, the surface on the floor was reflecting the dim light from the ornate chandelier like shards of broken glass when a plate was suddenly set in front of her. The rich aroma of garlic bread wafted up, causing her stomach to growl as she licked her lips in anticipation.

Lifting her head, she spotted Dallion engaged in a low, intense conversation with his father, his hand gesturing to her to go ahead animatedly. Seizing the opportunity, she grabbed a slice and devoured it, feeling the warmth of the bread fill her up. Within moments, the two pieces were gone, and she found herself licking the crumbs off her fingers when a chilling sensation washed over her—someone was watching.

At first, she thought it was Dallion, but he was preoccupied, his attention on the dark, green drink in front of him in a cup that resembled a green snake with the drawings on it. The thought twisted her stomach, making her feel queasy. She had never been in the presence of such dangerous men before—mafia families who could turn on you in an instant. When she finally glanced up, she found not one, but two pairs of eyes fixated on her. One pair brimmed with contempt, while the older woman's lips were pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"Ugh, just looking at her makes my skin crawl," Rose scoffed to her mother, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Did you see how she ate? Crumbs everywhere."

Sherry felt her cheeks flush with anger, but she quickly masked it, realizing the unspoken rule: captives didn’t look back at their masters. The tension in the room thickened like smoke, suffocating her.

"What are you staring at?" Rose sneered, arching an eyebrow, trying to assert her superiority over Sherry.

If the other members of the family could hear her thoughts, Sherry would have been buried in the backyard without a second thought. Fortunately, they couldn’t.

"Quit ordering my little mouse around, Rose. If you want a pet, go buy one," Dallion interrupted, slamming his glass down with a sharp clatter that diverted their gaze back to him.

"Why not?" Rose shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "We are family, after all. Shouldn’t we share everything?"

"You forget, Rose," Dallion replied, his tone icy, "I’m the one who paid for her. I found her, and she belongs to me. I don’t share my belongings with anyone, least of all with you." He shot her a smirk, knowing it would irritate her.

Sherry was fed, but now she felt the weight of the family dynamics around her, sensing the underlying currents of resentment and power. She had never known what a 'normal' family was, but this felt more like a pack of wolves than a household.

As if sensing her unease, Dallion leaned over to Rose, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. Then, turning to Sherry, he commanded, "Follow me." She obeyed, lowering her gaze and trailing behind him through the grand hall and toward the exit of the mansion.

"Where are we going?" she asked cautiously.

"To hell," he replied without looking back. "Unless you plan to run away."

"Do you ever give a straight answer?" she challenged, her frustration bubbling.

"We all have questions," he shot back, a teasing grin on his lips. "Brave of you to talk back after that bread, though. Maybe I should cut down your rations."

Sherry wasn’t sure if he was joking or if he meant it. Before they stepped out, a maid approached, her hands shaking as she assisted Dallion with his overcoat. Sherry watched the door's intricate carvings, momentarily distracted, only to notice the maid’s nervousness under Dallion’s intense gaze.

Once outside, Dallion strode toward the waiting car, leaving Sherry to follow in her bare feet, still recovering from the pain of shards and thorns that lingered in her body. The idea of complaining flitted through her mind, but she knew it would only end in more trouble for her.

The ride was short, but Sherry felt the tension enveloping them like a heavy shroud. When they arrived, Dallion stepped out first. As Sherry followed, the door swung open, revealing a young woman with a welcoming smile—a stark contrast to the icy atmosphere inside the mansion.

"Mr. Cross!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him, before briefly glancing at Sherry. Her smile faltered, replaced by a frown of distaste. "Who is this?" she asked, an edge creeping into her voice.

"This is my property, Sherry," Dallion replied casually. "Sherry, meet Ada Gray."

Sherry bowed her head, feeling the weight of judgment in Ada's gaze as she appraised her like a piece of meat.

"When did you acquire her?" Ada asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Two days ago," he said, inviting himself inside.

Ada snapped her attention back to Dallion, clearly more interested in him than Sherry. "Would you like something to eat? Vivian made an amazing breakfast."

"I already ate. Here." He reached into his coat and pulled out a stunning dress, the same one Sherry had been forced to wear before it was torn apart. Her heart raced as she realized the implications—Ada was going to wear it.

"This is the one we saw! The beautiful dress!" Ada exclaimed, taking the fabric from him with gleeful hands. Sherry’s breath hitched as she felt her body tense, praying that Ada wouldn’t notice the damaged hem.

As the mafias around admired the dress, Sherry’s anxiety spiked. The last thing she needed was for her secret to be revealed.

"Let me try it on!" Ada chirped, rushing off to change.

Dallion sank into a lavish chair, exuding a casual arrogance that only heightened Sherry’s unease. She stood against the wall, her heart racing, every moment stretching like an eternity.

When Ada finally emerged, the dress looked stunning—until Sherry heard the distinct sound of fabric tearing. She watched in horror as the seams of the dress ripped apart, exposing Ada's skin in the most intimate way. Panic flooded Sherry’s senses. She could almost feel the darkness closing in around her, knowing full well that in this world, a single misstep could lead to a fate worse than death.