keep your emotions in check

While Sherryl was lost in her own thoughts, the people in the room couldn’t help but keep their ears on Dallion's words. Captives, reduced to nothing but dust beneath the feet of mafia bosses and their powerful elites, were treated with derogatory remarks, degraded by their owners, as their lives belonged to the ones who had bought or captured them. Yet, very few actually called the captives by their real names—something that once in a while raised the eyebrows of the others in the room.

Dallion, though noticing the gaze, didn’t bother with such trivialities when there were more pressing matters on his mind.

While Sherry behaved as a good captive should, keeping her eyes and head down, she couldn’t shake the feeling of two pairs of eyes locked on her. Both belonged to mafia elites, but neither belonged to her captor. One was a man, the other a woman, the one who had wanted Dallion to allow her to punish Sherry, and the third eye she was now sensing was of the woman who had earlier viciously whipped another captive. Their stares made Sherry hyper-aware of her surroundings. At one point, she even wondered if she was allowed to breathe. Sitting on the floor near Dallion, she remained quiet while the conversations continued around her.

When it was finally time to leave, Sherry was relieved that time, which had seemed to stretch painfully, had passed. She kept a cautious distance from Dallion, trailing behind him closely but not too close, knowing he was the only person she could rely on in this twisted situation.

She had always known women to be more brutal than men when it came to asserting their power. But the earlier woman? She took things to an entirely new level. As much as Sherry couldn’t gauge Dallion’s nature, she hoped that he wouldn’t leave her in such a dangerous place again, where she would be subjected to the whims of others like those two women. For now, she held on to the one promise Dallion had made to her —that as long as she stayed close to him, she would be safe.

While Dallion bid his farewells to his hosts, Sherry caught sight of a woman she had earlier had her name as Fiona walking toward her.

Fiona was as tall as Dallion, maybe an inch shorter, but her lean, imposing figure radiated power. She had been sitting quietly, wrapped in an expensive fur coat, but now that she was standing, Sherry could see her designer dress clinging to every curve of her body.

Though not fully versed in the inner workings of the mafia world, Sherry knew enough to recognize when she was in the presence of real danger. Fiona's long brown hair fell past her waist, the ends perfectly straight, and her deep red lipstick stood out starkly against her pale skin.

“What’s your name, little mouse?” Fiona asked, her voice calm but with a dark undertone.

The woman was a close ally of Dallion’s and possibly one of the few females who had no interest in courting him. A distant relative, Fiona was as sharp as she was observant, and she didn’t miss the way Sherry’s pulse quickened at the mention of her status.

“Sherryl Rain,” she replied, only because she felt as though a knife was poised above her neck.

“Don’t be so hostile. It won’t do you any good,” Fiona advised, her tone almost condescending. Then, without further acknowledgment, she walked away, joining the group of mafia elites deep in conversation with Dallion, her captive boy trailing behind her.

Once they were back in the car, Dallion looked at Sherry, noticing her pale expression.

“Was it too much of a shock for you?” he asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Sherry had been given permission to speak freely, so she carefully voiced her thoughts, though she maintained her cautious tone.

“I grew up in an environment where people are treated with dignity. No one is subjected to cruelty for making a simple mistake like brewing the wrong tea,” she said.

“That’s the difference,” Dallion replied, his voice slow and measured. “You come from a world where survival means working hard, where a captive would be an unimaginable luxury. But in this world,” he waved his hand dismissively, “treating people like you saw today? It’s routine.”

“Do you think it was right?” Sherry asked softly, though the weight of the answer already pressed down on her.

“It depends on who’s looking. The truth is both right and wrong, depending on the lens you’re viewing it through,” Dallion mused, touching his temple. “It was wrong for my host to beat her captive for something she wasn’t responsible for.”

“She wasn’t at fault?” Sherry asked, feeling the anger stir within her as Dallion casually confirmed her suspicions.

“Careful, little mouse,” Dallion warned, his voice dropping. “Keep your emotions in check. This world isn’t yours. It belongs to us—the Cross empire, the real power holders. You peasants, even the elites, only believe you hold power. But the reality is, we control everything. And trust me, no one’s going to help you unless they see something in it for themselves. That’s the bite of the meal they hold over you.”

Sherry felt like she had stepped into a nightmare, one that would keep repeating, trapping her in a dark web of mafia cruelty, with no way out.