Scarlett POV:
I placed my hands on my chest, trying to calm my ragged breathing.
He held me tightly on the bed, and I heard Damien say over the phone,
"Freaking hell you—get down here." Mr cross spoke from the end of the line, clearly annoyed.
He ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed before turning back to me.
I found myself holding my breath, bracing for impact.
Glancing at his wristwatch, he said, "You have just thirty minutes to do whatever you want and meet me. Please run this time."
And just like that, he climbed off me.
I sighed in relief and struggled to sit up, my whole body aching. Then it hit me—I was still tied up, and he was leaving. How the heck was I supposed to eat?
"Mr. Grey, you haven't unchained my hands," I called out.
He stopped, tilted his body slightly, and threw the key at me.
With a cold, unfriendly voice, he said,
"Sort it out yourself."
He emphasized "yourself," making sure I understood.
After he left, I crawled toward the end of the bed where the key had fallen.
I tried unlocking the chains, but I couldn't—they were too tight. My hands were turning red, stinging painfully, but I couldn't give up. I only had thirty minutes.
I tried again and again, but nothing worked.
How the hell was I supposed to go downstairs? I was completely naked.
Gosh, this guy is a monster. Mr. Cross never said anything about this kind of torture.
Turning from one side to the other, I managed to wrap the duvet around my body, hooking it under my armpits so it would hold.
I went downstairs, still trying to loosen the chains, but there was no progress.
I approached the maid from earlier, desperate for food. I was starving.
No matter what, I had to eat—even if it meant using my mouth like a spoon. My dad used to call me "fat‑less glutton" because I loved eating so much, yet it never showed on my body.
I sat at the dining table, waiting. The maid eventually returned with a few others and laid out several dishes.
I thanked them and continued struggling with the locks . The maid from before noticed and gently asked,
"Ma'am, do you need some help?"
I looked around—he wasn't anywhere in sight. I think he had left.
Bringing my hands closer, I whispered, "Yes, I do."
She took the key and unlocked the chains. I thanked her, and she nodded.
Gosh, it felt like a heavy burden had been lifted.
"Any time, ma'am. Just ask, and it shall be done."
"You never told me your name," I asked.
"Eva, ma'am."
"What a sweet name," I said, and she flashed an even sweeter smile before leaving.
The moment she left, I turned back to my food and began devouring everything like someone who'd been starved for ages.
All his fault. Everyone passing couldn't stop staring—I must've looked like a madwoman.
When I finished, I relaxed for a moment. I couldn't take the plates to the kitchen, so I pushed them to one side and headed upstairs for a warm, refreshing shower, taking my time to scrub every inch of my body.
When I was done, I went to his room to wait. He hadn't returned yet.
I walked around, admiring the room's settings and the various collections decorated with shiny accessories.
"Can you ever stop touching things?" he asked.
I turned around, looking down like a child caught doing something wrong.
"Sorry, sir."
"What were my instructions?" he asked sternly, walking toward the drawer beside me.
"Sir, I've been waiting for you for over—"
"Not that," he cut in sharply, squatting to search through the drawer.
Seeing my confusion, he added,
"What did I say about your chained hands?"
Oh gosh. How did he find out?
No… maybe he doesn't really know. Maybe he's just trying to scare me.
"Sir, I sorted it out myself," I lied.
He didn't respond at first, but a small smirk curved on his lips as he scoffed.
"Don't lie to me, pony."
His tone was low but terrifying enough to stir fear deep inside me.
I stayed quiet—I've always been a terrible liar.
"Answer me," he snapped, raising his voice slightly.
I stepped back.
"I… I did it myself, sir," I repeated, even though it was obvious I hadn't.
Poor Eva. I could only imagine what he'd do if he found out.
He stood up, moving toward me in a menacing way, his tall figure towering over me as my body trembled.
I prayed I wouldn't wet myself—I was that scared.
"Now answer," he growled, grabbing my hair and yanking it hard.
I clutched his hand, whimpering in pain.
Why was my hair always his first target?
Using it to force my head up, he continued,
"Make me repeat myself one more time, and you'll regret it."
His voice was deadly serious, making me shiver under his grip.
"I swear no one helped me!" I cried, still lying. I didn't want to put her in danger.
He suddenly let go, and for a second, I thought he believed me—
But in the next instant, he pinned me to the wall, covering my mouth with his hand.
My eyes widened as my heartbeat skyrocketed.
Oh Christ. Please save me.
He raised my hands above my head and slammed them against the wall.
I twitched in pain, but he was only getting started.
His grip tightened around my already red, swollen wrists—pressing hard, mercilessly.
I couldn't scream—his hand muffled everything.
It was agonizing.
I shook beneath him, vision blurring, eyes feeling like they might pop out.
But he didn't care—he knew I was in pain, and he enjoyed it.
A devilish smile crept across his lips as he tightened his grip even more.
Hot tears streamed down my face.
The pain was too much… too overwhelming.
He leaned in and whispered, his hot breath brushing my burning skin.
I shivered.
"Now… are you ready? Or do you need more inspiration?"
His voice was slow, calculated.
I nodded repeatedly.
With a wicked smirk, he let me go.
I collapsed onto the floor, screaming and crying, staring at my trembling red hands.
The pain burst out of me uncontrollably.
He looked down and said,
"I didn't ask you to cry. Speak, before I transfer the rest of the pain to your body."
How could he not be moved?
I was sobbing in agony—my hands felt like they were on fire—yet he didn't care.
Instead, he threatened to inflict more.
What kind of person was he?
A heartless beast.
"A maid helped me…" I whispered, voice broken.
He didn't ask her name. He just walked away.
For a moment, I felt a flicker of relief—until I heard him say over the phone,
"Get Eva."
My heart shattered. He already knew.
"Mr. Grey, please don't— it's all—"
"Not a single word from you again. Is that clear?" he cut in.
I was too scared, too shocked to speak.
He walked closer and stepped on my hand, pressing down hard.
I screamed, trying to push his leg away, but the more I struggled, the harder he pressed.
"I said, is that clear?"
"Y‑yes, yes it is!" I begged.
"Good."
He removed his foot.
For a moment, I couldn't even lift my hand.
I just let the pain swallow me.
There was a knock.
"Come in," he ordered.
Eva walked in. Her eyes landed on me, filled with horror.
"S‑sir… you s‑sent for me?" she stammered.
"You're fired," he said coldly, with not a hint of sympathy.