Bella clenched her jaw, pushing herself to her feet. Her legs felt unsteady as she moved toward the door, stepping out into the hallway.
The manor was quiet, still waking up. She moved through the corridor, her bare feet making soft sounds against the stone floor.
Then she reached the hall room and froze.
Her eyes widened.
The young nobleman was lying on top of a woman—red-haired, half-scarred, pinned beneath him on a broken sofa. His body was pressed against hers, his face close enough that their breaths mingled.
Bella's stomach twisted.
She'd seen this before. Too many times.
In the noble families she'd served as a slave, she'd witnessed scenes like this. Masters taking servants, mates, slaves—treating them like objects, like things to be used and discarded.
The women's faces always looked the same: defeated, hollow, resigned.
Her jaw clenched, her hands curling into fists.
'So he's just like the others.'
