Carmen
I was knocked out again, but a smell lingered in the air—one I was certain would make me throw up if I ever smelled it again.
My eyes fluttered open. For a brief second, my mind struggled to catch up with my surroundings. Then I became aware of the room I was in. Luxurious didn't even begin to describe it. The ceiling was high, decorated with subtle gold patterns, and the bed beneath me was softer than anything I had ever slept on.
But the moment that realization settled in, instinct kicked in.
I scrambled off the bed and immediately began searching the room. Anything would do.
A knife would be perfect, but a blade—any blade—I could manage. Anything that wouldn't make me feel so helpless.
I ripped open the wardrobes, tossing clothes aside without care. Fabric rained onto the floor as I dug through shelves and drawers with increasing urgency. Guards were bound to come in anytime soon, and there was no way I was going to be taken to whoever had bought me without getting a chance to fight back.
But the longer I searched, the stranger things became. It was eerie. Almost like they knew exactly what I would do. Everything I found was plastic.
Even the cups in the cupboard—where glass should have been, especially in a room this luxurious—were plastic. I opened another cabinet. More plastic. I checked the drawers. Nothing sharp. Nothing breakable.
The shoes were all missing too.
And it soon became painfully clear that anything that remotely looked dangerous had been taken away.
"Like a madhouse," I muttered under my breath, frustration tightening in my chest.
I continued searching anyway, stubbornly checking every corner of the room. Under the bed. Inside drawers. Behind curtains.
Nothing. Finally, I gave up. Only then did I really notice what I was wearing. My clothes had been changed.
My comfortable pyjamas were gone, replaced by a very short gown—one that looked like something a hooker would wear. It clung to my body in ways that made me uncomfortable, revealing far too much of my chest and legs.
I clenched my jaw.
Whoever bought me clearly had a particular taste. I was about to check the bathroom again, hoping I might have missed something, when a knock sounded on the door.
I froze.
Every muscle in my body tensed as I slowly turned toward the sound. The door opened, and a maid walked in. She bowed her head respectfully.
"I have been ordered to prepare you for dinner with the master," she said calmly.
I didn't reply. I simply watched her.
She moved across the room and laid out a set of clothes and jewelry on the bed as if my silence didn't bother her in the slightest. For a moment we stood there in silence, staring at each other.
She seemed completely unbothered by the hostility in my gaze.
After a few seconds, I sighed quietly and headed toward the bathroom. I needed answers, and refusing to cooperate right now wouldn't get me any closer to them.
I took a quick bath. When I stepped out, the maid helped me get ready and I let her. Impatience burned inside me. I needed to know what I was dealing with.
Soon I was dressed in a dark evening dress that hugged my frame perfectly. It was elegant, expensive—far more expensive than anything I had ever worn before. She added jewelry next, fastening what had to be real diamonds around my neck and wrists.
I didn't care.
Not if whoever bought me turned out to be a pervert.
My hands itched desperately for a weapon. Even the combs on the dresser were rubber, but I grabbed one anyway and slipped it into my hand.
Better than nothing.When the maid finished, she gestured toward the door. With her leading the way, we stepped out into the corridor.
Two guards stood outside my room. Both of them glanced at me briefly before returning their attention forward as if I didn't exist.
I ignored them too. As we walked, it became clear that I was inside a mansion. Not just any mansion.
This place was magnificent—massive corridors, high ceilings, polished marble floors that reflected the soft glow of chandeliers above us. Expensive paintings decorated the walls, and everything about the place screamed wealth.
He spent a billion, I thought. Of course he was rich. But none of that mattered. What mattered was why he brought me here.
We walked for a while, my bare feet silent against the cold marble. I didn't mind the discomfort. Instead, my eyes carefully scanned everything around me—every hallway, every door, every turn.
If I ever got a chance to escape, I would need to remember the layout. Eventually we descended a wide staircase and crossed to the other side of the mansion.
When we finally stopped in front of a massive wooden door, something unfamiliar crept into my chest. Anxiety. The maid stepped aside and gestured toward the door. I didn't hesitate. There was no point.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside only to freeze.
My eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
Almost mechanically, I reached back and shut the door behind me before turning my gaze back to the man seated at the head of the long dining table. The table was covered with dishes. The smell of food filled the room, rich and mouthwatering. My stomach twisted painfully with hunger.
But not enough to distract me from him. Slowly, cautiously, I walked forward. My expression was guarded at first, but the closer I got, the deeper my frown became until I finally stopped beside the chair near him.
He sat there calmly.
A custom-tailored three-piece suit clung perfectly to his tall frame. Matte black leather shoes rested neatly beneath the table, and on his wrist was a luxury Rolex watch I could easily recognize.
But none of that mattered.
What I was completely unprepared for was the face looking back at me. A familiar gaze. Cold, dark, slanted eyes settled on me without him saying a single word.
His dark hair was slicked back neatly, framing his sharp features, while his blue eyes locked onto mine.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to as I did it for both of us.
"Nico," I sighed, making sure not to betray the fear gripping my heart.
Especially since I was the main reason Nico—my father's stepson—had been chased out of the house shortly after Father married his mother.
We had been close once, but I would be stupid to expect anything except revenge. After all, I had falsely accused him of something we both knew he hadn't done. Something I had done.
At the time, I hadn't thought Father would forgive me if he discovered the truth—not when his favorite son was right there.
Nico looked different now. Older, Harder.
He was taller than I remembered, broader too. His white shirt was open at the collar, no tie, and dark tattoos peeked from beneath the fabric and along the side of his neck.
There was also a deep scar on his forehead.
It was partially hidden beneath his hair, but standing this close, I could see it clearly.
"Are you waiting for an auspicious day to kill me?" I said flatly. "You might as well do it now."
I made no move to sit.
The last time I saw him had been at a gala. I had carefully avoided meeting his gaze that night.
Because the last thing Nico did before he was beaten and thrown out of our house was swear revenge on me.
I kept my back straight, my eyes fixed on him.
If he planned to kill me, I only hoped he would be merciful enough to make it quick.
But instead, he spoke.
A flash of anger burned in his eyes.
"Sit," he ordered.
His voice was calm, but the command in it was unmistakable.
"If I wanted to hurt you," he continued coldly, "you would have woken up in a dungeon, not on a bed."
I studied his face for a moment.
He meant it.
Slowly, I pulled out the chair and sat down.
Not once did I look at the food covering the table.
I was starving.
But more than that, I needed answers.
Questions churned inside my mind—questions only Nico could answer.
Why?
What do you want?
I opened my mouth, ready to finally ask him.
But he spoke first.